Your Pain Is My Pain
Part II - The Ties That Bind

Tell me once more of minds embracing minds
And hearts exchanged for hearts,
That spirits' spirits meet, as winds do winds
And mix their subtlest parts,
That two unbodied essences may kiss
And then like angels, twist and feel one bliss.(1)

 Catherine was trembling with anticipation.  She forced herself to stand still, drawing in several deep breaths in a desperate attempt to still her wildly pounding heart.  It wasn't working.  A growl of frustration echoed through the room and her eyes popped open in shocked disbelief.  Amusement bubbled through her as she realized that incredible sound had come from none other than herself.  She smiled wryly, the humor of the situation finally accomplishing what she had failed so miserably at, her tension easing somewhat, though it could not be relieved entirely.
 She glanced at the clock; seven-ten.  It would be twenty minutes yet before she could reasonably expect Vincent to arrive at the threshold, but she couldn't wait any longer.  She stole one more look in the full-length mirror, wondering for the hundredth time about her choices for this evening.  Since Sunday she'd been able to think of little else but their parting kisses and the planned assignation for tonight.  Was she pushing too hard?  Assuming too much?  She'd taken him by surprise with her bold kiss, but he hadn't pulled away.  No, instead he'd pulled her back for another, his kiss an astonishing blend of shy hesitancy and masterful control.  A shudder coursed along her length as the sensation of that kiss swept through her, leaving her muscles dangerously weak.  Oh God...
 It took a few minutes for her to gain control of her rebellious body yet again.  She couldn't count how many times she'd gone through this cycle in the last 5 days, at times it had felt as if this evening would never arrive.  She'd worked like a madman all week long, starting her days before sun-up and toiling late into the evening in an attempt to keep her thoughts off Vincent and to clear the decks for Thursday night.  Though Joe was quite accustomed to her long hours, her activity level this week amazed even him.  Finally, about mid-afternoon, just as she was about to approach him with her request, he pulled her into his office and demanded she get out and not show her face again until Monday at the very least.  Told her that much as he appreciated her diligence and commitment, she was driving him and the rest of the staff crazy with her restless, frantic pace.  She'd almost laughed out loud at his expression when she'd immediately agreed.  She hadn't given him time to rethink the offer, running out of his office to grab her purse and make a hasty escape while the getting was good.
 She'd spent those few extra hours getting ready for this evening.  She must have tried on ten different outfits at the very least, finally settling on this one, though she questioned that decision even now.  It was a simple yet elegant dress, made of the finest Irish linen, with a thin, silky sheath of pale ivory underneath.  The sleeveless dress fell loosely about her body, the hem stopping about mid-calf, though there were side slits to just above her knees.  All in all, she was the picture of innocent purity -- until she turned around.  The bodice draped in modest, loose folds at the lightly scooped neckline in front only to fall dramatically low in back, revealing the sweet curve of her spine to an almost indecent extent.  Both the cut and the fabric of the dress prohibited the wearing of much else beneath it, the silk sheath playing the dual role of underdress and slip to the translucent linen.  It was both cool and comfortable, a perfect dress for the warm weather they'd been having recently, or so she told herself.  At least three times she'd settled on this dress only to change her mind, pushing it off to fall in a cloud at her feet with the slightest nudge of the Grecian folds at her shoulders -- there were no zippers or buttons required she'd noted with wry amusement.
 She still stared into the mirror, but it was no longer her form she saw there.  It was Vincent, dressed in his ruffled shirt and soft corduroy trousers, a buttery soft leather jerkin belted low at his slim hips, his cloak and tawny mane blowing about him.  He was the picture of virile, masculine beauty.  The jerkin fell open at his chest, showing the fine linen of his favorite shirt, the fabric so like that of the dress she wore now.  As she stared at the impossibly beautiful vision before her, she imagined him without his numerous, typical layers, the broad expanse and silky fur of his chest visible now through the translucency of the linen despite the ruffles at the center.  She reached up to stroke that muscled expanse, but felt only her own soft breast beneath the fine weave, her nipple taut in excitation.
 The spell was broken, his image gone from her mirror.  She stared at herself again, wishing it were his hand resting upon her breast, as it had on Sunday morning when they'd woken together in his bed.  She sighed wistfully, her hand dropping away from her body, only to note the very visible effect of her daydreams apparent through the fine layers of silk and linen.  She stared in dismay, but no matter how long she struggled with herself, it was plain that this was the dress she wanted to wear.  Finally she compromised, drawing an ivory silk shawl about herself, covering both the revealingly cut back of the dress and the traitorous responses of her stubborn body.  It went well enough, but was quite unnecessary for the temperatures expected this evening.  She slipped her bare feet into thin, woven sandals, grabbed her small evening bag and headed out the door before she could change her mind yet again.

 The elevator trip down was uneventful, she encountered no one either there or in the sub-basement.  She stashed her purse behind some full boxes in a corner (it contained her keys only) before clearing the mostly empty boxes away from the secret entrance.  Once safely on the other side she reached around the swinging door to reposition some of those boxes, hiding the door as much as possible.  She could hardly contain her excitement now, her hands shaking as she made the climb down to the tunnel level. Almost there, almost...
 Suddenly she felt large hands spanning her waist, pulling her away from the ladder.  She let go without hesitation, the feel of those strong hands about her filling her with an unquestioning trust and security.  For a brief second she was suspended in air, the ever-present light which leaked through from her sub-basement streaming about her as if to welcome a mythical, magical being among its dancing particles.  Then her feet touched solid ground and the hands released her.  She felt a momentary jolt of disquiet, as if the magic had left her along with his hands, but she knew a sure way of regaining that sensation.
 She took a deep breath, closed her eyes and slowly turned.  Though she was surrounded by absolute darkness now, she didn't need her vision to know when she faced him.  There, he was there...  And when she opened her eyes, he stood before her.
 He had moved back several paces from her, waiting just outside the ring of light in whose center she stood.  Still, she had no trouble seeing him, the streaming light lowly illuminating the threshold area on this side of the bricked enclosure.  She gasped in stunned pleasure at the sight of him, here so close to the entrance.  He never came this close, always waiting for her on the other side of the bricked wall.  And there was more.  She'd hoped for it of course, but those were dreams, and here stood the reality.  He wore the ruffled linen shirt she so loved, the match to her dress this evening.  As always, there was a slight breeze here at the junction to their two worlds, and his hair and cloak stirred softly about him.  The vision she'd seen in her mirror a few minutes before was almost perfectly reproduced here in his presence.  She stood speechless at the sight of him before her, he was so beautiful...

 Beautiful, she was so beautiful.  Like an angel...  He couldn't tell what she was wearing, it blended in so perfectly with her pale beauty and the light surrounding her.  He saw dancing light mixed with layers of ivory, diffusing the hazy beams about her slender body with what appeared to be a magical intent and purpose.  She looked like a wood sprite come to him in moonlight to grant his dearest wish.  It seemed as if she carried that light with her, a constant tribute to her beauty.  It streamed about her, touching her everywhere with a silken, silvery glow, the molten gray of her eyes catching and reflecting the beams with a force that seemed no less than cosmic.  She was the light, his light, and always would be.
 During the last few days while he'd worked in the lower levels with Kanin, he'd had ample time to consider the events of last weekend, the twenty-four hours during which she had magically become one of them, blending seamlessly into their midst as if she belonged there.  He'd been caught off guard, so effortlessly was her presence at his side accepted by all of his friends and family.  Even Father...  Now that was magic!  And their kisses...here, at this very place, just five short days ago...  How else to describe that but magic?
 Still, rational thought had prevailed during their time apart, as it always did, and Vincent had decided, quite predictably, to be more vigilant than ever.  He'd made the decision after three days of deep, soul-searching introspection.  The two days after that had been filled with a building determination to implement that decision, despite Catherine's expected protests.  His force of will, once set, had never failed him, and so some part of himself stood back in astonished disbelief as he walked forward to join her in the streaming light.  Without thought or effort his arms enclosed her and their lips met in a breathless kiss.
 He was vulnerable here, exposed, standing in the light near a door protected by nothing more than empty boxes.  But that thought could find no hold in him.  His world was contained within the narrow beam of light, there was nothing else.  Beneath his hands he felt a cool, silken softness, like and unlike to the warmth of her lips against his.  In an instant he rejected what slight relationship he had found there -- there was nothing, nothing, that compared to the silken luxury of her lips, her kiss.  He held her tighter, shocked at his bold aggression as he slipped within to taste the lush flesh hidden there, relentlessly exploring and savoring her sweetness.
 She had been still against him, at first in stunned surprise, later to encourage his confidence and trust, to show him that what he took now had always been his for the taking, at his pleasure, as his right and due.  But she could be still no longer, her tongue joining his in ecstatic joy, the taste of him a craving that would never leave her.  She couldn't contain the mewling cry that was pulled from her in response to that intimate, deepening touch.
 At that very vocal evidence of her pleasure, Vincent pulled away from her with a groan, his hands shaking where they gripped the bare flesh of her arms, his breath panting and eyes glazed.  His gaze suddenly focused upon his hands as they held her tight, nails pressing against her tender skin, though not breaking the surface.  He gasped as that sight registered, hastily dropping his hands from her and melting back into the dimmer light of the outer area until he was no more than a dim outline to her.  He didn't speak, concentrating  all his energies on controlling the wild responses of his body.
 Catherine stood quietly until the panting was gone and his breathing had returned to normal before stepping out of the light towards him.  It almost seemed as if he moved in response to keep the distance between them, but Catherine ignored that, speaking calmly, soothingly, projecting those same emotions as strongly as she was able, sure that he would sense them from her through the bond.
 "It's seven-thirty, Vincent.  The concert will be starting soon.  We should hurry."  She'd moved closer to him as she spoke, and now stood at his side, though she made no attempt to touch him.
 He drew in a shuddering breath, a calm stillness filling him.  "Yes, we should go now."  His control seemed fully in place again, though his voice was even lower and huskier than usual.  Catherine couldn't contain the shiver it evoked from her.
 As one they turned and began the short trek to their music chamber.  Vincent didn't take her hand and Catherine wrapped her shawl tightly about herself to keep her own occupied -- it took all her will not to touch him now, in the aftermath of that devastating kiss.  She was quite sure her efforts had been of some help to him a few minutes before, but now she struggled with her own control, the sensations of their kiss rushing through her in dizzying waves.  Suddenly a cool, soothing breeze of serenity filled her, easing her distress.  There could be no doubt as to its source.  She glanced sideways only to find him watching her, his eyes filled with understanding and gratitude.  Her gaze was caught and held, a willing captive to his compelling blue depths.
 "Catherine, Vincent, hello."
 The words caught them completely off guard, so engrossed were they in each other.  They stopped abruptly only to find themselves in the region of the hub with Mary standing before them.  They were halfway to their destination and Catherine suddenly grinned at the possibility of them walking right on past their spot and ending up who-knows-where.  Perhaps they were lucky to have run into Mary this way before they ended up visiting Narcissa instead of Mozart this evening.
 "My goodness, you look beautiful, Catherine.  And you look very handsome, Vincent.  Where are you off to this evening?"
 Catherine spoke quickly, a little concerned that Vincent was still lost somewhere in the musings of their bond.  "Hello Mary.  There's a concert in the park tonight.  We're going to listen from the tunnel juncture under the band shell."
 "That sounds lovely.  Do you need to hurry back up afterwards?  Father and I will be having tea together later in his study.  If you two don't have other plans why don't you join us?"
 "Catherine?  Do you have an early appointment tomorrow?"  Vincent had finally found his voice again, his gaze at Catherine now steady if not serene.  After the disturbing start to their evening, Father's presence sounded highly desirable.  In fact, he had a sudden strong urge to skip the privacy of their concert altogether and head to the study immediately.
 Catherine paused for a moment, searching for the right words and tone to accomplish her objective.  Mary was an unexpected plus towards that end.  When she finally spoke her voice was tinged with a rueful humor.
 "Actually, I don't have to be in at all.  Joe apparently thinks I've been working too hard this week.  He's kicked me out until Monday."  She turned a widely innocent gaze on Vincent for just a moment before transferring it to Mary, the more sympathetic of the two in this regard she suspected.
 "Wonderful, I know Father will be pleased.  And you do work too hard, Catherine.  You should spend more time Below, like last weekend.  It was so nice having you here with us."
 Catherine almost held her breath at those words, surreptitiously crossing her fingers behind her back.  Mary's next words confirmed Catherine's faith in that tried and true scientific method.
 "In fact, why don't you stay Below during your time off?  I happen to know that Rebecca has quite a bit of candle making to do over the next few days.  You could practice up on your new craft, and I don't think she'd work you too hard."
 There was a lightly teasing note in Mary's voice now, and Catherine glanced at her with hesitant confusion.  She recalled their conversation while at the hot springs last Saturday evening, the warm feeling of sisterhood and encouragement she'd gotten from Rebecca, Olivia and Jamie, along with Mary's motherly support concerning hers and Vincent's relationship.  Suddenly she was sure that Mary had seen through her ploy and was a willing accomplice.  And what about Vincent?
 She glanced at him to gauge his reaction to the invitation and clearly saw the hesitancy in his eyes.  But Mary didn't wait for his response.  "We'll be expecting you for tea then, around ten-thirty.  And I'll make sure the guest chamber is prepared in case you decide to use it."
 The words were completely innocent, but Catherine suddenly thought she heard an odd tone in her voice, looking back at her suspiciously.  Could Mary possibly have known that she hadn't used the guest chamber last Saturday night?  But Mary had turned off down a side tunnel and was already well on her way.  Catherine stared after her, momentarily lost in her thoughts.  She was drawn from that reverie by the touch of Vincent's hand upon her arm.
 "Catherine...?"
 She turned back to him, anxious as to whether he'd pursue this topic now or defer it until later.  She waited for his next words with some trepidation, hoping against hope that their evening together wasn't over before it had begun.
 Vincent paused at the look in her eyes, reading her thoughts clearly.  And she was right too.  Mary's invitation had most certainly dismayed him, coming as it had hard on the heels of that most unexpected, glorious encounter at the threshold.  He didn't know how things would resolve themselves later, but for now he needed to be with her, as she needed to be with him.  The words he spoke then were not the ones he had moments ago intended to use, his voice husky and low.  "It's eight o'clock, the music will have started by now."
 Her sigh was audible to him, her worried frown immediately replaced by a happy smile.  "Yes, let's go."  They resumed their journey towards the music and a moment later, without conscious thought or intent their hands met and held.

 Within moments they arrived at their destination, the light strains of Mozart's 'Eine Kleine Nacht Musik' floating out to them as they approached the side tunnel that ended in the small, cozy enclosure which Catherine now viewed as their 'balcony Below'.  She stood in the entrance, scanning their hide-away with blissful satisfaction.  A large circular woven rug covered the full perimeter of the floor, while the walls were ringed with large cushions and smaller square pillows along with several cotton throws.  Vincent led her forward to an area just off to one side of the overhead grate and she sank down to rest against the pillows.  He sat down next to her, a good foot separating them.  He was silent, seemingly engrossed in the music, though Catherine knew better.  She thought quietly for a few minutes, finally deciding that the best defense was a good offense.  "Vincent?"
 He opened his eyes, turning towards her solicitously enough, though she thought she could discern a wary tinge to his expression.  She didn't respond right away, and his next words prompted her gently.  "Tell me, Catherine."
 She sighed at the sound of his husky voice, those words endearingly familiar to her.  "Would you prefer I didn't stay Below this weekend?"  Though it was exactly what she wanted, and though she'd maneuvered Mary purposely for the invitation, she couldn't play games with him, not on this issue.  He was beginning to accept her light teasing in other areas, indeed was even learning to do a little of it himself, but this topic was too sensitive, too important, and too far from resolution yet to be toyed with.
 His eyes dropped from hers momentarily, then rose again bravely, the look there full of fearful uncertainty.  His voice, when it finally came forth, was a raw whisper, full of longing and pain.  "I always want you to stay, Catherine."
 She gasped, the unexpected words filling her with a joy she couldn't contain.  She knew he felt it immediately through the bond by his next statement, by the quickness of his response.
 "But I don't know if it's wise, Catherine."  More than anything, his words told her how far he'd come in his trust of her.  "Having you here is...difficult for me."  The look in his eyes, an intense blend of vulnerability and fear, touched her deeply.
 Her throat tightened up at the poignancy of his admission.  "I know, Vincent.  I know."  She'd been careful up to this point not to touch him, but she couldn't help herself now, resting her hand comfortingly on this arm.  Her gentle touch and emotions through the bond were full of non-threatening sympathy and love and he responded instantly, his eyes filling with tears.  He was overwhelmed by her care and concern for his feelings in this matter, despite her own deep needs -- she'd never really been able to hide them from him.  He couldn't help himself then, leaning against her to bury his face in the curve of her neck, her silky hair and smooth skin a resting place he wished never to leave.  Her arms enclosed him, her tender touch soothing and comforting.  He felt the slight rocking of her body against his, the low humming of her voice, so soft he might have only imagined it, and gave in to the sensations, the music and her love surrounding and supporting him completely now.
 They stayed cuddled together that way for a long while, both taking comfort from the close contact.  This closeness was a double blessing for Catherine -- it was so rare when he let her take care of him this way.  And it was a craving that was with her always, somewhere deep inside, almost maternal in its instinct and drive.  Still, she was very vigilant of her emotions now, knowing that beyond the maternal lay something far deeper and stronger.
 Even now -- especially now -- she was aware of the strong, muscled expanse of his back under her hands.  The memory of his image in her mirror just a short while ago rushed over her suddenly, clear and strong.  Oh, how she craved the feel of his bare skin and silky fur against her own yearning flesh, her hands aching to touch him, caress him... She couldn't stop the shudder that coursed down her length, the sensations and feelings instantly transmitted to Vincent through both her body and the bond.
 He was very still against her suddenly, and she wondered warily what he was thinking.  Would he end their evening now?  Tell her it was best she didn't stay?  She waited breathlessly, struggling desperately to contain her emotions, to show him that she could do this for him, for them.
 Vincent pulled away from her to stare deeply into her eyes, his own filled with a strangely intense light, the blue of them darker than she remembered.  One hand came up to gently cup her face, holding her still for his fierce perusal, the other still circled her waist, keeping her close.  "Don't hide your feelings from me, Catherine."  The panting of his breath was back, making the words sound almost harsh.  "I know...  I've always known."
 She could hardly believe she'd heard right.  He couldn't mean...  He couldn't.  She was shaking now, her lips trembling in anticipation.
 Vincent was no less shocked than she by his words -- he couldn't believe he'd said them.  What had come over him?!  It was completely irrational, he knew that.  It was him, all along it had been him -- he'd made her hide those feelings, needing her denial to support his own.  He wanted desperately to take back those words, to have things as they were before.
 But he couldn't concentrate on that now, couldn't see anything but her sweet, full lips, poised just below his own.  A deep, earthy scent drifted over him, filling his nostrils, filling his being.  It called to him...she called to him.  He went to her willingly, bending to kiss those trembling lips with a softness undreamt of, his touch soothing and unhurried.  His mouth caressed her slowly, easily, nuzzling and nipping at the lush fullness of her silky lips.
 Catherine tried...tried to be still against him.  Tried desperately not to take advantage of this strange lapse in his control.  But she couldn't, she absolutely couldn't.  She tried one more time to muster her own control, then gave in with a whimper, her arms tightening around him, her mouth slanting open under his, their searching tongues mingling in an ecstatic swirl of tastes and textures.
 The physical sensations couldn't be separated from those of the bond, they were intertwined, indistinguishable, washing over them in pulsing waves of pleasure.  They broke apart for a fraction of a second to draw in a gasping, shared breath, their groans blending and echoing in the small space separating their lips.  Then they fell together again with renewed force, needing that exquisite contact, craving it with all their being.  Catherine felt herself pulled across his lap, her arms circling beneath his voluminous cloak to gather him closer...closer...
 The feel of her beneath him was sheer heaven, he couldn't let her go.  Her mouth was an endless, lush treasure to explore and he pulled her closer and tighter, tucking her along the curve of his waist and torso as he bent over her in worshipful homage.  Her shawl had slipped down unnoticed and his hands moved restlessly, urgently across the silky smooth planes of her back, slipping within the loose folds of her dress to surround her entirely, his fingers brushing the curves of her breasts just under her arms, that spot softer than anything he'd ever imagined.  One hand continued that stroking caress, while the other slid down alongside the bare, taut curve of her torso, tracing her ribs to the smooth indentation of her waist, and from there to the sweet flair of her hip, his hand dropping lower still to cup the gossamer-covered fullness there, pulling her even tighter against him.
 The sensations were overwhelming now, sweeping through him with a driving force he couldn't withstand.  He'd never felt anything like this before, never!  He was filled with a power and urgency that built to tremendous heights, the feelings inspiring both a glorious ecstasy and an aching desperation.  He couldn't control the growling that emanated from deep in his chest.  It filled their small chamber, vibrating through the bond and Catherine to settle at her very core, mewling moans pulled from her, adding irresistibly to his pleasure.  Just when he thought there could be nothing more, that he would die with the agony of it, the swelling currents of their bond expanded even further, pushing them both beyond the physical boundaries of containment.  A blood-red, pulsing haze swept over them and the swirling emotions of the bond suddenly coalesced, gathering with a fierce fury to explode in a cataclysmic burst of light and heat, their cries of joy lost in the blazing inferno which engulfed them.

 Vincent came awake slowly, awareness creeping in gradually.  A light breeze drifted down over him, soothing and cool.  Balancing that coolness was the sweet warmth of Catherine resting against him, her slight weight a comforting security grounding him.  He felt these sensations at the lowest level of consciousness, unencumbered by logic or rational thought.  He drew in a deep breath of contentment, a languorous stretch vibrating down his length.  He was almost awake now, and the first cognitive thought that filtered through the hazy sensations surrounding him was that he had never felt so relaxed...so happy...so safe.  He blinked sleepily and the music chamber came into focus around him.
 He froze in protective stillness, the memory of the last few hours rushing over him, filling him with the images of their evening together.  He tuned all his senses outward, frantically assessing the situation around them.  It was late, the concert long over, the pipes long stilled except for the ever-present hourly signal followed by the muted check-in of the sentries.  There they were now -- Three a.m. and all was well in their world Below.  All was well...
 He drew in a ragged breath as he finally allowed his gaze to drift down over the slumbering form in his arms.  Catherine...oh, Catherine.  They were nestled together in a cozy pile of pillows, a cotton throw pulled over them.  Moonlight streamed down through the grate, illuminating her face with a striping pattern of light and dark.  The sight brought back the earlier image of her at the threshold, the allusion to a woodsprite even more appropriate now.  Her hair tumbled about her face in a haphazard fashion and he couldn't resist brushing it back to gaze more fully on her slumbering features.  She looked so innocently content, her brow smooth of worries and fears.
 With a massive effort he restrained the panic beginning to take hold of him.  He focused furiously now, trying to determine what had happened.  The exquisite kisses they'd shared...they were so clear in his mind, the sensations so precious, so glorious.  He had no doubts or questions about them except as to how he'd allowed his so recent resolutions to fall so quickly, so completely.  No, much as he stood in awe of them, he couldn't question the rightness, the inevitability of those kisses.  It was that last conscious memory, that last unbelievable, unthinkable response that was so difficult to grasp, to comprehend now.  Oh, not the feeling of it, that would be impossible to forget.  Never, never had he felt a passion so intense, the building pleasure so strong, so pervasive that it bordered on pain.  And the release...  How to describe such an all-encompassing, explosive burst of rapturous ecstasy?  It had radiated through him like the heat of a thousand suns, the blinding aftermath leaving him utterly drained, empty...free.
 Yes, free.  He couldn't deny it.  During that infinitesimally small and timelessly vast interlude he had been completely free of doubt and fear, everything in him, both the light and the dark, united.  He could almost touch that intoxicating sense of freedom still, it hovered somewhere over him, just outside of his grasp, tantalizingly close now.  Oh, how he wanted those sensations back again; the dizzying, blissful exhilaration and the calm, still peace that followed.  But more amazing than the sensations themselves was the sharing of them with Catherine.  They had been together in a way he could never have imagined in his wildest dreams.  He sensed now the full power of their bond, could finally see the depthless, endless scope of it.  And somehow he knew that they had only touched the surface of it last night.  The very thought of reliving that shared ecstasy, much less exceeding it, sent a shudder of fearful anticipation through him.  How could they survive such an awesome power...?!
 Catherine suddenly stirred in his arms and he bent all his efforts towards soothing her through the bond, frantic to keep her asleep now, desperate to avoid a confrontation in his weakened state.  Finally the threads of the bond emanating from her were smooth again, a slow, pulsing sine wave of deep, dreamless sleep.  Once he was certain she was unlikely to waken, he shifted her in his arms and rose to his feet, moving slowly towards the inner hub, his steps sure and light despite the constancy of his gaze upon her face.
 He moved towards his chamber, turning down a side tunnel to arrive at the guest chamber just a short distance away.  Several night candles burned lowly, filling the room with a dim, welcoming glow.  A bundle rested upon the bureau, both day and night clothes by the looks of it.  He suspected they came from Rebecca.  He passed the bureau and leaned down to pull the quilts back on the bed.  He laid her down among the soft pillows and slipped the sandals off her feet.  He was about to pull the covers up around her when he was caught by her angelic image in the linen and silk dress, its simplistic beauty plain to him for the first time that evening.  She had worn a heavy silk shawl earlier, he remembered that clearly now.  It had covered the dress almost completely.  He must have left it in the music chamber.
 He stood staring down at her, absorbed in her beauty, when she suddenly sighed and turned towards the wall, her knees drawn up and a pillow hugged tightly to her chest.  He gasped as the deep vee of the dress exposed her bare back to him, her silky smooth flesh tantalizing, compelling.  The memory flooded over him then of his hands upon her, sliding beneath that flimsy fabric, the feel of her flesh warm and seductive against his stroking fingers.  Oh God...!  The sensations washed over him again, and he shuddered at the intensity of them, aghast by his temerity in retrospect.  He leaned down quickly to cover her with the quilted comforter and hurriedly left the chamber.

 Moments later he arrived at his own chamber and began to pace restlessly.  He stopped momentarily to pull some clothes from his armoire, throwing them onto his bed in a stack, his mind spinning with possible destinations in the lower levels.  Suddenly he stopped, the stillness a stark counterpoint to the roiling energy of a moment before.  He stared out towards the guest chamber for several long moments, his shoulders finally slumping in resignation.
 He couldn't run away from this, not now.  Much as his mind called out for him to escape, he couldn't leave her alone with this.  No.  It was time he faced this issue once and for all.  He stood quietly for a few more minutes, his resolve growing.  Suddenly a wave of languorous fatigue washed over him, demanding that he give in to it, now!  He threw the stack from his bed to the table in an untidy pile, pulled his clothes off, letting them fall where they dropped and climbed into bed without a stitch on -- absolutely unheard of for him.  He had a moment only to drowsily note how good the cool sheets felt against his bare skin before sleep claimed him, pulling him down deeply, the wave patterns he had sensed in Catherine moments before precisely matched now by his own, the bond holding them close and connected, even now.

 Catherine was astounded to find herself in the guest chamber when she woke early the next morning.  The events of last night were strong and clear in her, a shiver rushing through her at the memory of his kiss, his touch.  She was even more astonished than Vincent at the amazing end to their evening, her own life experiences telling her how incredible, how unlikely such an occurrence was.  She had never felt anything like it, never!  They had only kissed (if 'only' was a word that could possibly go with the glory of Vincent's kisses!), barely touched, and yet the sensations were light years beyond even the most intense sexual encounter of her 'before' life.  The eroticism of it overwhelmed her, even now, just at the recollection of it.  The bond...it had to be the bond.
 Though she didn't understand it, she accepted it without question, unable to stem the flow of satisfaction now filling her.  She spotted the folded bundle on the bureau and threw back the covers, suddenly in a hurry to join Rebecca in the candle chamber.  She knew she needed to give Vincent some space this morning if there was to be any chance at all for her to continue this weekend visit.

 Vincent woke slowly, swimming upwards through a drowsy haze of satisfaction and comfort.  When he opened his eyes they immediately fell upon Kristopher's painting, as they did every morning since he'd hung it here Below, on the wall across from the foot of his bed.  He sighed with pleasure at the sight of them together, amazed anew at the confidence portrayed there in his loving, possessive embrace.  Each time he looked at the picture the same question flashed through his mind; 'Was this as Kristopher saw them now, or was this something yet to be?'  Both scenarios seemed equally improbable -- until last night.  Oddly enough, he couldn't muster the fear and dread he'd felt then through the contentment filling him now.
 A movement at the corner of his eye drew his instant attention and to his astonishment and dismay he found Father standing there.  How could he have been so oblivious to his presence?!
 Father was glancing around the chamber, a perplexed expression plain upon his face.  "Are you going somewhere, Vincent?"  The stack of clothes on the table and those strewn on the floor were quite out of character, and he was amazed at the sight of Vincent sleeping naked.  He'd never known him to do that before.  And with Catherine Below, the very idea was quite shocking to him.  Unless...?!
 He peered at Vincent intently now, noting the heightened color of his complexion, the equivalent of a full flush for him, though most people wouldn't have noticed any difference at all.  He sat down heavily in the chair behind him, unsure of how to phrase his next question, dreading the possible answer.
 "Do we need to talk, Vincent?"
 The pause that followed was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat.  Oh God...
 Vincent pulled the blankets more securely about him before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to sit facing him.  He was always an imposing figure, and that was doubly true now with the massive expanse of his chest exposed, the silky coat of golden fur unable to hide the sleek, powerful muscles so perfectly and boldly defined.  As his father and physician, Jacob had seen him naked many times, still, strangely enough, Father was caught suddenly by the image of his bare feet, his gaze inexplicably locked upon them.
 Vincent's soft voice abruptly drew him from the stupor claiming him.
 "I think we do, Father."
 He looked intensely uncomfortable, and that was enough to push Jacob firmly into his Father/Advisor/Physician mode, composing him considerably.
 "Why don't you get dressed and join me in my study in half an hour.  I'll have tea waiting for you there."  He had to hold back a pointed reminder of the missed tea last evening, thinking that under the circumstances that comment would be best left unsaid.
 "Thank you, Father."  Vincent's voice was quieter than usual, and quite subdued, though overall he appeared more relaxed than Father would have expected, given the conversation about to take place.  On the other hand, he could think of at least one very good reason for that state of relaxation now, he thought grimly.  He was hurrying out the door when Vincent's voice called him back, his question completely unexpected in light of Jacob's current suppositions.
 "Father, do you know where Catherine is this morning?"
 "Mary said she's with Rebecca, in the candle chamber."  He paused for a moment, wanting to ask why Vincent didn't know of her whereabouts, but thought better of it, letting it go until later.  He left hastily, his mind whirling with conflicting, confusing thoughts and questions.

 Almost precisely thirty minutes later Vincent entered Father's study, his hair quite damp from the rushed bath he'd squeezed in.  William had just dropped off a steaming kettle of tea and a basket of fresh apple muffins and Vincent was drawn hungrily toward their enticing aroma, his appetite unusually intense this morning.  A moment later he joined Father at the small, circular reading table.
 The sat silently for a while, Father waiting anxiously for Vincent to begin, completely perplexed as to where to start himself.  At first, in Vincent's chamber, he'd been convinced that what he had dreaded for so long had occurred.  Now he wasn't so sure.  But what else could be the reason for Vincent's strange behavior last night and this morning?  That train of thought was abruptly broken at the sound of Vincent's voice.
 "Father, something happened last night...between Catherine and I."
 The words were so softly and haltingly spoken that Jacob had to lean forward, concentrating intently to hear them.
 Oh God...  It was as he'd suspected after all.  Part of him was shocked, another part strangely relieved that it was done.  After Lisa, and until Catherine had entered their lives, he had thought this was an issue he'd never have to worry about.  He'd been doubly vigilant in the first two years of their relationship, but the strain was becoming too much.  Lately he'd begun to think that this was like holding back the tide, that perhaps he was wrong in resisting the forces of such a powerful love.  It wasn't easy though, giving up such long-held beliefs.  Still, he had bent his thoughts often in this direction lately, his focus more on the potential risks, real and imagined, than on prevention itself.  Well, obviously at least some of those risks he had worried over had not manifested themselves.  Though Vincent appeared confused and worried, it wasn't an extreme case.  And that alone would have told him of Catherine's well being, even if he didn't have first-hand knowledge to that effect.  He sighed heavily, uncertain of where to go from here.
 "I suspected as much.  Have you thought this through, Vincent.  Considered the risks, not just for now, but for the future?  What about the possibility of children?"  Slight though that possibility might be, it could not be ignored.
 "Children?!"  Vincent looked positively stunned.  "Father, what are you talking about?  You know there is no possibility of that.  I could never allow it."
 "But we don't know that it's medically impossible, that's only speculation on Peter's and my part.  Your intentions are well and good, Vincent, but some things are beyond our control.  Accidents happen, and then what?"
 Father was stunned by Vincent's obtuseness in this matter.  His son had always been so logical, so levelheaded.  What could he be thinking now to so summarily dismiss the chance of such a potentially disastrous occurrence?  Jacob was speechless, staring at Vincent with shocked disbelief.  The only rational explanation for the confusion here presented itself and Father grasped at it immediately, determined to get to the bottom of this.
 "Vincent, forgive me for speaking plainly, but are we talking about the same thing?  Did you or did you not make love with Catherine last night?"  He spoke tersely now, embarrassment and impatience filling him.
 Vincent hesitated for a moment before answering, his gaze suddenly unfocused (Father recognized that inward-looking expression, he'd seen it many times before in his son's face).  He blinked hazily, his attention once more directed towards his father.  His response then was soft but clear.  "Yes, we did make love.  But not in the way you mean."
 Once again Father was momentarily struck speechless, his patience completely at an end.  When he was finally able to speak, his tone and words were uncharacteristically sarcastic.
 "Not in the way I mean?!  I know it's been a while for me, Vincent, still, I fancy I'm not naive in this area, and I am after all a physician.  Variety is certainly inherent in the process, but I'm quite certain the mechanics of it remain unchanged."
 Vincent shook his head in frustration at his inability to explain the events of last night, the words eluding him.  His own reply was somewhat curtly spoken, reflecting that frustration.  "Nor am I naive of the 'mechanics' of the process, Father, though I am inexperienced.  Nonetheless..."  He turned away for a moment to pace furiously about the room, abruptly stopping back at the table.  He sat down in his chair and stared at Father intently, determined to explain this, no matter how difficult.  He needed his advice now.
 "Father, what Catherine and I experienced occurred primarily through our bond."
 Jacob sat back in his chair, a confused expression on his face.  He knew his son well; Vincent was not given to flights of fancy or exaggerated hyperbole.  He meant what he said.  The impatience on his face drained away, replaced with a thoughtful gaze, one hand idly stroking his bearded chin.
 "Can you tell me, Vincent, exactly what did occur?"
 That softened expression and reasoned tone had always worked with Vincent, ever since he was a child.  It did so now, his features relaxing in response.  Finally he began to talk, his gaze turned inward once again, as if he saw the events there as he described them.
 "It began last Sunday, when Catherine went back Above.  At the threshold, just before she left...she kissed me...and I kissed her back.  I'd never felt anything like it, Father, never."  He paused here for a moment, as if reliving that wondrous experience.
 "During the last few days, while I was in the lower levels with Kanin, I made up my mind that we could not continue on that path, that I could not trust my control in that area."  His gaze crystallized on Father suddenly, a wary expression there, the memory of Lisa flashing through them both.
 "When I met Catherine last night...  It was as if all my resolve, all my will meant nothing.  She looked like an angel, Father.  I...  I don't know what came over me.  It wasn't Catherine, she didn't do anything.  I think she was truly willing to follow my lead in this regard, to honor my decision -- she always has.  It was me.  I kissed her this time, and it was like before...glorious.  I should have ended the evening then, put some distance between us -- but I couldn't.  We needed to be together, Father.  We needed that."  His eyes and tone pleaded for understanding; he was incapable of putting into words the strength of that need, how it had grown over the past year, consuming his waking moments, his restless nights.
 "And so we went to our private music chamber, and it began again.  But this time I couldn't stop kissing her.  I absolutely couldn't."  His voice was a husky, low whisper now, barely audible.
 "The sensations were unbelievable.  The feelings, both emotional and physical, were multiplied, magnified by the bond.  We were only kissing, but I swear to you, Father, I felt her touch all over my body, and I know she felt mine as well.  And they weren't just surface touches, they went deep...deep in a way I can't begin to describe.  I know I'm innocent of much, Father, but this was not a normal experience, I'm positive of that."  The look he gave Father then was intensely compelling, leaving no room for doubt.
 Jacob swallowed hard, awed by the image Vincent's words had created, feeling the inexplicable truth of them.  "And at the end...?"
 "Yes."  Vincent didn't need to elaborate, his raw whisper and glazed expression saying it all.
 They sat quietly for a few minutes then, Father to assimilate this astonishing development, Vincent to recover from the telling of it.  Finally Father shook off the reverie claiming him and spoke, his emotional level inextricably moved from trepidation and wonder to overwhelming curiosity.
 "What will you do now, Vincent?"
 Vincent sighed in relief at the absence of the stern judgment he had half expected to find in Father's voice.  "I don't know, Father.  I need your counsel in this."
 Jacob thought furiously for a few moments, trying to gauge the possible repercussions of the decisions made here.  He also felt a slight twinge of guilt as he realized that his advice might affect the course of Vincent and Catherine's relationship.  Was this fair to Catherine?  That thought made him smile ruefully to himself -- he'd come far in even considering her wishes in this regard.  Perhaps there was hope for him yet.
 "Vincent, did you feel or sense anything negative during this experience?  Anything that you question now, after the fact?"  He watched his son's expression intently as he waited for his response.
 Vincent gave the question serious consideration, tracing the course of events and their aftermath.  Finally he shook his head.
 "No.  Nothing.  The sensations were extremely intense, but there was only pleasure and love there, I could sense nothing else."  He looked dazed at the mere recollection of those events.
 "Are you sure Catherine's experience was the same?  Have you talked to her about it yet?"  Father suspected the answer to this was 'no', given Vincent's waking confusion in his chamber this morning.  And he clearly remembered the disheveled state of that chamber.  He was quite sure now that Vincent had intended, at least for a small moment, to leave on an unplanned journey to the lower levels.  He always did that when faced with an internal crisis that required all his thought and concentration.  As usual, his suspicions were correct.
 "No.  I haven't talked to her about it at all."  Vincent had left the chair and was pacing again.  "I woke at three o'clock, Catherine was still sleeping.  I carried her to the guest chamber, she never woke up.  She must have left for the candle chamber early this morning.  She's still Below, I sense her quite strongly."  His face wore a look of extreme anxiety now, the very thought of a conversation with her on this topic filling him with dread.
 "What do you sense from her now?  How is she feeling?"  Again Father had his suspicions in this regard.  If he knew Catherine, she was probably ecstatic over this new development, though no doubt worried now about how Vincent would deal with it, and rightly so.
 Vincent turned his attention to her completely, focusing fiercely on the bond.  The intensity of his concentration went well beyond what was necessary; Catherine's emotions were so clear he could sense them with the smallest effort this morning.  She was very happy, but trying desperately to contain the almost giddy nature of it.  There was a thread of worried concern running through the bond, but it was pushed to the back of her conscious mind -- it could not gain a place of dominance in the sea of satisfied contentment surrounding her.  He felt a strange mixture of embarrassment and pride at the realization of the source of that satisfaction, a blush spreading across his face.
 Father read his expression easily, convinced he had been correct in his assessment of Catherine's response to last night's events.  Vincent's next words confirmed that.
 "Catherine is happy, content.  A little worried perhaps, about my reaction to this I suspect."  The look of stunned amazement would not leave his face.
 "Then perhaps this is the answer to your problem."  He paused here for a moment, then finally continued.  "I know you've struggled with your desire for Catherine, Vincent, as she has for you.  Believe me, my son, I wish things could be otherwise for you both.  You deserve so much, no one knows that better than I.  And yet to ignore the risks would be foolish and irresponsible.  This may be a way to attain that level of emotional fulfillment you have searched for, perhaps even a physical fulfillment of sorts, if I understand you correctly about the nature of this phenomenon."
 Vincent's expression changed at these last words, to one of rueful, hesitant uncertainty.  Father cringed suddenly, realizing there was more yet to this story.  The silence dragged on until Father couldn't stand a minute more of it.
 "Tell me, Vincent."
 "Father, there is more."  He paused for a moment before going on.
 "During that experience, especially at the end, I finally began to see the scope of our connection, to comprehend all it is capable of.  And Father, it is much stronger, much deeper than I'd ever suspected.  I can hardly begin to understand it myself, much less explain it, it's so overwhelming.  But I think the events of last night only scratched the surface of what our bond really is.  I think there is more...much, much more, waiting yet to be discovered.  Our experiences last night were wondrous, magical...astounding.  I ache to relive them again."  He looked highly embarrassed at that admission, but couldn't seem to stop himself from making that declaration.  "But I don't know where this path will ultimately lead us and I'm afraid we won't be able to turn back once we make this choice.  Our lives will change, Father...irrevocably."
 Father peered at him intently, before asking his final question.  "Tell me, Vincent, do you think you are capable of turning from this now?  Is there really any other choice left...for either of you?"

 "Catherine, you are really getting good at this.  I wouldn't have thought it was possible after just two sessions."
 Catherine beamed with pleasure at Rebecca's praise, inspecting the numerous strings of candles drying about the chamber.
 "I'm really enjoying it, Rebecca.  There's something very relaxing about it, almost hypnotic once you get going.  I can't believe we've been at it for five hours, the time has flown by."  She'd been quite thankful for that side-effect this morning -- it had helped considerably in maintaining a calm demeanor for Rebecca's benefit.
 "I know what you mean.  Sometimes I get so into the rhythm the whole day will just disappear.  Usually Mary or Vincent will check on me around suppertime, just to make sure I don't work straight through till morning.  Vincent especially often seems to know when I've lost myself in it.  It's his gift of course, but I don't need to tell you that."
 Vincent's gift...
 "Catherine?"
 Catherine suddenly became aware of the hand waving in front of her face, and blushed deeply as she realized where her thoughts had led her at Rebecca's innocent words.
 "Where were you off to, Catherine?  And don't tell me it was the candles, you haven't touched one in fifteen minutes."  Rebecca's tone was lightly teasing, the gleam in her eyes making it plain that she didn't really expect an answer.
 "It seems that daydreaming is a common hazard of candle-making, Rebecca."
 Rebecca and Catherine turned in surprise, only to find Vincent's tall figure filling the entrance to their work-chamber.
 "And though it's not yet time for supper, William's lunch is on the table.  Are you two ready to take a break?"
 Vincent made every effort to keep his voice as normal as possible, and indeed Rebecca seemed to notice nothing out of the ordinary.  Catherine however could not be fooled.  She saw how difficult it was for him to hold her gaze, despite the fact that he couldn't withdraw his attention from her.
 There was a trembling in her now which she struggled to control; Vincent hadn't retreated from her, either physically or emotionally it seemed.  All morning long she'd been half afraid that a messenger would be sent telling her that he'd had to leave unexpectedly to take care of one of those ubiquitous 'lower levels urgent matters' that always drew him away whenever they reached a crossroads in their relationship.  But he was still here.  She hadn't realized how worried she'd been about seeing him for the first time this morning.  Suddenly the stored tension drained off her in waves, leaving her weak with relief.  She felt curiously like crying.  She stood absolutely still, trying desperately to contain her emotions, not wanting to make a scene in front of Rebecca.
 Vincent felt the whirling emotions within her, and turned to Rebecca, noting the sudden questioning expression on her face.  "Catherine and I will meet you at the dining chamber shortly, Rebecca."  She acted as if nothing was wrong, but made a hasty exit, merely saying she'd see them later.
 The moment she left, Vincent turned back to Catherine, taking her in his arms to still the trembling engulfing her.  "Shhh, Catherine.  It's all right.  I'm here."
 "You're here.  Oh, Vincent, I was so afraid you'd leave, go off somewhere far below to 'think things through'.  I thought you'd leave me."  She was crying in earnest now, clutching his sweater tightly, as if she still expected him to run off.
 Vincent's throat tightened, tears welling up in his own eyes.  "I won't leave you, Catherine, not this time.  I swear it."  He projected a calm, soothing strength over the bond, and Catherine responded instantly, burying herself deeply in his embrace.  A few minutes later she had regained control, stepping back from his arms with resolve.
 "I'm sorry, Vincent.  I promised myself I wouldn't push you, but just look at me."
 Vincent was indeed looking at her, he couldn't stop.  Her beauty had always fascinated him, but now, combined with the memory of last night's events, it overwhelmed him.  She wore a long, soft knit skirt and a short, loose-hem'd sweater that felt like cashmere.  Over that outfit was one of Rebecca's full aprons, to protect the clothes from wax spatters -- and indeed it was liberally covered today.  On her feet she wore short, soft, moccasin style leather boots.  She looked comfortable and relaxed, strangely at home in an outfit that was so very different than what she was used to.  He took a deep breath, preparing to broach the topic which had been taboo between them for over two years.
 "Catherine, we have to talk, about last night."
 She heaved a huge sigh of relief, not quite believing this time had actually come.  "Yes, we need to talk about it.  When, Vincent?"
 "I have classes all afternoon and it's too late now to get someone else to fill in, I'm sorry.  Tonight?"
 Catherine couldn't contain the happiness and excitement that was building in her at the prospect of them finally discussing this aspect of their relationship.  Those feelings were radiating over the bond in billowing wave and Vincent had to keep a tight control over his own emotions in order not to be swept away by hers.  He'd often been surprised by the strength of the bond in the past, viewing it with an almost academic curiosity.  Now that curiosity was replaced with a respectful appreciation of a force beyond his comprehension.  Finally she had her unruly emotions under control again, and they both breathed easier.
 "Vincent, I've waited for over two years.  I think I can manage a few hours longer.  And I can keep busy here with Rebecca.  This evening will be fine."
 Vincent couldn't believe they'd gotten this far so easily.  In the past, even thinking about discussing this topic with Catherine was enough to almost make him nauseous.  Perhaps Father was right.  Maybe now there was nowhere else to go but to this unexplored place, together.  Perhaps the calm filling him now was no more than resignation, a bow to the inevitable.  In any case, he was tremendously relieved the first hurdle had been jumped.  He would take it one step at a time, and who knows?  Perhaps he'd live through the ordeal.
 "Let's go to lunch then.  Are you hungry?"
 Catherine burst into laughter at that question.  Last week it had been her period, and then last night...  At any rate, it seemed she only ever had one response for him when he asked that, and she spoke the words again now with a rakish grin.  "I'm starving, Vincent."
 Vincent couldn't help the smile that broke out over his own face at her reaction.  He'd asked it intentionally, knowing very well how hungry she felt today, both through the sensations of the bond, and by his own appetite, generated he was sure by the events of last night.  He'd used that question twice to break the tension last weekend, and now it appeared it would work again admirably today.  He ruefully suspected that this was going to become a running joke with them.
 That little bit of private humor had indeed relaxed them both, and within moments they were headed towards the dining chamber, hand in hand.

 "Brooke, according to the Archbishop of Canterbury, what is the French reasoning for refuting Henry the Fifth's Angevin claim to the throne?"  Vincent wandered about the small study chamber, surrounded by a group of teenagers, their Medieval History class augmented by a side discussion of Shakespeare's plays on that era.  It was Vincent's last class of the day.
 "The French said that the Angevin claim derived through the wife of Edward III, Henry's Great Grandmother, and that it therefore was not legitimate, based on a Salic charter dating back to Charlemagne's time which restricts the succession from the female line."  She shuffled through her worn copy of Shakespeare's Henry V(2) for a moment, then continued.  "He writes; 'In Terram Salicam, Mulieres ne Succedant'.  No woman shall succeed in Salic land."
 "Excellent Brooke, that's exactly right.  And yet the English do claim the French throne, and do go to war over it.  Why?"  Vincent scanned the room, finally lighting upon a shy, sandy-haired boy in wire-rimmed glasses seated near the back.  "David?"
 David was a tall, lanky boy, quiet by nature.  Vincent had paid particular attention to him during the last few years, drawing him out of his habitual reserve to find in him a deep love of learning.  He'd felt a special affinity for him, seeing some of his own teenage years in David's self-imposed isolation.  It wasn't that the others didn't like him or ignored him; tunnel-dwellers just didn't act that way.  David just wasn't too comfortable around large, noisy groups -- and that was certainly what his peers had turned into over the years.  He began his response hesitantly, but within moments was speaking calmly and fluidly, lost in a topic which obviously fascinated him.
 "Well, the English nobility of that time were continually fighting among themselves and jockeying for power and control, ever since the murder of Richard II by Henry's father, Henry IV.  While this power struggle went on, the Church's position, and the favor of the current clerical hierarchy in England, was precarious.  With the English nobility united against a common, foreign foe, the English clergy could enjoy a relatively stable position, at least for a while.
 As for the restriction of inheritance based on that Salic charter, the English considered it inapplicable since at the time of the writing of the charter, the land in question was considered part of Germany, not of France.  And even if the charter's origin wasn't in doubt, the French stance on female succession was in constant dispute by both the English and the French, that's what the Hundred Years War was essentially about.  The Angevin line had at least three direct ties to French claims beginning with William the Conqueror's granddaughter Maud's marriage.  So her son, Henry II felt that throne should be his. His wife, Elanore of Aquitaine, had vast French holdings by her own right, and was married to Louis, the King of France before her marriage to Henry.  Then of course there was Edward III's wife, the only surviving direct descendent of a French King, and finally Henry V's wife, Katherine, also a daughter of the King, though she had a brother who was the designated heir, the Dauphin.  That marriage was a political arrangement by the French when they sued the English for peace at Rouen in 1421.  It was agreed that Henry and Katherine's son would ultimately rule both England and France, but Henry V died while their son was just a baby, and the agreement was broken.
 Anyway, getting back to Henry V, his war really came down to an issue of money for the most part.  During that period of history, a person's wealth was accumulated primarily through the spoils of war.  Without a war to gain riches in, the landed nobles would be continually plotting to gain the wealth of their peers, including Henry V himself, whose claim to the English throne was morally tainted in the eyes of several factions, by the actions of his father.  These factions were lead by the descendants of the brothers of Edward, the Black Prince, who died before his father, Edward III.  When John of Gaunt's son, Henry, killed Edward's son, Richard II, the line of inheritance was passed to the Leicaster's.  Several other family branches felt it more rightly belonged to them, notably the Yorks.  The time of Henry V was essentially the transition between the Hundred Years War and the War of the Roses; the fight of the Leicaster and York factions for the throne of England.
 During the politically rocky time of Henry V, the Catholic Church had a particularly strong interest in keeping the English Lords wealthy and happy -- without that strong tax base, Henry would have no recourse but to reduce the funds promised to the Church.  And of course the Church of that era was quite corrupt, the Popes continually requiring wealth for themselves and their many 'nephews' and other favorites.  That's where the term 'nepotism' comes from, right Vincent?  Because the Popes commonly referred to their illegitimate son's as their nephews?"
 "Yes, that's true David.  But keep in mind the time they lived in.  In the early 15th century the Renaissance was just beginning in Italy, but not yet evident elsewhere.  Most of Europe and England were just coming out of a millennium of armed camp mentality.  Protection and survival were the order of the day, often at any cost.  The Holy Roman Empire during the middle ages was as much a military institution, with strong overtones of a Monarchy, as it was an ecclesiastical organization.  Martin Luther's revolt a century later, the split off of Protestantism from the Catholic Church, was in direct response to the inequities and abuses that could be traced to these times.  Yet Protestantism had it's own oppressions and atrocities to deal with as well, as history so clearly points out.
 But we're getting off today's topic.  Let's get back to the Angevin history.  David, your understanding of the dynamics of the relationship between the French and the English, the English and the English, and the finally the English and the Catholic Church in England is excellent.  The motivations of those various groups were very complex, often both conflicting and intertwined.  You've done a wonderful job in clarifying them for the class today.  When you start College Above next year, I think your professors will be impressed with the depth of your understanding.  I'm very proud of you, you've come a long way in the last year."  Vincent rested his hand upon David's shoulder as he spoke, and the youth beamed with pride and pleasure at the words of commendation from one who was a hero to him and all the other's who'd grown up after him in the tunnels.
 Vincent had been walking about the chamber during the class today, primarily because he found it so hard to sit still, the anticipation and anxiety over the coming evening intruding constantly.  But fortunately this movement was not unusual for him, and went unnoted by the class in general.  He had been continually vigilant this afternoon, to make sure that the children had his full attention, but it had been extremely difficult.  Luckily, this last historical topic was a special favorite with him, and he'd gotten fully engrossed in the discussion.  How well he remembered his and Devon's imaginary kinship with Edward, the Black Prince of Wales.  They'd fought many a battle of that era; Crecy, Poitier and Agincourt, just to name a few.  And they'd always seen those famous battles in the images of the Great Hall Tapestries, spending many Winterfest hours arguing over which battles they were and which famous knights and Lords were depicted in the pictures there.  What a time it had been!
 Suddenly he was drawn from that reverie by the pipes signaling five o'clock.  Class was over.  His students were gathering up their books and chatting avidly -- it was Friday night and they had plans to go Above for a movie tonight.  Their exit and entrance would be closely monitored and recorded by the sentries of course, to insure both their safety and the safety of their world Below.  And several helpers would be in the their vicinity, keeping a watchful but unobtrusive eye on them.  Vincent noticed that David was the somewhat uncomfortable center of attention of several of the young girls today.  Rosie especially seemed to have gained a sudden interest in History, where before Vincent had noted little (though to be fair, she was fast on her way to becoming an excellent mathematician).
 Little by little they filtered out, almost all of them thinking of something or other they needed to discuss with their teacher and mentor before they left.  Finally there was silence.  Vincent gathered up his texts and notes and headed out towards his chamber.

 Catherine and Rebecca had finished their work for the day by four-thirty, accomplishing much more than Rebecca had anticipated.  They'd made plans to work Saturday morning, but not the afternoon -- Rebecca thought they could finish the remaining monthly requirement by noon if they were lucky.  She'd thought she'd have to work through Sunday, and was immensely grateful to Catherine for her help.  Catherine was no less pleased herself, both in this unexpected ability to help with an important function here Below, and in the free time she would now have to spend with Vincent -- if he allowed it.
 She knew Vincent would return sometime between five and five-thirty and spent her free time wandering about his chamber, dreamily touching the bits and pieces of his life in passing, imagining him here with her.  She stopped in front of Kristopher's painting, stunned as usual by the intimacy of their embrace.  She sighed heavily.  Would they ever have this?  Really have it, without the advance and retreat games they always seemed to play every time things got a little too intense?  And Vincent wasn't the only one responsible; she'd done her share of retreating too -- how else to explain her involvement with Elliot and her consideration of the job in Providence?  She'd been falling in love with him, even then, and had tried to deny it to herself.  The reality was probably even more complex.  Looking back on their relationship now, she somehow knew that it hadn't really been an issue of her falling in love so much as a recognition of a love that had always been and would always be.  Scary stuff for a Manhattan Debutante whose most important decisions used to revolve around what scarf and earrings went best with the outfit of the day and whether or not pearls were appropriate.
 She shook off those thoughts and once again focused on the picture.  God, how she loved the sight of them like this!  The way Vincent held her, so possessively, so confidently.  And their expressions...  Kristopher had painted them as lovers, that much was obvious.  And she loved it's location here in Vincent's chamber, at the foot of his bed.  It had to be the last thing he saw at night and his first waking image.  She wondered what he thought when he looked upon it.  Did he see what she saw?  That he'd hung it in this significant spot gave her some hope at least.
 She stared at the picture, transfixed, suddenly feeling herself within it.  The velvet gown was heavy against her bare skin, Vincent's arms enfolding her, the hand against her shoulder and breast pulling her back to rest against his muscled length.  His other hand was painted in motion, and she felt it sweeping her arm along with his own to hold them at her waist, enclosing her completely now in his strong embrace.  Suddenly the sensation of the gown was gone and she felt her bare flesh pressed along his, the silky strength of him stunning, the intimate touch excruciating, exquisite.  Her emotions were spinning out of control, spiraling down in a dizzying, spinning current that drew her along with it, deeper...deeper...deeper within their pulsing bond until she was lost in it and lost in him.

 Vincent was nearing his chamber when he felt it.  Felt the strength of her emotions spinning around him, pulling at him, urging him down, down into the spiraling vortex of their bond.  His eyes glazed over and his steps slowed as the maelstrom of their bond swept over him.  He stumbled suddenly, falling against the rocky wall, the hard surface abruptly bringing him back into contact with the tunnels around him.  He glanced about him hastily, hoping no one had witnessed his strange behavior.  Luckily he was alone.  But he had to get out of these public walkways and into the privacy of his own chamber, and fast, before it was too late.  He ran the final steps towards the sanctity of his chamber, stumbled through the entrance and stopped, frozen at the sight of Catherine standing before Kristopher's picture, her back to him, seemingly unaware of his presence.
 His heart was pounding, his breath panting, the force of the bond pulling them together within.  He tried desperately to turn, to leave, but found himself instead walking towards her still form.  When he reached her, his arms moved instinctively to enclose her in an embrace that perfectly matched the image of the painting.  The soft wool of her sweater under his fingertips was barely noticeable to him, the bond feeding him a true, clear sensation of her silky skin instead.
 A rumbling purr filled the chamber, echoing off the rocky walls with a low, almost inaudible hum.  It vibrated through Catherine, pulling a low moan from deep within her in response.  The bond enclosed them completely now, in a swirling mass of urgent desire, their passion building to uncontrollable heights.  They stood unseeing, all their vision focused within, when suddenly the spinning whirlpool quickened, gushing downwards in a fierce rush of sluicing waters.  They were swept along irresistibly with it, crying out in ecstasy as they sank down together to the watery depths awaiting them.

 A tapping noise penetrated the thick fog surrounding him and his subconscious mind automatically translated the message.  'Eleven p.m.  Kyle, Ann, Brooke, Thomas, Rosie, David, Susie and Mark, all returning safely from Above.'  Good, they were back.  All was well.
 And with that thought he abruptly woke to find himself sitting upon the carpeted floor, his back resting against the foot of his bed.  Catherine was in his arms, the back of her spooned along his length.  He gasped in shock, the memory of their shared bond experience rushing over him in stunning clarity.  It had happened again, and so easily this time!  They hadn't even been together when it had begun.  And they hadn't even kissed, been barely touching when they'd reached the dizzying peak, falling over the edge together.  Where was this leading?  How would it end?  And how could they withstand the exquisite power of it?!
 Catherine stirred in his arms, drawn out of the still slumber enclosing her by the force of Vincent's emotions, feeling them with a strength once reserved for his sensing of hers.  Vincent knew he could ease her back into sleep, as he had last night, but strangely enough he couldn't make himself do it.  He needed her loving, soothing presence with him now, and he let her wake unhindered.  He turned her in his arms to watch her face as she woke.
 She blinked sleepily up at him, her eyes a calm sea of depthless gray.  He watched as awareness filled her, the expressions on her face moving rapidly from confusion to stunned comprehension to contented acceptance.  Her hand came up to lightly stroke the soft wool of his sweater over the center of his chest, and the purring sound heard earlier rose again.  A sigh of happiness breathed out from between her lightly parted, full lips at this rumbling evidence of his pleasure, intensely pleased that he was allowing her to share this unique response with him.
 His gaze was caught suddenly upon her trembling lips, and he couldn't help himself, leaning down to taste what she so freely offered.  The kiss was light and soothing, his mouth cherishing hers with a sweet, soft tenderness that made her want to weep.
 He pulled back from her to look into her eyes, a question in his own at the unexpected emotion now filling her.  Her hand reached up to him, and with shaking fingers gently traced his lips, finally allowing the tip of one finger to slip into the sensitive cleft there to caress the hidden, sleek flesh tenderly.  A gasping groan was pulled from him at the exquisite sensations inspired by that intimate touch.  His hand reached up to grasp her wrist, pulling her fingers down to his mouth, where he kissed each one reverently, before finally cupping her open hand in his own and leaning down to press his face against her smooth palm, his lips resting at the sensitive center in worshipful stillness.  Her words drifted down over him, a benediction that stunned him with its simplicity and truth.
 "I love you, Vincent.  I love you so much."
 He pressed a warm kiss against her palm in response to those words, then slid her hand off to one side, holding it cupped against his cheek.  Their eyes met and held, the contact immediately manifested deep within the bond, the strong sensation equally clear to them both.
 "I love you, Catherine.  And I need you.  Without you I'm lost...lost.  Never leave me, my love."
 His voice was a husky, seductive whisper, the words trembling through her very being with the force of his love, his need, unleashed now and given over to her tender care with a trust that left her stunned.
 "Never, my love, never.  As long as I live, Vincent, you'll never be alone."
 Her throat ached with poignancy as she saw the tears well up in his eyes at her fervent pledge, then she was pulled tightly against him, his arms surrounding her, her face nestled against the tender curve of his throat.  She held him with all her strength, projecting her love and constancy over the bond with an intensity that was undeniable.
 They stayed that way for a long time, the commitment of their words settling strongly within them, serenity and peace filling them in the aftermath of that acceptance.  They were on the verge of falling asleep again, when Vincent roused himself, pulling back from her to gaze into her sleepy eyes, seeing the fatigue there, just barely held at bay.
 "Come Catherine.  A minute more and we'll spend the whole night on this hard floor.  Go to bed now, we'll talk tomorrow."
 "I need to help Rebecca with the last of the candles in the morning.  We should be done by noon though."
 "In the afternoon then.  Come, you're falling asleep even as we speak."
 She nodded drowsily, and he stood up, leaving her for a moment to draw his cloak about him.  He helped her to her feet, then lifted her tenderly to hold her in his arms.  He was just exiting his chamber, when she stopped him.
 "Vincent, wait.  Could you get my nightgowns?  The ones you keep here for me."
 He knew Rebecca had included night clothes with the bundle she'd left for Catherine in the guest chamber, but he understood immediately her desire for her own gowns, the ones that held memories so strongly associated with him.  He turned back to his bureau and set her down for a moment until he'd found the two gowns she'd requested.  He handed them to her, swung her back up in his arms, then left for the guest chamber, his precious burden nestled close to his heart.

 A delicious aroma penetrated the fog of her hazy mind, pulling her up from the warm slumber claiming her.  Mmmm...  Coffee, and something warm and spicy...  She was starving!  She woke fully then, only to find Vincent sitting on the edge of her bed looking down at her, his blue eyes filled with tenderness and something more difficult to define.  Disbelief, that was it.  She knew exactly how he felt, her own mind stunned at the events of the last two days, at the changes taking place in their relationship.  But now was not the time for that, she had to leave for the candle-chamber soon.  So instead she spoke lightly, easing them into more neutral territory.
 "Is that coffee I smell, Vincent?"
 "Yes, Catherine.  And hot muffins.  I know you're starving."
 They both smiled as he put that twist on their little game, jumping past the question which was so unnecessary this morning.  He helped her sit up, piling several pillows behind her, then rose to his feet and turned to the small table at the center of the chamber.  He returned a moment later with a tray which he set upon the small bedside table.  He handed her a mug of coffee, hot and black, like she liked it, set a plate of warm muffins upon her lap, then helped himself to the other steaming mug on the tray, sipping contentedly.  Catherine knew it contained tea; coffee was something his system seemed unable to tolerate, though she wasn't sure what caused that -- it certainly couldn't be the caffeine, he took in more than his share of that, drinking herbal teas only late at night.  She sighed happily at the domestic scene enfolding them, tearing a fragrant cranberry muffin in two and handing Vincent half of it before hungrily wolfing down her own half.  She met his gaze with some embarrassment, but he only smiled and picked up another muffin, his own piece already gone.  He likewise broke this one in half, handing part to her, and they both grinned with unabashed satisfaction and good humor.

 The morning had flown by, Catherine and Rebecca working intently, both anxious to finish early and have the afternoon free.  Finally, by about eleven-thirty, they were done.  They looked at the boxes filled with fresh candles upon the work tables with well-deserved satisfaction, the fruit of their efforts plain to see in the sheer quantity before them.
 "Catherine, we've accomplished a tremendous amount in the last two days.  I could never have done it without your help -- I'd still be working on it through tomorrow at the very least without you.  I can't thank you enough."
 "I'm the one that should thank you, Rebecca.  You've given me an opportunity to really be a part of life here Below, not just a visiting helper.  I can't tell you how much that means to me."
 Rebecca made a dismissive gesture with one hand, brushing aside those thanks.  "Most of us have long since accepted your place here, Catherine.  Father's a hard nut to crack, but we all know how he feels about you.  He's a father to us all, but you and Vincent are special cases, there's something even more paternal in his treatment of you both.  He'll always see Vincent as his baby (they both grinned helplessly at that picture), and he's very protective of you too.  I know it's been hard for you two, but I'm sure it will all work out.  A love like yours has to, Catherine.  We can all see it -- it's written in the stars, destiny."
 Catherine's face suddenly wore a strange, unreadable expression and Rebecca shifted gears, lightening her words and tone.  "Some of the women will be meeting at the hot springs pool tonight, around seven-thirty.  It'll be fun, just like last Saturday.  Can you join us?"
 "Yes, I'm sure I can.  What will you be doing this afternoon?"
 "John and I are going on a picnic, we decided last night when it actually looked like we'd finish here early."
 "Really?  Are you seeing John?  When did this happen?"  She settled down for a cozy chat, time yet before either of them had to leave for their lunch dates.
 "It's not like that, we're just friends.  I've always liked him, we grew up together you know, along with Vincent, Devon and Pascal..."
 Her words trailed off suddenly and Catherine caught an odd note in her voice, a long-held suspicion firming up now at that tone.  She spoke lightly, casually, ready to pull back at the slightest sign that this was an unwanted intrusion.
 "Well now that you mention it...  I've never told you this before, but I've often thought that you and Pascal would make a good pair."  She watched Rebecca closely, without seeming to at all -- it was a skill she'd developed over her years in the D.A.'s office.  Rebecca's expression told her everything before she spoke a word.
 "Oh, Catherine...  I think so too.  But you know Pascal; he's so private, so self-contained and shy.  I don't know how he feels, and I'm not even sure how to find out.  Sometimes I get the feeling that he really cares for me, as more than a friend, but he's never made any concrete move to let me know one way or the other.  I don't know...  Maybe I'm just imaging it, because of the way I feel about him.  What would you do, Catherine?"
 Catherine sighed, unsure of what to tell her.  She'd had a similar problem with Vincent during the last two years in his refusal to tell her how he really felt.  But that was different.  She'd never doubted the strong, abiding love Vincent felt for her, despite his attempt to keep the deepest aspects of it hidden from her.  But that subterfuge seemed to be over with now, a dizzying joy filling her suddenly at the memory of last night and this morning.  She quickly shook those thoughts off, bringing her attention back to the matter at hand.
 "If you care for him, Rebecca, tell him.  You know how gentle, how kind-hearted Pascal is; he'd never let you go on hoping if he doesn't feel the same way.  And if he does feel something more than friendship for you he'd never be able to hide it if you approach him openly.  Tell him you've always cared for him, that if he feels the same way, you'd like to be more than just friends."
 "But what if he doesn't feel that way towards me, Catherine?  I'd be so embarrassed.  This is a small community and we're both members of the council; we'd still have to see each other, work together, often on a daily basis."
 "Then you'll go on being the good friends you've always been.  And you'll concentrate on John, or Stephen, or Daniel, or any other of the many men Below who would be happy to be with you, for that matter.  And who knows, perhaps you'll give Pascal something to think about in the meanwhile."
 Catherine didn't say it, not wanting to get her hopes up, but she was almost certain that Pascal cherished warmer feelings for Rebecca than he seemed comfortable in showing.  Many times, during group gatherings Below, she'd noticed him unobtrusively watching her, a sad, yearning expression on his face.
 "Whatever you do, don't let your opportunities slip by untried.  Destiny is a fine thing, but don't count on it exclusively.  Sometimes it needs a helping hand.  Believe me, I know."  She spoke these last words ruefully, and Rebecca's gaze met her own, a perfect understanding there.
 "You're right, Catherine.  I'm going to talk to him about this tomorrow, I swear."
 "And this afternoon...?"  There was a teasing note in Catherine's voice now.
 "Oh, I think I should keep my options open.  No need to waste a perfectly fine opportunity for a picnic with a handsome young man.  What do you think?"
 They both broke into giggles then, falling together to hug impulsively.
 "No need at all, Rebecca, no need at all."

 Lunch had been a relaxed affair, though Catherine had taken that opportunity to make a hearty meal -- she was quite chagrined at the reason for her appetite, hoping no one would notice and make an issue of it.  Thank God for William, who continually urged more food on his charges without giving it a second thought.
 They'd joined a small group of friends, the hour slipping by with cozy conversation.  But underneath it all, Catherine's excitement was building.  Soon, very soon now, they would have the talk she'd been so anxiously awaiting.  Finally the lunch crowd began to disperse, and she and Vincent made their excuses.  Several of the women reminded her of the hot springs get-together that evening, and she assured one and all of her intention to join them.

 "Where would you like to go, Catherine?"
 They were just outside the dining chamber now, and Catherine shivered at his words, knowing their conversation was now at hand.  She thought for a few minutes, wanting to pick the perfect place.  It had to be quiet and private, yet not seductively so -- she knew she had to retain a cool head during this discussion, the potential gains, and losses, were just too great.  Their promontory on a secluded level near the Great Falls might be ideal.  It had some natural lighting through the high domed ceiling, and was very private, the sound of the falls making it impossible to hear someone unless you were right next to them or shouting.  And the ground there was all rock, unlike some of the other watery areas below, where you could often find mossy embankments which might be perfect for a more intimate liaison.
 "How about our promontory, Vincent?"
 Vincent thought about her choice for a moment, his rationale paralleling hers.
 "Yes, I think that would be perfect."
 They immediately headed towards that spot, their hands held tight.  The twenty minute walk passed completely in silence, each reviewing their thoughts over this impending discussion.  The time seemed to fly by however, and before they knew it they were there.
 They stood looking at the grandeur of the falls across from them for a few moments, then Vincent led her over near a secluded corner and they sank down to lean against a low boulder, intentionally putting a little space between them.
 The silence now was nothing like that of their walk.  Neither knew where to begin.  Finally Vincent broke the ice.
 "Catherine, I need to tell you something."  His tone was hesitant, perhaps a little worried.  "Yesterday morning, while you were working with Rebecca, I spoke with Father about what happened between us Thursday night."
 Catherine didn't know what she'd expected, but it certainly wasn't this.  They'd eaten lunch with Father yesterday, and he hadn't acted unusual at all.  She was stunned.  Perhaps Rebecca had been right after all, maybe Father was beginning to thaw.  She'd been surprised last weekend by his acceptance of her, but now, knowing what he did...  She was absolutely incredulous.  Finally she found her voice.
 "He acted so normal at lunch yesterday -- I can't believe it!  How...how did you describe it to him?  What did he say?"
 "It was difficult, but he was prepared for the worst, and that made it easier than I thought it would be."
 "What do you mean, 'prepared for the worst'?"
 "After Thursday night, I...  I had decided that it would be best if I left for a while, went to the lower levels...to think things through -- just as you thought I might.  But I couldn't.  I couldn't leave you alone with this, not this time.  I had already taken out some clothes for the journey, and didn't put them away before I went to bed.  Father was in my chamber when I woke on Friday morning.  He knows me so well, Catherine."  This was spoken quite ruefully.  "From the looks of things, he suspected something had happened between us."
 Catherine could easily picture the scene in Vincent's chamber, glad she'd been nowhere in sight during it.  "Oh Vincent, what happened then?"  Her voice held a strong note of sympathy for him, for the ordeal he must have endured.
 "It wasn't so bad.  It seems Father has been thinking about us, about our relationship, for quite a while.  He almost seemed relieved that we were finally having that talk."  Vincent couldn't contain the stunned expression that appeared whenever he thought about that discussion.
 "Oh, I don't know.  That may not be so hard to understand.  It's how I feel, right now."  Catherine's sympathy suddenly expanded to include Father and Vincent's gaze was filled with tender understanding.
 "We spoke at cross purposes for a while.  Finally I had to be quite specific to make him understand what had occurred.  That was difficult."  What an understatement.  It had been excruciatingly painful to be so explicit concerning this development between them.  "But it's when things are most difficult that Father's counsel is most helpful, Catherine.  He takes his role of advisor to all of us quite seriously, and he is ideally suited for it.  He's quite capable of putting aside personal prejudice when rational thought is required."
 "What was his advice to you, Vincent?"  Catherine waited with baited breath for his response.
 "He asked if we'd noticed anything 'negative' about the experience.  I hadn't, and told him so.  But I couldn't speak for you, not then.  Was there anything about the experience, anything at all, that gave you pause?"  Vincent watched her closely, though he was quite sure of her response.
 She sighed heavily.  "Oh Vincent, surely you know the answer to that by now.  I felt only pleasure and love, nothing else."
 His heart tripped at the words she'd chosen.  They were exactly the same ones he had used in response to Father's question.
 "Vincent."  She paused for a moment, uncertain of how to phrase her question.
 "You've always been far more in tune with the bond than me.  Did you ever suspect it was capable of this?"
 He shook his head fiercely.  "Never Catherine.  I never could have imagined such a thing in my wildest dreams."
 "What made it manifest itself now?  Was it our kisses?"  She asked this somewhat shyly, a blush on her face at the memory of the intensely erotic kisses they'd shared.
 Vincent spoke shyly in turn.  "Perhaps.  But I think it had more to do with the deeper emotional level associated with our kissing, than with the kisses themselves.  Last night we didn't kiss at all..."
 They were both quiet then, reviewing that tumultuous event with stunned awe.  Finally Catherine spoke.
 "Did Father...  Did he say what he thought we should do now?"  Catherine almost wished she could take back that question.  It should only matter what they thought, but deep inside she knew better.  Vincent would always seek Father's advice, though whether or not he followed it was another matter.
 "He thought, if there was nothing negative associated with the experience, that we should take advantage of this situation.  That it might give us the emotional...and physical...fulfillment we wouldn't otherwise have."  His voice dropped low at the last words, embarrassment and shame filling him at the knowledge that the limitations of their relationship were due to him alone.  Catherine read his thoughts clearly.
 "Oh Vincent, despite what we don't have, I've never been so fulfilled.  Never!  You give me so much.  There's no way to explain how you've filled all the empty spots inside of me, given me a life of true meaning and value.  There's no way to measure that.  And if we can have this...  Oh Vincent, say we can, please.  Father's right, this is a way for us to have what's missing in our relationship.  What reason could there be to deny ourselves this?"
 Vincent's eyes were suddenly filled with hesitation.  Catherine caught that concern immediately.
 "What is it, Vincent.  Tell me."
 "Catherine, both times we've experienced this, at the end (his voice was tinged with shyness even at that oblique reference to the stunningly climactic nature of this new phenomenon), I've gotten what appears to be a deeper impression of our connection, of all it is capable of.  I think there is yet more to it than we know about now.  I don't know in what way, and it's hard to believe there could be more than this, but I think there is.  I'm afraid that once we make this choice there will be no going back.  That in choosing this we also choose the unknown."
 Catherine sighed, uncertain of how to explain what she knew, in the deepest part of herself.  "Vincent, we don't choose the unknown, it has chosen us.  We're something special, Vincent, something unique.  What's between us is meant to be, I know that, and I think you do too.  I choose you, Vincent.  I choose us.  What will you choose?"  She waited patiently, knowing they'd finally reached the crux of the argument; a leap of faith, it all came down to that.
 Vincent looked deep within himself, within their bond where Catherine waited for him to make the decision that would change their lives...forever.  Finally he spoke.
 "You, Catherine.  I choose you."
 Their shaking hands met across the smooth surface of the low boulder between them, the decision made.

 Catherine leaned dreamily against Vincent's arm, hazily aware of Father's voice, but absolutely unable to concentrate on the words.  He was reading from Little Women(3), a continuation of last Saturday's story hour, as had been Vincent's earlier chapter from Huckleberry Finn(4).  She and several other women had returned from the hot springs bathing pool just as Vincent had started to read, relaxation strumming through her in waves from the heat of the pool and the cozy conversation there.  She couldn't stop drawing parallels between tonight and exactly one week ago.  As on that night, she now listened to Father dressed in her nightclothes, her hair still damp from its recent washing.  Last weekend had been special, miraculous...  For twenty-four hours she'd actually felt like a part of them.  She'd even been able to imagine what it might be like for her and Vincent to live a life together.  And it had been glorious.  But nothing could compare to what had occurred during the last few days...nothing!  A word whispered through her insistently, much as she tried to push it aside, to mute the overwhelming thoughts that went with it.  Wife.  She felt like his wife now.
 Vincent was as unaware of Father's words as was Catherine.  She leaned against him, a welcome weight at his side, his cheek resting against her damp hair.  He surreptitiously breathed in the floral scent there, part herbal shampoo, part Catherine.  He'd been in a daze ever since their conversation at the promontory this afternoon.  They'd wandered around aimlessly after that, no destination in mind, just the need to be together.  Somehow he'd managed to make it through supper, his usual after-supper chess game with Father, and his story hour reading with apparently modest success (though he'd lost at chess again, just like last Saturday night, much to his chagrin), but he could hardly remember a minute of any of it now.
 Suddenly they became aware of motion about them.  Story hour was over, people were wandering slowly out of the chamber, stopping and chatting in small, cozy groups.  They made their way out of the chamber, mercilessly unapproached by anyone thanks to the watchful eyes of Catherine's bathing companions upon the children and Jamie's vigilant containment of Mouse.  Though they thought their behavior was beyond suspect, no one had missed the blissful haze surrounding them.  Many knowing smiles were exchanged, to Father's rueful chagrin, completely unseen by the oblivious couple.

 Minutes later they entered Vincent's chamber.  Vincent kicked his boots off and took his usual spot on the bed and Catherine settled into his large chair near the table.  She felt a momentary twinge of disappointment as the memory of last weekend washed over her, of how their places had miraculously been reversed, much to her amazement and joy.  Don't rush things, Cathy.  One step at a time.
 A moment later however she had sudden cause to be extremely thankful for their relative positions in the chamber.  Vincent turned away from her to stretch across to the stained-glass inset on the shelf at the far side of the bed.  The central piece had long ago been carefully cut away from the surrounding weld line, and he plucked it out now, holding on to a jutting metal ingot of the design at its center.  He reached into the open area to remove the short stub remaining of the 24 hour candle he always kept behind there to keep his chamber in a perpetual glow of false dawn (or dusk, depending on his imaginary preferences of the moment).  He lit a new one stashed to one side of that ledge, set it back on the recessed area behind the glass and replaced the central figurine.  It was quickly done, the action second nature to him after all these years, but Catherine enjoyed the view immensely, brief though it was.
 Vincent turned back to her and picked up a book from a stack on the nightstand.  "Jane Eyre(5), Catherine?  We can take up where we left off last weekend."
 "Yes, please."
 Vincent's melodious voice began where they had ended, and Catherine sighed in relaxed contentment.  Sometime later Vincent looked up, sensing an inexplicable sorrow from her through the bond.  She didn't seem to be aware that he'd stopped reading, an inward-looking expression on her face.
 "Tell me, Catherine."
 Those words, so uniquely his own, penetrated the fog surrounding her, drawing her out of the sad reverie claiming her.
 "Jane and Edward.  They had to go through so much before they could be together.  Like us.  Why does life work like that, Vincent?  Two years.  Why couldn't the bond have shown us this two years ago?"
 "I don't know, Catherine.  Perhaps we needed to experience the bitter before we could appreciate the sweet."  His expression changed suddenly from thoughtful reflectance to self-condemnation.  His voice was harsh when he spoke his next words.  "Then again, perhaps it wasn't the bond at all, maybe it was only my own fears that have held us back."  He was lost suddenly in the guilt that thought invited.
 "No, Vincent.  Stop it."
 He was drawn out of that introspection by her words and by the touch of her hand against his cheek.  She sat facing him on the bed now, a fact that astonished him -- he'd been completely unaware of her movement.
 "I don't know why things have happened the way they did, in the time they did, but I do know that there is a purpose to it, to all of it.  You aren't responsible, Vincent...you aren't.  I'm sorry, so sorry, if I made it sound that way.  I think you were right the first time -- the bitter and the sweet.  We've certainly experienced the bitter, but the sweetness has made it all worthwhile.  And I wouldn't change anything, even if I could.  Everything we went through, both the pain and the pleasure, has been part of what has led us here today.  Their irrevocably mixed, Vincent, the bitter and the sweet."
 "Bridgit O'Donnell"  Vincent whispered the name, his gaze unfocused, almost as if he were talking to himself.
 "What about Bridgit, Vincent?"
 "When she spoke about the memories of her life with Ian, she said "Tis such a sweet pain."
 "Yes."  Catherine nodded solemnly, understanding Brigitte's words at their deepest level.  "And now we've been given this gift, a sweetness beyond compare."
 Her words were a husky whisper, a seductive sound that drew him towards her irresistibly, though he moved not at all, his eyes focusing back on her face with an intensity he couldn't control.
 "It's ours, Vincent, yours and mine.  And it is sweet...so very, very sweet."  She was slowly leaning towards him with each whispered word, her intent plain.  Finally their lips were only an inch apart.  She breathed her final words against him, their meaning more felt than heard.  "Love me now, Vincent.  Share that sweetness with me again.  Please."
 Vincent sat perfectly still, his eyes pinned upon her luscious lips, so close to him now.  His hand slowly came up to slip through the silky strands of her hair, sliding back until his palm rested at the curve of her neck, his thumb stroking gently along the sensitive skin in front of her ear, tracing the last scar remaining there.
 They stayed that way for some space of time Catherine could not measure, her only awareness that of his deep blue eyes gazing intently into hers, the erotic curves of his slightly parted lips, and the grounding touch of his fingers against her skin.  They were both breathing heavily now, each breath they took shared by the other.  Sweet, so sweet...
 The fabric of space and time changed yet again, and she was suddenly aware of the increased pressure of his hand against her neck as he drew her to him, their lips finally meeting in that long-awaited kiss.
 And this kiss, so consciously chosen between them, so vividly imagined a few minutes since, was sweeter than any that had come before.  They started out slowly, their lips no more than brushing against each other, their concentration focused entirely upon the different textures, hers satiny smooth, his an intoxicating blend of contrasting silkiness.
 Catherine settled there leisurely, as if she had no intention of leaving for a long, long time.  She nibbled against the curves of his lower lip, moving from one corner to the other, covering that area completely.  Vincent's sudden stillness against her told her of his desire to take this pleasure from her and experience it completely.  A joyful singing rang through the bond as Catherine celebrated this move forward on his part, this willingness to take what she offered, what he needed.
 She moved to repeat those motions on his fascinating upper lip, and felt more than heard the small, sudden intake of breath from him, knowing that sound indicated his anticipation of her intimate touch in that oh-so-sensitive cleft at its center.  But she took her time now, letting that anticipation grow to dizzying heights, knowing the sensation would be all the sweeter for the wait.  After she'd nibbled along the whole luscious length of him, she licked against that tender flesh, urging his lips apart little by little.
 He was panting now, his breath gusting against her hungry lips as she moved upon him.  He couldn't contain the groan building in his chest; it rumbled through him to erupt in a low growl beneath her.  She gave in then, flicking her tongue lightly against his quivering cleft over and over again, each touch delving deeper into the hidden recesses there.  Finally that sensitive tissue was spread apart fully, pushed and held wide by her questing lips and tongue, the intoxicating sensations an incredible pleasure that he could not deny.  He was shaking, his passion building until he could stay still no longer.  His arms tightened around her then, pulling her against and across his reclining form until she nestled at his side, his mouth taking hers deeply, urgently, their tongues twining in glorious ecstasy.
 He pulled away from her suddenly to bury his face against her pulsing throat, gasping moans pulled from him, the sound a sweet yearning she could never get enough of.  "Oh Catherine...Catherine..."
 She wasn't sure if he said the words, or only thought them along their bond, it was irrelevant really.  She groaned in response, calling out his name hazily, the sound of it echoing through them both.
 They were sinking deeply into the bond now, the eddying waves building and expanding around them moment by moment.  It began as a pulsing in the very air around them, then quickly sank within, the nature of it indefinable.  The throbbing was physical as well as emotional, the sensation that of a swelling and receding tide.
 Catherine felt that tide rising against her, filling her completely, retreating only to return again, each wave more powerful than the last.
 Vincent ached, positively ached with his need of her, the swelling currents of his passion crashing against the soft, yielding inlets of her desire, demanding entrance.
 The surging rapids met and combined, building to a tidal wave of devastating proportions.  It swept down over them with an unimaginable force, pounding through them with frantic urgency.  Over and over again it thundered through them with a power that could not be denied.
 His mouth and teeth moved with an irresistible insistency over the tender flesh of her throat, their bodies quivering as the erotic sensations filled them, pushed them beyond any ability or desire to resist.
 "Now, Vincent, please, oh please..."  Catherine whimpered in desperation, her need an aching, yearning hunger that overwhelmed her completely.
 Vincent responded to her plea immediately, his mouth taking hers again with a passionate intensity that plumbed the very depths of her soul, holding her writhing body beneath him as the final, tumultuous waves crashed over them with a stunning, battering force that consumed them utterly.  Their bodies convulsed together in an ecstatic agony of release, Catherine's cries lost in the rushing roar that filled the chamber.
 Finally all sound disappeared, pulled back down into the spiraling vortex of the maelstrom collapsing about them.  It covered them with a deep, dark stillness, a complete absence of all light and sound.  They gave in to it willingly, gladly, love and contentment rippling through them in shimmering waves until there was nothing but the bottomless well of their bond, holding them safe and enclosed within.

 Catherine floated in a sea of soft, airy clouds, a comforting, blanketing warmth surrounding and supporting her.  A warm weight rested against her and she instinctively moved to cuddle closer to it, to move to its very center and become one with it.  A soft, hazy light now glowed through her waking awareness, the details of her surroundings settling upon her with a peaceful serenity.
 Vincent...  She was with Vincent, in his bed.  The memory of last night washed over her, filling her with a sweet satisfaction that was indescribable.  Their waking positions were almost exactly the reverse of last Sunday, and Catherine smiled drowsily at that happy comparison.  Only one thought disturbed her in any way; and that was the fact that they were both still dressed as they had been when they'd first entered the chamber last night.  She was frankly astonished by it; she could have sworn they'd lain naked together, the feel of his golden, silk-covered flesh clear to her even now.  She slept against Vincent's side, her leg curved over his, her hand resting upon his breast, caressing him tenderly.  Catherine couldn't stop the sighs of pleasure that filled her, wishing this moment might go on forever.
 Vincent floated upwards towards consciousness slowly, easily, feeling her warm, soft weight and gentle touch.  He pulled her more tightly against himself, his hands moving lightly along her back.  The sensations of her filled him completely, his hold tightening about her as a rumbling purr rose from his chest to fill the chamber.
 Catherine sighed with delight, rubbing his chest more strongly now to encourage that lovely sound.  She wondered if he would pull away from her once he fully woke, as he had last week, but it was only an idle thought.  They were in a transition phase, she saw it clearly, sure of the final outcome, though she thought perhaps Vincent didn't yet see it.  No matter.  She knew; it was as plain as plain could be -- all their dreams were coming true, at long last.  It had been a long road to this point, but she could see the end now.  And she would nurture and protect him through this transition, knowing that some fears yet remained.
 Still, much as she saw that future, felt its inevitability in the deepest part of herself, it was almost impossible to imagine that there could be a pleasure more intense than what they'd experienced last night.  Yet she knew it was true.  From what little he'd said about it at their promontory, she knew Vincent suspected it himself, even though she was sure he couldn't comprehend the sheer magnitude of such a power any more than she could.  The episode Friday in his chamber which had started with them apart and ended with them barely touching was more intense, more erotic than any purely physical experience of her life.  Yet when that had been combined with their touching and kissing, as on Thursday at the music chamber, and again last night in Vincent's chamber, the sensations had been magnified to unbelievable heights.  It was almost as if that touch completed an electrical current between them that allowed their bond to expand ten-fold, the pleasure almost excruciating in its desperate, fierce force.  She shivered with anticipation, the thought almost frightening in its intensity.
 Vincent began to wake fully as Catherine's erotic musings drifted over him.  They seeped into the edges of his lazy contentment to lowly stir the embers of his desire, though they still were banked, almost buried by the avalanche of the events so few hours before.  He slowly became aware of their intertwined limbs, of her hand on his breast, his own upon her back.  He remembered a similar waking last week, and his panicked response to it.  He searched himself for that fear now, and though he could feel its presence deep within, he couldn't rouse himself to respond to it this morning.  He knew Catherine was awake, could feel her easily through the bond.  She was deeply happy, a sweet satisfaction filling her.  Suddenly she rose up on one elbow to look into his eyes, not removing her touch from him, though her hand was still now, resting against him softly.  Her eyes confirmed all he'd felt through the bond, shining into his with a joyful light.  That light shone through him, filling him, his heart quickening suddenly in response.  She leaned down slowly and their lips met in a slow, searching kiss, her hand moving again in a tender caress upon him.  A purring sigh filled the room, and he pulled back from her in shocked amazement -- that sound wasn't coming from him.  Their eyes met, his incredulous, her shyly smiling.  They fell together in a heap then, hugging and laughing in giddy joy.

 The dining hall was quite full when they finally arrived for breakfast, but Kanin and Olivia were just leaving, so Vincent and Catherine took their spots, joining Father, Mary, Jamie, Mouse, Rebecca and Pascal.  'Good mornings' rang out around the table and Vincent immediately walked to Pascal's side to rest his hand upon his shoulder in greeting.  "It's good to see you here, Pascal.  It's been too long since I've seen you in the dining hall, sharing a meal with us.  What brings you away from your pipes this morning?"
 Catherine exchanged a sympathetic, supportive glance with Rebecca, sure that her friend was taking the right step today.  She glanced surreptitiously at Pascal then, curious as to his response.
 Rebecca and I are going to check out that new side tunnel you and Kanin opened up to see what kind of lighting and pipe requirements there are.  Stephen's very good, he can handle the pipes for a few hours."
 "Better than good, better than best.  Has to be or Pascal'd never leave!"  Mouse shook his head wildly for emphasis, his eyes wide with amazement at Pascal's defection of his beloved pipes.  Everyone at the table grinned at the truth of his words, even Pascal smiled in wry agreement.  Luckily for him, Mouse moved on quickly to his next target, turning to Catherine.
 "Didn't know you'd stay so long, Catherine.  Should've said.  Next time tell Mouse.  You, me, Vincent, we'll hang out.  Better visit -- right?!"
 The tone of the smiles by the others changed then, and Catherine was suddenly covered by an irresistible blush.  Vincent managed to maintain his composure, though just barely, the knowing smiles of the others discomfiting him considerably.
 "I'm sorry, Mouse, you're right.  During Catherine's next visit we'll plan an outing for just the three of us."
 "That sounds wonderful, Vincent.  But I think Jamie had better come too, don't you, Mouse?"  Catherine glanced at Jamie only to see that her own blush was apparently contagious.
 "Course.  I go, Jamie goes.  Same thing."  Mouse shrugged as if that were a given.
 The conversation degenerated somewhat then as Jamie took issue with Mouse's words, claiming they made her sound like some piece of luggage he had to haul around the tunnels.  Mouse hotly denied that had been his meaning, and things went merrily on from there, relaxed laughter seemingly the order of the day.  Catherine took that opportunity to unobtrusively watch Father.  He was uncharacteristically quiet today, but not in what she would have called a bad way.  She let her appraisal linger upon him a little too long, and suddenly he met her gaze, humorous understanding plain upon his face.  She blushed again, wandering what in the world he was thinking of.  She soon found out.  As the group broke up to go their separate ways, Father skillfully maneuvered them off to one side of chamber, out of the earshot of the passing tunnel dwellers.
 "Catherine, when will you be returning Above?"
 She answered warily, wondering whether this was meant as a hint of sorts.  "I should leave soon, Father, I've got some catching up to do before tomorrow."
 "But you have a little time yet surely?  Could you spare me half an hour, in my study, say in ten minutes?  I'm sure Vincent can find something to do in the meantime."
 Vincent and Catherine exchanged a long look, communication flowing between them.  Catherine knew that he would get her out of this meeting if she so chose.  She also knew that he was leaving it up to her.  But Catherine didn't want out of this discussion; Vincent had had his private talk with Father, now it was her turn.  There was a sort of symmetry to it that appealed to her.
 "That would be fine, Father.  I'll see you in your study in ten minutes."

 "Ah, Catherine, there you are.  Come in, my dear.  Would you like some tea?  William just left a pot of Earl Grey."  Father sat at his desk, several text books spread out around him along with a pile of scribbled notes.  His glasses were perched precariously on the end of his nose and a steaming cup of tea rested at his elbow.  All in all he was the stereotypical image of an absentminded professor.
 Catherine had gathered a wary, hard shell around her in preparation for this meeting, but the rumpled, good-humored picture he presented melted that shell away without warning.  She sighed resignedly, joining him at his desk.
 "Thank you, Father, I think I will."  The tea did smell marvelous.
 Father turned away for a moment, then returned to the desk, setting a hot cup of tea in front of her.  Instead of moving to his chair across from her, he pulled up another next to her, coming to the point immediately.
 "I take it Vincent has told you about the talk he and I had on Friday?"
 Catherine nodded warily.
 "Good.  I thought that must be the case, but I just wanted to make sure."  He paused for a few minutes then, sipping his tea, a reflective expression on his face.
 "I can't pretend to understand this entirely, I don't think anyone but you and Vincent can do that, but I want you to know that I'm here for you.  I know I haven't always supported your relationship with Vincent, I know I haven't always been fair to you."
 He hesitated for a moment, then went on resolutely.  "But even a deaf, dumb and blind man could see which way the wind blows with you two.  Don't get me wrong; there's still much that I believe would be unwise between you, though I must admit, I've had to rethink a lot in the last few weeks in this regard."  A far-away look overtook him then, as if seeing a progression of events she could only guess at.
 Finally he refocused his gaze back on her.  "Catherine, I know it sounds trite, but it's true nonetheless; what I've done in the past was always out of love.  I couldn't stand the thought of Vincent being hurt; I've seen the traumatic effects of it too many times during his childhood and teenage years, especially with Lisa...  But I know that there is only one thing that can irreparably hurt him now -- your absence.  He's my son..."
 His voice broke slightly and Catherine gazed intently at him, tied to him by the love they both felt for Vincent.  "Sometimes when I first catch a glimpse of him, when he just walks into my study or when I hear him say 'Father' just before I turn to see him...I actually see the little boy he was, looking up at me with those trusting blue eyes under that mop of golden hair..."
 Father's eyes teared up suddenly at that nostalgic image, as did Catherine's at the love she felt so clearly from him.
 "I want what every father wants, Catherine, for their children to be happy.  I know I made mistakes with both Devon and Vincent, and with you, but I'm trying to rectify those mistakes, to the best of my ability.  I think Devon and I are back on track now.  And with your help, despite my fears, I think Vincent is learning to accept his rightful place in your heart.  I want to be a part of that, Catherine.  I hope you'll let me."
 Catherine was stunned, hardly able to get beyond the sentence in which he'd included her with Devon and Vincent.  And that last part!  Would miracles never cease?!  Suddenly she was overwhelmed by the magnitude of it all; first the incredible changes in their relationship and their bond, now this.  She couldn't stop herself then, leaning over to hug him fiercely, intensely grateful for his steady presence.
 "Of course Father.  How could you not be a part of Vincent?  A part of us?  It would be impossible, unthinkable.  You've always protected him, always.  I wish I could say the same of myself, but I can't.  I look back now at the terrible risks I've exposed him to, and I'm so ashamed, Father.  Sometimes...sometimes I think I resented you because you made it all too difficult for me to ignore that guilt."  She looked highly uncomfortable at that admission.
 Father sighed heavily.  "Love makes us do strange things, Catherine.  I can't deny how angry I was at some of those episodes which I thought were caused by sheer foolhardiness, on both your parts.  But now...now I'm not so sure that I wasn't partly to blame too.  Perhaps those were desperate, unconscious attempts to be together when I was making it so difficult for you to do that here, in the safety of the tunnels.  I don't know..."
 Catherine rested her hand on his arm reassuringly, her expression filled with sympathy and understanding.  "Don't Father, don't blame yourself.  You're right, love does make us do strange things.  Maybe now we can work together, rather than fighting against each other. to make sure that Vincent stays happy and safe.  It's what I want too -- more than anything."
 "Happy and safe.  You're right, Catherine.  That is my objective now, for both of you."  He covered her hand with his own, and their gazes locked in acceptance and understanding.  A few minutes later he cleared his throat roughly and leaned back in his chair, attempting to regain the dignity which seemed to have deserted him some time since.  Finally he moved back to the topic which had initiated this conversation.
 "Catherine, do you have any concerns about this new development between you and Vincent?  I don't know if I can be of any help, but I want you to be able to come to me for anything, especially now."
 "Why 'especially now', Father?  Do you have some concerns about us?"
 Jacob paused for a moment before going on.
 "Vincent told me that he thinks there's much yet to be discovered in this connection between you.  He doesn't know where it will lead, and that worries him of course.  And though I have a hard time comprehending it, Vincent told me enough to make me realize, even if he can't yet see it or accept it, where this will lead you."  He looked at her searchingly, his gaze intent.  "But you know, don't you."  It wasn't really a question.
 "Yes, I think I do."  Catherine met his gaze plainly.
 He watched her for a moment, then nodded once.  "Good.  Then I can count on you to be responsible.  I think Vincent will deny the possibility to the very end, but you can be prepared.  I ask only two things of you in this regard; that if and when you reach that point, you'll make sure you're Below, just in case anything unexpected happens, and that you'll take preventative precautions, again just in case.  Peter and I have discussed this over the years, admittedly as only an academic exercise until you entered Vincent's life, but now perhaps we should pursue this issue again, run some test, do some research...  Medicine and test methods have advanced tremendously in the last decade.  Who knows what we'll find out.  Do you agree, Catherine?"
 She could hardly find her voice, her mind reeling with the idea that Father had actually given them a blessing of sorts.  Finally she was able to speak.  "Yes, to both, Father.  But now I have my own request."  Jacob looked surprised at that.
 "Sometimes it seems that Vincent isn't afforded the same degree of privacy as the others here Below.  We both know how everyone comes and goes from his chamber, sometimes it's an endless stream, and he can't seem to say 'no'.  We've been lucky this weekend, but I don't want to have to be worrying about that, especially now.  Can you help us?"
 "Yes, of course I can.  And you're right, we do take his presence and his privacy for granted.  I'm glad you're looking out for him, Catherine, I believe I could get used to the sharing of that duty."
 They both smiled then in perfect understanding and agreement.

 Vincent stood at the entry to their music chamber, his eyes immediately finding the ivory silk shawl lying on the woven rug.  He picked it up, stroking the silky softness of it reverently, recalling perfectly the image of it wrapped around Catherine.  His gaze turned inward to the events of several nights past.  Heavenly...glorious...  The memory of that night and of all that had followed was overwhelming to him.  It had begun here...
 His gaze crystallized on the chamber once more.  It was as they'd left it on Thursday, quite an aberration for him.  This chamber was exposed to the elements by the grate overhead and he always put everything safely away shortly after each use.  But this weekend had been an exception to everything it seemed.  He sighed happily and began to pick up the odds and ends there, hauling them to a small, enclosed chamber closely located to this one.  At last he carried the rolled up woven rug away, and everything was done.  He checked on Catherine once more through the bond (he'd done it several times during her talk with Father) -- everything was fine.  He had a strong curiosity about what they were discussing, but had decided that he wouldn't ask.  Catherine would tell him if she needed to, and he wanted to encourage a closer relationship between the two people he loved most in the world.  He picked up the silk shawl and headed back towards the home tunnels.

 Moments later he entered his chamber to find Catherine standing once again before Kristopher's painting of them.  Rebecca's borrowed clothes were folded into a neat pile on the foot of his bed and she again wore the ivory dress from Thursday night, the plunging back baring her silky skin to his eager eyes.  She was so beautiful...
 He stood quietly for a moment, then walked towards her, dropping her shawl upon the bed in passing.  Then he was standing behind her, his hands gently cupping her shoulders.
 Catherine sighed at the feel of his hands against her, stunned at how far they'd come in the last few days.  But she was surprised even further when she felt him lean down and press a warm kiss against her bare shoulder blade, a shudder running down her length at that intimate sensation.
 He straightened up, his hair brushing along her sensitized skin, to whisper in her ear.  "I love this dress, Catherine.  Will you wear it for me on our third anniversary?"
 She shivered with pleasure, both at his words and his touch, her mind spinning in lazy circles.  "Yes, oh yes.  I'll wear it for you on our third anniversary, Vincent, and whenever else you like."
 His arms slid around her then, copying the pose in the painting exactly.  He stared at it, feeling something different.  Suddenly he knew what it was.  He saw them, in that loving pose, confidence and love radiating through them both, but that question he'd always asked himself was nowhere in sight now.  Suddenly he saw nothing unusual in their provocative embrace.  It looked right...felt right.  His intense concentration on the painting was interrupted by the sound of Catherine's voice.
 "We're changing, Vincent...the bond is changing.  We're becoming what Kristopher painted.  He saw the truth, right from the start..."  Her words trailed off as she stared at their image on the canvas, suddenly feeling as if the couple there stared back at them, confirmation and encouragement in their loving gaze.
 Vincent saw it too, felt the indelible truth of her words.  Fate, destiny...  He'd fought against those words, against what they represented.  Not for him.  He'd always known that his unique existence was inexplicably preordained for some purpose, some reason beyond his understanding.  He'd reflected on that often through his young adulthood, coming to the conclusion that the pain of his solitary existence was the price to be paid in the fulfillment of that destiny, whatever it might be.  Over time he'd come to believe that it was somehow tied to the safety and protection of their precious community, that it was his role to ensure that that community survived and flourished; to keep this place a safe haven for those whom society Above discarded without thought, to nurture the talents and skills undiscovered or unappreciated by a world that valued the material above all else.
 No, it wasn't for his sake that he questioned the concept of destiny, it was for Catherine's.  To tie her, a creature of air and light, to his world of earthen darkness seemed a crime beyond compare.  And yet his love for her, his need for her, was unending.  This was his struggle, always.  He felt those fears still, but they were tempered now by a deeper vision; an image of them together that was irresistible, unshakable...destined...
 He swallowed hard, wondering if his acceptance of this change in their relationship was due to that preordained fate he felt so strongly in his own life, or if it was purely his own selfish desire for her.  He knew that he would have to give much thought to this before he led Catherine to believe that there might be no boundaries between them at all.  He was suddenly grateful that he and Kanin had yet a full week in the lower levels to finish opening those new tunnels they'd been working on.  He could use that isolation to give this serious thought without worrying Catherine needlessly.  And he was immensely happy that he wouldn't have to invent a reason for the coming, necessary separation, as he'd had to do every month at this time during the last two years...
 Vincent was lost in these thoughts and plans, Catherine's voice once again drawing him out of his reverie.  She turned in his arms to face him now, her gaze holding his intently.
 "Vincent, I want you to promise me something."  She looked a little hesitant then, as if she were questioning the wisdom of this request.
 "What is it, Catherine?  You know I would do anything within my power for you.  Tell me."
 "This change in our relationship...we weren't prepared for it.  During the concert on Thursday, then in your chamber on Friday...those events occurred despite our intentions, because we just didn't know what was happening to us.  Last night was different.  We chose it, Vincent, you and I.  I needed us to experience that by our own choice, to know that what we share is not completely beyond our control.  And because...  Well, just because I wanted to feel those sensations with you again."  Catherine blushed but couldn't contain a sigh of pleasure as the memory of last night swept over her again.
 "I want to know that if you need me, you won't hesitate, you won't wait for me to come to you.  I know that will be difficult for you, Vincent.  But promise me you'll try."
 Vincent caught his breath at her request.  He hadn't expected this.  And Catherine was right, regardless of his need, he probably wouldn't have initiated that intimacy between them.  He didn't know if he could, even now.  He was struggling with his response, when Catherine spoke again.
 "And remember, Vincent, we weren't together when it began on Friday."  She met his gaze, her own intense.  He understood immediately what she was telling him.  He hesitated for a moment more, choosing his words carefully.
 "I'll try, Catherine."
 It was the most he could offer and she accepted it gratefully, leaning in to hold him tight.  His arms came up around her and he was caught by surprise once again by the open back of the dress,  His hands stilled by the sudden, unexpected feel of her bare, silky flesh beneath them.  It took a massive effort, though only a moment passed, then finally she felt his hands relax upon her, stroking her skin lightly, softly, a whispered sigh breathed near her ear.  He was suddenly overwhelmed by all that had occurred over the last few days, the weight of it, of all it meant settling upon him strongly.  He needed time now, time to think, time to reflect...
 He pulled gently back from her, his hands moving to hold her arms lightly.  "We should go now, Catherine.  Do you have everything?"
 Catherine saw the turmoil and confusion in his eyes and knew he needed some space now, some time to assimilate this awesome change between them.  She knew there was a risk here, that he might decide to step back yet again, but there was no gain without risk.  And besides, she knew now how it would all end -- it was only a matter of time, of that she was certain.  She would wait, for whatever time it took.  She took another step back from him, a tremulous smile on her lips as she struggled to gather her control about her.
 "I'm ready, Vincent.  I do need to go over some files yet today."
 Vincent released her arms, unable to resist one last, subtle caress along their smooth surface before he withdrew his touch entirely.  Catherine shivered at that intimate touch, goosebumps rising along her flesh.
 "My shawl...  Vincent, I had an ivory shawl when I came down on Thursday -- I'd forgotten all about it.  Have you seen it?
 Vincent turned away from her for a moment, picking up something from his bed.  When he turned back to her he held the silk shawl.
 Catherine blinked it surprise at its sudden appearance, turning so that he could wrap it around her.  His hands rested against her shoulders again for a brief minute, then slid down to take one of her hands in his.  They turned silently and left the chamber.

*    *    *

 Catherine tossed and turned, unable to get to sleep.  Saturday seemed lightyears away, though in reality it was less than 48 hours now before she would see him again.  Whether they were finished or not, Vincent and Kanin would be returning by late tomorrow for at least a weekend break.  Catherine could hardly wait.  These last five days had crept by with a snails pace, nearly driving her to distraction.  She could feel Vincent through the bond so clearly now, and it seemed to get a little stronger every day.  There was something strange though, about the last day or so.  It almost seemed as if her perception of the bond had dimmed somewhat during that time.  She'd worried constantly at work today, wondering if her awareness was affected by distance, dismayed at the possibility that she might never have the degree of sensitivity to it that Vincent had.
 At least she was sure that Vincent was all right, she could sense enough to tell that.  But her restlessness increased as the day wore on, and now, though it was two a.m. it was almost overwhelming.  Suddenly the muted sensation of the bond disappeared, Vincent's emotions washing over her in a flood of crystal clarity.  She gasped as his need throbbed through her, understanding now the reason for his earlier blocking of the bond.  She heard him so clearly then, his thoughts instantly translated to words through their pulsing bond.
 'I need you, Catherine.  I need you, my love.  Be with me now...''
 She gasped in joyful ecstasy as she felt the bond filling with his presence, felt herself drawn within it to join with him in rapturous splendor.  The bond spun out of control then, pulling them along with an urgent intensity that neither tried to resist.
 'Yes, my love, always...I'm with you always...'

*    *    *

1. Apologies to William Cartwright (No Platonic Love)
2. William Shakespeare (Henry V)
3. Louisa May Alcott (Little Women)
4. Mark Twain (Huckleberry Finn)
5. Charlotte Bronte (Jane Eyre)

*    *    *
 

TO PART THREE

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