The Walls Grew Thin - Part 2

Teri

Authors notes

There's a scene in this story blatantly taken from (and expanded upon, albeit with a twist) Sue Glasgow's zine, 'When the Phoenix Sings'. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, and that was certainly my intent in writing it. I always wanted more of that scene, and I suppose this is my way of getting it. Some very precious moments of my BATB imagery come from Sue's work, and many other fanfic authors - Linda Barth, Lynette Combs, Pamela Garrett and Diane Davis, to name a few. Through them and others, the story of Beauty and the Beast has been richly portrayed and expanded, giving us all a wonderful fictional world in which to play.

The walls between the worlds grew thin,
And sanctuary beckoned in.

"Dance with me, Catherine."

This time the husky request had nothing to do with dancing, and Catherine's heart skipped a beat.

"Vincent?" she whispered, unable to truly believe that they might have moved so far this night.

He didn't answer, not with words, instead leaning in close, his hand still pressed tight to her breast, to take her mouth in a kiss that made her head spin. Without hesitation she surrendered to him, her mouth opening beneath the demand of his, a sinuous movement of her torso nestling her breast even tighter within the waiting heat of his palm. Since they'd returned from the Great Hall, the aggression up to this point - much to her amazement - had been largely his, with a little help from her. She smiled when, with an abrupt gasp, his mouth released hers in response to her immediate and utter capitulation.

He didn't stay away for long, though. His eyes met hers and in them she saw a hunger that was fast growing beyond containment. The events of the last twenty-four hours had wrought chaos and confusion in him, but now those tumultuous emotions fell away, the pure passion of his love taking their place instantly and without thought. He came back to her and his tongue sought hers longingly, caressing her with masterful strokes that were astonishing. Was it really only hours ago that they had shared their first, real kiss? This kiss they shared now was so familiar, she knew it in the deepest part of herself, as if they had tasted it countless times before. She didn't question that certainty, she couldn't, it simply was. Instead she did the only thing possible under the circumstances, kissing him back with all the love and passion of her being, telling him with her heart and mind and body that he was all there was, all there ever could be.

Her body shivered uncontrollably and she tightened her hold about him, groaning his name with a sigh. When he pulled away she cried out reflexively, needing him back, aching at his absence. It took a moment before his odd pose broke through the haze surrounding her, then she realized that he was listening. His attention was directed outward this time, though, and she knew it had to be a message over the pipes, a sound she had missed entirely in the midst of the passionate emotions swirling through her body and their bond. His gaze was unfocused as he listened, partly from his internal concentration and partly from his own response to her during the last few minutes, but it was clearing now, and the low rumbling sound that had been building in his chest just moments before in the midst of their passion, suddenly broke free in a menacing growl. She slipped from his lap to the thick rug as he rose abruptly, then leapt up and ran after him, out the chamber exit and towards the main passage.

"Vincent!"

Around the bend where the side passage met the main tunnel Kipper's form appeared, racing toward them. He was out of breath, and quickly gasped out his message.

"It's Brooke. The east entrance..."

Vincent barely paused, racing on in the direction of the park. Catherine knew the exit, it was one they used often, and it was quite close - dangerously close to the inhabited regions of the tunnels, as a matter of fact. She grabbed Kipper's arm before he could run off after Vincent, as was obviously his intent.

"Tell Father that the east entrance and the routes from there to the hub have to be hidden and redirected. And get the others away from that area immediately - have Pascal put out a message on the pipes."

He hesitated and she could easily read the obstinate look that appeared.

"Now, Kipper!", she said sternly, staring him down.

Finally he nodded, and ran off in the opposite direction, towards Father's study. Catherine had no intention of leaving Vincent alone with whatever danger awaited him Above, however, and took a right turn at the main tunnel, hurrying toward the east entrance. It only took a few minutes before she arrived, and she skidded to a halt just before the park entrance, pausing to note that both the main sliding door and the metal-grated outer bars stood open. Muffled sounds came from without, but they appeared to be a slight distance away, and she cautiously made her way out, shutting both doors silently behind her and slipping into the shadows as quickly as possible to avoid being seen and leading any others to the tunnel entrance.

The sounds were clearer once outside, and she immediately saw the figures about fifty yards away, near a small clearing surrounded by a scattering of large fir trees, moonlight illuminating their gesturing forms. Five men, in their early twenties by the looks of it, stood in a circle surrounding Brooke. Vincent was nowhere in sight. Carefully she wound her way about the perimeter of the clearing, staying on the outskirts of the trees, assessing the men. She saw no guns, but two held knives, and she was certain the others would have them as well, at the very least.

Finally she was at the opposite side of the clearing, and glancing across the way was relieved to note that the tunnel entrance was not visible from this vantage point, a trio of trees blocking its view. She crept forward slowly, wishing she had something, anything, in way of a weapon, but she had none. Ever since that time when the tunnels had come under attack from that band of vagabonds, she had never again brought a gun Below. She had never told Vincent that it was Father who had asked her to bring the weapon Below, knowing that would only make matters worse. It was an extremely rare thing, but there was no doubt in her mind that Vincent had been angry with her, despite his continual denial on that head. That was all right, though, she could live with that. Far better that than be once more at the crux of a disagreement between father and son, as had happened so often in the past.

She still remembered Vincent's agonizing response to her involvement that night. They had survived intact for the most part, with only a slight injury to his arm which had healed quickly. The emotional scars, however, still remained, adding to his ever-present anxieties. He had feared for her, as he always did, but it was more than that - it was the painful knowledge that she had seen him like that yet again, lost in the throes of that dark violence. She could still see him, his head thrown back in an unearthly roar as he knelt before the ones who had attacked her, now a threat no longer. She swallowed hard as that vision played out again. His appearance then had a sexual component to it that was impossible to disguise, his virile power unquestionable in that unguarded moment.

That image was almost overwhelming, and she shook herself from it resolutely, concentrating on the dangers at hand. It was reminder enough, however, to ensure her caution, and she held back, out of sight, sure that wherever he was, Vincent watched and waited as well. Brooke was frightened, that was very clear, but she was also unharmed, at least for the moment. Catherine prayed that she would keep calm, that things wouldn't get out of hand, already fearing for Vincent should the worst happen. The men were taunting the younger woman they circled, moving in closer, and it was painfully obvious to Catherine what their intentions were. The anger built in her until a blood-red haze swam dizzily before her eyes, and she felt an almost overpowering urge to do something - anything! - but with a steely determination stayed put. A second later a flash of motion caught her attention and one of the men - one with a knife - was down on the ground, clutching at his leg and howling.

It happened so fast she wasn't sure she'd seen anything at all, and knew that the cocky youths were certainly far more confused. Their behavior changed abruptly, heightening to a dangerous level of fear and bravado. The leader moved quickly, grabbing Brooke and holding his knife to her throat, while the remaining three tightened the circle, this time staring outward nervously, eyeing the trees and the surrounding shadows of the park. She could read them so easily; they thought another gang had wandered by and was testing their authority, and they were ready for that, but not for the sudden silence after the equally sudden attack. Brooke whimpered in fear, but stayed still, her eyes darting about her. Catherine could tell she knew that Vincent was near at hand, and hoped that knowledge would give her the strength she would need to get through the next few minutes.

Suddenly Vincent was there, standing before them. He had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, but he stood silent now, and almost motionless. But not really silent, Catherine realized, as the low menacing growl wove its way to her ears. It rumbled through the night, pitched low and deep, felt more than heard, a vibration shuddering through the dark. The four young men sprang back, but held their ground, standing tight together now, while the man on the ground whimpered and tried to crawl away. Vincent ignored him. The four men in front of him stood just ten feet from her own position, directly behind them, and that distance closed as they slowly backed away from Vincent's advancing figure and unknowingly toward her. He gave no sign, moving so slowly it was almost unnoticeable, the comparison to a stalking cat unavoidable, yet she was absolutely certain he knew exactly where she was.

"Stay back, freak! Come closer and she gets it!"

The tallest one - obviously their leader - tightened his hold on Brooke. Catherine couldn't see it, standing behind them as she did, but she could tell immediately by Brooke's gasping response. The sensations of that night - two and a half years ago now - came back strong and hard, and her heart pounded rapidly in sympathetic response. There had been men with knives then, too, only Vincent hadn't known and couldn't be there, not then. But thank god he'd been the one to find her. His presence at that time in her life changed everything. She felt it - knew it - in the deepest part of herself now. It hadn't been coincidence or luck, it was destiny.

But she didn't let anything distract her from the scene playing itself out before her now, despite the almost overwhelming images from that time before, superimposing themselves upon the here and now. The other three had their knives out now, too, and held them menacingly before them, the weapons giving them a confidence all out of proportion to their benefit, did they but realize it. But they couldn't know, and if they had learned anything in their short, hard lives, it was that you took what you wanted, and you didn't back down. That was a mistake.

Catherine was worried about Brooke, though she was sure Vincent watched every movement of the man holding her and of the knife in his hand. When his eyes flickered past the men to the shadows where she stood she gasped, understanding immediately what he wanted her to do. She moved forward quietly, though she knew they'd never notice her at all, so intent were they upon Vincent's advancing form. When she was directly behind him she acted quickly, hooking her arm through his right elbow and pulling the knife hand to the side and back. At the same moment she kicked downward on his calf, just behind his knee, and he went down with a scream of rage and pain. The other three whirled about in surprise, but Vincent's sudden roar startled them back and Catherine took that opportunity to grab Brooke and pull her into the shadows of the large fir trees behind her.

"Quick, get to the tunnels. Make sure they block that entrance! Hurry!"

Catherine shoved her in the direction of the east entrance and after a momentary pause, Brooke took off, skirting the outer edges of the shadowing trees and disappearing behind the large group which blocked the view of the drainage tunnel. Just at that moment light and sound suddenly blazed across the field and Catherine turned to find three squad cars bearing down on them from the park access road. She stood frozen in horror, watching them come, when suddenly she was hit by a large form which she instantly recognized as Vincent's. They struck the ground just as the lights engulfed the clearing and tumbled dizzily, rolling until she wasn't sure where they were or what had happened. When the motions stopped she shook her head and gazed outward, seeing the circular area of the glen through a hazy view, Vincent's weight pressed upon her, his hand covering her mouth. Her eyes widened as she realized that they were underneath the huge, spreading boughs of the fir tree near which she'd stood.

The diameter of the tree at ground level had to be at least twenty feet, the lowest branches sweeping the ground at the outer edge of the perimeter and rising up to some indeterminate height at the trunk itself. The ground was soft and cool, and bare of grass beneath the boughs, though a soft carpet of fallen needles lay strewn about. Her heart pounded and her breath came in panting gasps from the abruptness of their motion, but she grasped their predicament immediately, and knew Vincent understood when his hand left her mouth, though he stayed protectively close, his weight resting half on top of her as she lay on her stomach on the earthy loam.

They stared outward, unmoving, as the police cars came to a halt in a semi-circle about thirty yards from them, and several uniformed men jumped out, four of them racing in pursuit of the two youths attempting to flee. Two officers approached the clearing, guns drawn, to check out the three men moaning on the ground. Catherine could hear the familiar static of their police radios, and knew that others would be here shortly, along with an ambulance, no doubt. The headlights of the cars already present lit up the surrounding area and with a gasp of dismay she realized that she and Vincent couldn't escape this place, that they would have to stay here, silent and unmoving, while a cadre of officers swept the area. Her heart beat sped up abruptly at that prospect, fear filling her at the thought of Vincent caught Above.

Vincent felt her response immediately, tightening his hold upon her, though his own breath came fast and hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly at her back, his muscles quivering noticeably in a palpable adrenaline rush response. A sudden burst of sensations filled her, a strange combination of strength and fear underlaid by a steely, resolute patience which astonished her. The total effect was one of a waiting power that somehow calmed her, while yet managing to keep every muscle and nerve in a heightened state of readiness. She knew it came from him, from their bond, that was obvious, but she had never felt such a strong infusion of sensations from it before, and she had never gotten such an intense feel of him through it either, certainly not in this way. It wasn't at all as she'd imagined it would be. It was so strong, so wild, as if he were just on the edge of control and the least force would shift the balance...

Her eyes widened and she gasped, her body shivering in sudden recognition. The emotions that came forth when she or the others needed protection where at the fore now and had been ever since he'd heard the tapping over the pipes, though that primal level had been breached easier this time, she was suddenly sure, by the circumstances they had found themselves in just before the message came. And that side of him hadn't retreated as it usually did after an attack because in a very real sense they were still in extreme danger. She turned her head slowly and found him staring outward, toward the figures illuminated in the clearing, his mouth open, his breath coming in panting gasps. He turned to her a moment later, as if he felt her scrutiny.

There was a full moon this night, but only part of it filtered through the thick branches of the tree, leaving him a shadowed profile and shape only. His eyes glittered darkly, nonetheless - she saw that clearly, the blue irises of them engulfed completely by the black pupils. She was suddenly certain he could visually discern the smallest details of their physical surroundings at this moment, even hidden in shadows as they were. He stared at her, his shadowed expression unreadable, then abruptly pulled away, scuttling backward to crouch against the trunk of the tree, at the center of the encircling boughs. She watched him, eyes wide, taking in the dark shape of him behind her. Somehow he looked larger than usual, his outline hazy against the dark center of the tree. She glanced forward to the clearing in time to see two more squad cars and two ambulances approach. She jumped when she felt his hand enclose an ankle and tug backward, but understood immediately, sliding quietly back and pressing up against the trunk of the tree with him. There was an open space here that was very comfortable, the lowest level branches meeting the trunk a good foot over their heads, and she leaned into his warmth, frightened of what might happen should they be found. His arms circled her, pulling her close, and she gasped at that unexpected intimacy, then realized instantly that he was trying to make them blend into the core of the tree, as if they were one with it.

She felt his sudden, absolute stillness and froze in response, and a moment later flashlights swept across the base of the tree, at the perimeter of its sweeping branches. She held her breath, not moving at all, while the officers walked the area, searching for any additional evidence or clues to this night's strange activity. The three injured men were being lifted to the ambulance, and one was talking loudly and wildly. Catherine was sure he was trying to convince the paramedics and police both of what had attacked him. The other two only moaned, though one looked about with wild, frightened eyes, as if he expected the return of that fearful apparition at any minute. The two who had escaped their wrath had not escaped the police chase, and were even now being bundled, hand-cuffed, into the backseat area of two different squad cars. She knew they wouldn't be given a chance to compare and plan their stories between here and the station house.

A sudden tension in Vincent's body alerted her to the return of the patrol officers. This time their path took them perilously close to their hiding spot, and Vincent's silence disappeared, the low, eerie growl beginning again. The searching men couldn't hear it, she was certain, but the rigid set of his muscles told her clearly that he was prepared to defend her, even if it meant exposing himself to their guns in an effort to draw them away from this place. She gasped in alarm and tightened her hold upon him, trying desperately to think of a way to stop that course of action from unfolding.

"Vincent, no!" she whispered.

The police couldn't hear her either, not yet, but she didn't dare speak any louder as they moved ever nearer. They were only ten feet away from the tree now, eight feet, six feet...

The tension in his muscles increased, and with a strength that surprised even herself, Catherine gripped his shoulders and pulled him against her hard, pressing tight to his body. Her mouth found his ear and she whispered urgently into it, praying the words would get through to any rational thought left within him.

"Please, Vincent, don't do it. We're safe here, as long as you stay with me. If you go, they'll hurt you!"

Four feet...

His menacing growl increased, though it was still barely more than a vibration against her own chest, pressed tight to his. He began to pull away, staring outward at the approaching figures and she pushed desperately against him, searching for something - anything - that would hold him still.

"They'll hurt me!"

He froze at those words. His gaze was still directed outward, watching the men approach, but somehow she knew, though the muscles of his chest and back flexed massively beneath her hands and encircling arms, that he was now containing the almost irresistible urge to leave their shadowed haven and draw the men away from her.

Two feet...

Catherine held her breath while the flashlights swept across the tree and into the waiting shadows, and they both sat absolutely still, small bits of light reaching through the rustling branches and glancing off their shadowy figures. A moment later they were directed about the tree to their left, and finding nothing there, the men began to move away, back toward the clearing where the squad cars still waited and the others were gathering.

She let her breath go with a gasp, shaking against him, and felt his own answering response in the tightening hold of his arms, followed by the just-as-sudden loosening of them, though she was certain he wasn't relaxing his vigil, not at all. Yet she felt a watchful stillness that was different than a moment before, and hoped that the danger was truly past. She stared intently down into the glade as the men finished their search and compared notes, the doors to the squad cars open while several officers talked with the youths seated in back, taking their initial notes and sketching out a rough draft of this evening's events according to the questionable witnesses - who were also the suspects - in whatever had occurred here this night.

Suddenly she noticed a difference in the stillness beside her and turned to him. His attention was not outward at all now, but instead pinned completely on her. It was almost impossible to see anything of his features in the darkness at the core of the tree, but she saw his eyes glitter enigmatically as he stared down at her. More than that, she felt something new over the bond, something that was like-yet-not to the sensations she'd felt before, while watching the gang surrounding Brooke. The tumultuous emotions were still there, strength and fear both, resulting in a massive power that was held in check, just on the edge of an explosive release. But somehow it felt very different now, and this time the focus of those emotions was definitely directed towards her. His arms tightened again, drawing her closer yet, until her breasts were pressed tight to his chest, every inch of their upper torsos touching. He stared at her still, and she was certain, though she could see little more than the light glinting off his eyes, that he saw her features clearly in the low light, that he saw well beyond them, their bond vibrating with a wild stream of emotions.

Catherine sat frozen, absolutely unable to do anything but watch his tense perusal. Before she could think or act or speak he was kissing her. She collapsed in his arms, the sensations of this kiss overwhelming her entirely. His mouth was hot and wet, devouring her with a passion that made her swoon weakly, grateful for the encompassing strength of his arms about her. She could do nothing but submit to his virile mastery, trembling against the hard planes of his body as his tongue and lips searchingly caressed her own.

The world spun dizzily and suddenly she found herself lying flat on her back, his weight heavy upon her. The rumbling growl in his chest was a little louder now, but she never gave a thought to the men a mere thirty yards from them, so caught up was she in the glory of his kisses. She tried to touch him, stroking her hands downward from his shoulders to his back, slipping from there to his ribs, waist and hips, before his hands caught her own and tugged them up over her head, holding her fast. His aroused body moved wantonly upon hers and she clenched and unclenched her fists helplessly, grasping at the bit of grass she could now reach, lying close to the perimeter of the tree branches once again. She whimpered hazily, the sound muffled by his hungry mouth, and pulled her legs high about his torso to wrap them about his waist, holding him close to the aching center of her body. He groaned against her mouth as she enclosed him, but his lips never left hers, and she felt the sharp coolness of his incisors scraping against her tender flesh, shuddering in erotic bliss.

Suddenly his weight shifted above her as he rose to his knees. Her legs loosened a little in response, but she didn't let him go, and a moment later she felt his taut thigh muscles nudging under the arcing curves of her own. His weight no longer rested directly upon her, but he brushed the full length of his torso against her sensually, his actions and the arousal of his body impossible to misinterpret.

Yet it was equally impossible to bring his obvious intentions to fruition through their layers of clothing, and the growl in his throat altered yet again, this time the frustration there painfully clear. He shifted her crossed wrists to one hand, the other slipping between them. It stopped at the waist of her jeans, undoing the button and zipper there in a moment. She gasped, recalling an unbelievable, amazingly similar event just hours ago, in this very park and under strangely similar circumstances. They had hid themselves amongst the foliage then, too, wary of approaching strangers.

Just then the squad cars came to life in the glade ahead. His head snapped up to stare outward, and she craned her neck in an effort to see the activity now behind her. The blue flashing lights went out one by one, and the cars pulled away, leaving them alone in the quiet darkness of the park.

In minutes all was silent, and even Catherine could tell that they were alone, this area of the park empty of all others. Vincent stared intently outward a while longer though, looking straight ahead, though she knew he was aware of all sounds and motions surrounding them peripherally as well. When he finally turned his attention back to her, she read a difference in his face that was almost impossible to describe. There was relief there, and she felt it as well in his body which still hovered close above her own, but there was also a hesitancy, and she caught her breath, scanning his features in an attempt to tell what part of him was present in the waiting stillness.

Suddenly he moved, tugging her arm, telling her silently to follow him, then crept on the ground to the far side of the tree, away from the clearing. She dutifully followed, awkwardly doing up the front of her jeans as she crawled. When she emerged from beneath the lowering branches, he was waiting, his strong arms immediately lifting her to her feet. He paused, looking first to his left, where the east entrance lay, then off to his right, into the heart of the park. Catherine knew he was trying to decide which to risk; the closer entrance which was near the crime scene this night, or a further spot which might entail another dangerous encounter enroute. Before she could tell him that she had sent word to the others to block off that entrance, he made his decision, grabbing her hand and moving silently along the trees and away from the east gate.

They moved quickly at times, slowly at others, but always silent, following the dense foliage for protection. Every now and then, though she'd heard nothing, they paused for many long minutes, as if waiting, and Catherine was sure that someone or something was out there that only Vincent could hear. No threat materialized, though, and eventually they made their way to another tunnel access point, this one near the bandshell.

Finally they were Below. When the doors were shut and sealed behind them, Vincent collapsed against them, breathing heavily, his hand to his chest. Catherine watched him closely, but didn't approach, realizing the sensitive time this represented for him. He wasn't out of breath - they hadn't been running. He was in a transition from the protective mode required this night, back to the more rational side he tried so hard to maintain. And so she stayed away, though she wanted nothing more than to go to him and hold him tight, comforting him during this time which always brought him such despair.

To distract herself from that dangerous thought, she glanced about, recognizing this area from the inside, though it wasn't one she often accessed from the park itself. They were near their music chamber, where they listened to the concerts in the park. This area was outward a ways, but it was still considered near enough to the hub proper for there to be lit torches resting in metal niches along the main tunnel walls. The first one was about thirty yards off to their left, close enough to give some light, but far enough so that it wouldn't appear too bright to anyone outside while the doors were open. It was darker in the other direction - the direction of their music chamber - and she knew the hub lay along the lit path. She waited for Vincent to compose himself enough to lead the way back. It took a while, perhaps ten minutes of anxious pacing and low, incomprehensible muttering, but finally he seemed calmer, and spoke, though his voice was very husky and still not quite his own.

"Come, Catherine, we need to get back. Father and the others will be worried."

His words were short and terse, and he immediately moved off toward the hub. He didn't take her hand or attempt to touch her in any way, setting an unusual distance between them. She hurried along, trying to keep up with his long strides, but the gap widened and she fell further behind.

"Vincent, wait!"

She didn't want to hold him up, but she couldn't keep up, not even with the jogging pace she had used for the last ten minutes. He turned abruptly, taking in her flushed face and panting breath with surprise. She saw the contrition in his eyes as he moved back to her, reaching out a tentative hand to take her own.

"I'm sorry, Catherine, I wasn't thinking. It's been a difficult night for you, we'll rest here."

He was worried about her while all she could think of was him and what twisted machinations of logic he was no doubt going through right this minute to torture himself with, though he had only done what was necessary.

"I don't need to rest, Vincent, I just can't go quite that fast. I know where we are though, and I can make it back to the hub myself. You go on ahead and let Father know we're all right."

He looked even more surprised at that, an obstinate look appearing on his face.

"No, we'll go together. It's not far now, and there's no hurry. Brooke got in, I'm sure..."

He glanced off down the tunnel, a worried expression suddenly appearing.

"I'm sure she did, Vincent. I sent her right away, and told her to make sure they closed off that entrance. I didn't hear anything from that direction when the police came, did you?"

He paused a moment, obviously scanning his perceptions and memories from that time, and finally his expression cleared.

"No."

But there was still a shuttered quality to his eyes that hid his thoughts from hers and she thought she knew what other recent, and no doubt very disturbing, images and emotions he had encountered in that perusal. His hand trembled in her own and after squeezing it gently, she released it, moving ahead of him toward the light.

"Come on, let's go home."

* * *
It was past four o'clock in the morning and the tunnels were finally quiet, fears allayed and anxieties banished. The inhabitants here walked a fine line at times, especially when their world Below and the one Above collided. It had happened before, and no doubt would again, but for now it was over and they were all safe. Catherine had been escorted Above - reluctantly - an hour since, and everyone was tucked safe in their bed, fast asleep. Everyone but one, and sleep would not come to him this night.

Vincent paced the small confines of his chamber, unconsciously following the well-worn circular pattern in the rug, adding years of faded age in short hours of turbulent thought. The events of this night played out in his mind over and over again, images blending together in a collage that somehow melded to emotion and from there to physical response. His muscles felt tight and taut, as if still in waiting should the need arise. Normally he would have worn off that tension with a race to the lower levels, through twisting turns and over rocky paths, to the cold springs near the Great Falls. But racing further below was not an option now. Instead all his strength and all his will was focused on resisting a different path - one that led Above, to Catherine's balcony.

He had experienced these sensations before, whenever his deepest strengths had been called upon for the protection of his family and his world, but there was a shading of difference in these last few years, and he knew it was related to Catherine and their bond. No longer could he pretend the waiting tension in him had to do with safety and protection alone. No longer was the whispering voice one of vigilant guardianship only. Now he saw and heard and felt her heartbeat against his own, the pulsing rhythm urging him to her. It was becoming harder and harder to resist that call and yet more than ever that summons frightened him, the urging there passing want, passing need, and now verging on command. Moving toward her was impossible, and yet so too was moving away.

Vincent paused in his pacing, peering anxiously out at the inky darkness of his chamber exit, as if he saw or sensed something there. Finally he turned wearily away from that perusal and moved to the bedside table where his journal waited. He picked it up, stroking the leather binding reflexively, soft and worn from daily use. This one was almost full and would need to be put aside for another soon. Three new ones stood in readiness on his bookshelf, waiting their turn, and he didn't spare a thought to where the others would come from after that. Journals were constantly given to him by friends Below and Helpers Above, and had been for as long as he could remember. The weight of the volume in his hands steadied his thoughts somewhat, as if they prepared themselves for the almost meditative process of revelation to come. He turned to the circular table and worn chair behind him, sat down and took up his pen.

What I so dread and fear happened again this night. The darkness of the park hides many dangers, and tonight they almost found Brooke. I did what I had to do, and I don't regret that, but I do regret that Catherine saw me like that again. The others Below - friends and family all - know who I am, know what I am. I have lived among them for too many years, in too precarious an environment, for it to be otherwise. They accept what I am because they love me, but that changes nothing. Catherine saw me like that. Catherine was with me...

The very thought made him nauseous. He was appalled by what had happened between them, but absolutely terrified of what it might have become had the urgent need to get away to a safer place not been of such immediate concern. He stared down at the journal, but found it impossible to go on, to give voice to the horrifying possibilities he had glimpsed so clearly, so closely this night. An explosive burst of breath jolted through him and he slammed the book shut. Grabbing his cloak he swept from the chamber, moving quickly to the main passageway where he turned left. Twenty minutes later, breathless and disheveled by his reckless sprint through the twisting tunnels, Vincent arrived at the Great Falls.

 

* * *
Catherine stared out over the park, a sad expression on her face which went hand in hand with the blustery winds blowing about her. It had been cold and gray today, and was only more so now, as dusk approached. A week had gone by with no sign from Vincent; no visit to her balcony, no note left for her there in the night, or delivered to her office through the myriad methods of the helpers. Nothing. And though he had said nothing after the events of last Sunday to indicate he'd changed his mind about allowing them to move forward in their relationship - as so obviously had been his intent up until the pipes rang out with the message of danger in the park - it was painfully apparent that he had indeed done so. She knew he was, in fact, quite capable of doing so and stubbornly refusing to talk about it at all - especially where this topic was concerned.

She sighed, pulled her coat tighter about her shivering body, and allowed her thoughts to drift back to the hours preceding that time, to the tender kisses and caresses they had shared. How she wanted that closeness back again! It wasn't fair! It just wasn't fair. The memories of the moments in the park were followed in a lazy stream by those Below, at the Great Hall, and after that in his chamber. How many times had he kissed her that night? She tried to count but gave up. Each of his kisses were so intensely erotic they defied description. And he had touched her, too, though that had happened only with a blatant bit of assistance on her part. Even so, her breasts tingled at the thought of his hand holding her so softly, the tips tightening at the very memory of his warm palm cupping her. Even Above, in the park again, after Brooke had been rescued, there had been more...
How could she go back to what they had before? To the absence of those blissful kisses and sweet caresses? No, it was impossible! She swallowed hard, her heart aching. She wanted to go to him, but she knew he needed his space now. It was so very difficult, but she stayed away, waiting for him to make the first move. Was it possible that it was only one week ago tonight that they had walked the city streets together, blissfully happy in each others company, alone among the throngs of New Yorkers? If he didn't come tonight, if tomorrow went by without him...

She didn't want to think about it. What were the others doing Below tonight? She knew the children were planning a production of sorts. It was still a ways off, and Vincent wouldn't allow her to miss it, she knew that, but the thought didn't console her. She needed Vincent now, needed to see him, hear him, hold him close. She sighed again, then slowly turned and left the balcony.

* * *
Vincent paced back and forth near the ladder at their threshold, trying to decide what to do. He didn't think he could stand another day without her, but how could he go to her now? What would he say? Everything had changed in the course of a few hours last weekend, casting them both to the heights of ecstatic bliss, then down again to despair. How could he set aside what they had shared and go on as they had before? How could he expect Catherine to do so, after leading her to believe there might be more for them? The thought of doing so was unbelievably painful - it was awful. A week had passed, but he could still feel her tender lips against his own, the taste of her tongue stroking the oh-so-sensitive inner flesh of his mouth, urging him on with a passion that knew no bounds, no limits. He could feel the taut peak of her breast still, the skin of his palm tingling with the memory. He threw back his head and groaned, the sensations culminating until he could feel them as clearly as when they'd actually happened, seven days ago.

With a growl of frustration he turned and headed back towards the hub, taking a side passage at the outer perimeter which lead down to the deeper chambers, away from the inhabited regions of the tunnels.

* * *
"Come in, child, come in!"

Narcissa stood with her back to him, her fingers transferring colored shells from a large jar to a wooden bowl before her, but she spoke as if she saw him clearly as he stood in the shadows of her entrance, even though he knew he'd made no audible sound in his approach. Still, unlike Father's ever-present skepticism, Vincent had a healthy respect for Narcissa and her abilities, and was no longer surprised by their display. He moved silently into the light and waited patiently until she gestured for him to come closer.

"What took you so long, child? I've been waiting!"

She turned to him now, her eyes brightened by the milky cataracts coating them. In her arms she held the large bowl, now full of many-colored objects of various shapes and sizes. He took it from her and walked by her side to the center table, helping her to a chair, before setting the bowl in front of her and seating himself beside her.

"You've been waiting? For me?"

Her laugh rang out and as always he was struck by the girlish quality of it, smiling at the tones that always reminded him of the windchimes he often heard from some of the surrounding balconies near Catherine's.

"Who else, child, but you? You seek advice, do you not, about your Catherine?"

This time he was startled, but he paused for only a minute before continuing on, certain he had been right in coming here.

"Yes, I seek advice", he said in a quiet voice.

Despite his resolution, though, he had no idea how to explain further, and stopped, hoping that her own insights would provide the means to move them forward in this difficult discussion. He wasn't disappointed.

"You have reached a cross-roads, you and your Catherine. Afraid to move forward, impossible to move back, what will you do?"

The question was rhetorical, and she chuckled again. Strangely enough, he felt a little better already. Hearing his own tormenting thoughts taken in so light a vein made him believe that perhaps they were not so unworkable as he himself found them to be.

"Yes, the rational side of me says this must not be, but other, deeper emotions push us on. I don't have the control over those emotions that I once did, Narcissa, and that frightens me..."

"Ah, the other!"

Her eyes lit up and she smiled a secret smile. His own words faltered at that phrase, knowing she had jumped to the heart of his fears, despite his carefully couched attempt to mask that entity in the cloak of ambiguity.

"The other is making a nuisance of himself, eh? You fear him, Vincent, but you should not. He is a part of you, a part you have denied for too long. Why should he be left alone in the darkness?"

Vincent felt a constriction in his chest, the lightness of a moment before lost to him entirely now.

"That part must stay contained and away from her," he said, a quiver in his voice.

"Nonsense! You fear that part of you, Catherine does not."

"She doesn't know any better, or she would," he said harshly, unwilling to accept the wise woman's words at face value.

She only smiled and he went on, anxious to convince her of the importance of that separation.

"Narcissa, you don't understand what sort of danger that part of me represents..."

She laughed, dismissing his concerns with an airy wave of her hand.

"I understand, Vincent. That part of you is strong and sure. Your Catherine is his Catherine, too, but that one knows no doubts.

He knows what he wants, and he knows what is his. Foolish boy, what woman would not want that? Women know these things, child, believe me. Oh yes, I understand very well, and so does your Catherine."

She nodded her head and continued to chuckle, as if she were indeed explaining an adult matter to a child. Suddenly Vincent felt out of his depth. He thought about what she had said, trying to give her words the weight they deserved, though he couldn't agree.

"Is it possible you think you understand this, Narcissa, but do not see the entirety of it? Is it possible that the same might be true of Catherine?"

He asked the question in all seriousness, and she answered in the same vein, pausing to gather her thoughts.

"I do not think so, child. I see Catherine. Not as you do, through your bond, but in some way - a small way - I see her better than you. I do not have the spirit tie to her that you do, so perhaps my vision is clearer, less colored by emotion than your own. She knows. Somehow, deep inside, she knows the truth of all you fear, even if you cannot bring yourself to speak of it with her. And Vincent?"

He stared at her, consternation, doubt and fear mingling in his eyes.

"Yes?"

"It makes no difference. You are the one for her, child. You are the only one she will have. Men think they know, men think they have say, but they do not. Once a woman decides, it is done, like that!"

She snapped her fingers and laughed again, and Vincent sat back abruptly, dismayed by her words. For so long he had believed that by himself he could thwart the destiny at work between them, yet Narcissa seemed to think otherwise. She was old, and she had lived alone, isolated from the others, both Above and Below - by her own choice - for many years, but she was among the wisest creatures he had ever encountered, and her words were strongly disturbing. The internal balance he maintained between what he would allow and what he would not for he and Catherine was suddenly called into severe question, and he didn't know what it all meant or where it might lead.

Could she be right? Was there a destiny between them that was utterly beyond his reach and beyond his control? And if that was true, what did it mean for them... for both of them?

* * *
Catherine slowed her pace as she approached the east entrance, eyeing it wistfully, but only for a moment before veering off in the other direction along the jogging path and disappearing over the rise of a hill. Suddenly she slowed again, struck by the view before her. It was the clearing where Brooke had been attacked just a week ago, and there ahead was the tree she and Vincent had hidden beneath. She slowed to a walk and moved hypnotically toward that spot, looking at it with a critical eye. It was full dusk now, and the shadows were deep, but it was much lighter than the late hours of that night, and even now she could tell how difficult - perhaps even impossible - it might have been to see two still figures hiding beneath the thick branches hanging low. She peered within, but suddenly her gaze was unfocused. She saw them in her mind, as they had been then, beneath the boughs, lying upon the cool earth, kissing...

Her thoughts were interrupted abruptly as she was struck from behind. She flew to the ground tangled with the other, but knew instantly that it wasn't Vincent, struggling mightily against the encircling hands. Suddenly there were more, and she was hauled to her feet, a hand covering her mouth. She bit down - hard - and one of them screamed in pain.

"Hold her!"

A fist connected with her jaw and lights burst around her, then everything disappeared into darkness.

Vincent was still several levels down from the hub on his return from Narcissa's chamber when he felt the sudden disruption over their bond; first the surprise, then the pain, and then the deep blackness which was more than sleep but less than a pure absence. A primal roar filled the small passageway he traversed and then he was gone, racing unerringly through the narrow tunnels and twisting paths, in the direction of his last, piercing sensation of her.

* * *
"Wake up, sweetheart."

Cold liquid splashed across her face and she woke with a start, shaking the water off with an instinctive twist of her head. The throbbing pain there made itself known at that abrupt motion and she moaned. The room slowly came into focus and with it came awareness of her predicament. She stood in a large, open, dimly lit room with a very tall ceiling - a warehouse of some sort. Her hands were tied above her with rope, and she peered upward quickly, seeing the length of it stretched taut over a high beam above, then pulled off to one side, tied off somewhere in the shadows near the far wall, no doubt. She was stretched upward a bit, so that standing flat-footed was somewhat painful, and she lifted up on her toes a little to take the strain off her arms. Before her stood three men, and she recognized all of them.

The one directly in front of her had an empty glass in his hand. Glancing down, she noticed a bulky padding beneath his jeans, near his right calf in the spot where she had kicked him a week ago, a strange sense of satisfaction filling her, even now, in this dangerous situation. The other two stood a bit further away, a little off to either side of her. They had obviously been released from custody and stared at her with slitted, half closed eyes. All of them appeared menacing in the extreme.

"You shouldn't interfere with other people's business, lady."

The leader stepped forward until he stood mere inches away, breathing directly into her face.

"You're liable to find trouble."

He stared at her a moment longer, his meaning clear, then stepped back to eye her assessingly.

"You're gonna tell us about that thing, and then we're gonna have ourselves a hunting party - ain't we boys? We'd like to see that animal again, right fellas?"

"Right, Stephano! Tell us, bitch!"

The other two shouted their agreement, but Catherine caught the flicker of uneasiness in their faces. Regardless of their brave words, it was clear that they, at least, were not so anxious to encounter Vincent again, even if their leader was so foolish as to go looking for him. It didn't matter, she knew that they would get their wish, and sooner than they wanted or expected.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said in an even voice, trying to keep the situation under control as much as possible until Vincent arrived.

The dark-haired man stepped forward again, his eyes narrowing.

"You don't know what we're talking about? Let me refresh your memory. We're talking about a dude that looks like a cat, roars like a cat, and cuts like a cat. Does that sound familiar now?"

Her gaze locked with his before she spoke, and in their dark depths she read a black malice, shuddering inside, but hiding her response from him. She regretted that lapse of control immediately, knowing it was impossible that Vincent hadn't felt it.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she repeated. "No such man exists."

His hand reached out and grabbed her bruised jaw, stopping her words. He stepped forward until his body brushed her own and his foul breath was directly upon her once more.

"He exists. I know it, Jack and Pauly here know it," with a gesturing head he indicated the two men behind him, "and so do Bobby and Frank - resting comfortably in County General, thank you very much!" His glare intensified as he stared down at her. "And you know it, too. And you're gonna tell us, or you're gonna regret it."

Suddenly the look in his eyes changed, the hardness shifting to something of speculation. His eyes slowly drifted down, assessing her body through the sweaty jogging shorts and cropped t-shirt. With her arms pulled taut, her abdomen was bared for a good five inches, and she sucked in her breath in revulsion.

"You're gonna tell us, lady, believe me, it's only a matter of time. We can make this easy, or we can make this hard - it's up to you. Either way, the boys and I are gonna have a little fun before we're through with you."

His hand released her jaw and stroked down her throat until he covered one breast, squeezing the soft mound through her shirt, watching her face with a leering amusement as he did so. A white heat encompassed her and she jammed her knee up hard, connecting solidly with his groin. The man went down with a howl of pain, grabbing his crotch and rolling in agony on the floor.

With a burst of motion the other two moved in, one holding her from behind while the other wrapped a length of rope around her knees until she was effectively hobbled. Suddenly Stephano stood before her again, and this time his rage was palpable, his face bright red, his eyes burning.

"So you wanna play, huh?!"

Despite the restraint on her legs, he moved safely behind her now, pressing his body tight to hers. With one arm he grabbed her around the waist, and then thrust his free hand up her shirt, shoving her sports bra up to grasp and grope at the bare, sensitive flesh of her breasts, squeezing and scratching her tender skin. She gasped, and closed her mouth tight, praying that Vincent would arrive soon and put a stop to this while somehow, by some miraculous turn of events, seeing and sensing none of it. She knew it was impossible, though, impossible, and the despairing cry that escaped her then was as much due to that knowledge as to the cruel, searching hands upon her.

All three laughed, the other two joining in to run their hands over her body. These were no lovers caresses, not Vincent's hands, as she had so long hoped for, as she knew they would be, soft and tender, warm and exciting, touches which would bring her out of herself, drawing everything to him in homage and worship. No, these were vile and disgusting, even these first, surfaces touches a violation. The thought of anyone else's hands on her was utterly abhorrent, and this reality surpassed any revulsion she could imagine, fear giving way to a rage that burned so bright she knew that had she been unbound she would surely kill them all or die in the attempt.

Before another thought could form the white hot blaze intensified, and a rushing roar filled the room from somewhere above her, growing in a shattered second in symphony with a screaming security alarm. Stephano's body was instantly gone, torn from her with a rushing sensation while he screamed in fear and pain. She heard a loud thud behind her and somehow knew that he now lay crumpled against a wall, somewhere behind her. The two others were already running, terrified by the cloaked form behind them. She knew they wouldn't return for their fallen leader. Another roar filled the hall, and in it she read rage and pain.

A second later the rope fell off the beam and she sagged to her knees on the cold floor. Vincent was there in an instant, lifting her into his arms and cradling her close. Her legs were still tied, but he didn't stop to undo them, racing out of the building through a back door, amid a cacophony of blaring sound.

They were in the warehouse district, and he ran swiftly, holding her tight, his cloak pulled around them both. Somehow he managed to stay off the main, lit roads, traversing through dim alleys and side streets until he reached what he searched for, a manhole in a shadowed dead-ended alley. He set her on her feet with her back against a cold brick wall and she quickly took that opportunity to reach up under her t-shirt and tug her sports bra back down and into place, wincing as the tight spandex band scraped along bruised and scratched flesh. The manhole cover was quickly pulled free and Vincent was back, carefully carrying her down the ladder, then returning to pull the cover securely back in place.

She leaned against cold bricks here, too, but it was altogether different, because now they were safely Below. With a returning sense of security, she reached down to trace the criss-crossed ropes bound about her knees. The wraps extended up her thighs and down her calves, their tight coils cutting into her flesh, the tied ends hidden somewhere in the folds.

Suddenly he was there, on one knee before her, his hands gently brushing hers away as he traced the wrappings. She dutifully fell back to the wall, her legs trembling in earnest now, both from the lack of circulation and in relief from their escape. As the ropes fell away her knees gave out, and she slipped down the tunnel wall, toward the floor. Her fall was stopped instantly, Vincent's arms catching her and holding her tight about the thighs and hips. As he stood up he brought her with him, then he was clutching her close, his face pressed to her throat, his breath coming in harsh pants. His heart beat rapidly in his chest, and for a moment she was frightened. But no, even now she could tell that the frantic rhythm there was easing little by little, back to its normal pulse rate.

For many moments he stood motionless, holding her close, the full length of her body pressed tight to his, her feet not touching the floor. She wrapped her arms about his shoulders, holding him to her fiercely, the feel of him against her somehow obliterating the touch of those others. Finally he slid one arm down behind her knees and lifted her fully in his arms, then began the trek through the dark tunnels, toward the hub.

It took at least twenty minutes for them to reach the lit areas of the tunnels, and another twenty after that to reach the side passage to Vincent's chamber. He never spoke, and neither did she, knowing that he was in a delicate transition state, and wouldn't allow her close at all under different circumstances. That was what she told herself as they moved swiftly through the quiet tunnels, but a voice deep inside spoke another truth that was impossible to altogether ignore; the pleasure and relief of him holding her safe was overwhelming, and she gave herself over entirely to it this once, needing him close.

Strangely enough, though it wasn't yet late, they somehow managed to encounter no one as they approached the hub, and Catherine soon realized that he was choosing several little-used side-paths this night, in order to intentionally skirt the more traveled walkways of the inhabited regions. Finally they reached his chamber, both of them breathing a sigh of relief when the soft aura of candlelight was seen some twenty yards down the last passage. Upon entering the room he immediately moved to the bed, laying her upon its softness. He stroked gently across her brow and she felt a slight tremble in his hands, knowing he had not yet fully reached the equilibrium he so carefully cultivated and maintained except in situations of extreme need.

"Stay here, I'll be right back," he said, his voice low and hoarse.

They were the first words he'd spoken since he'd come to her this night. They were also the first words she'd heard from him in over a week and she blinked back tears at the familiar and beloved sound of his voice.

He stared at her a moment, seeing her tears, consternation and pain in his own eyes, then tenderly brushed them away with the pad of his thumb. Several minutes passed while he stroked gently along her cheekbone, then his expression changed, the hazy cloud lifting to reveal confusion and trepidation. He jumped up from her side and left quickly, and she lay quiet against his pillows and quilts, trying to clear her mind of the images and sensations of this night.

It was difficult, if not impossible. With Vincent gone, she could no longer easily distract herself from the nagging thoughts of this evening's encounter with the remnants of the gang who had attacked Brooke, her scratched and bruised flesh a constant reminder of their hands upon her. Luckily those thoughts vanished upon his quick return, all her attention drawn to him, though she found herself warily guarding her emotions, suddenly fearful for the long-term effect of his response to the events of this night.

In his hands he carried a tray, and upon it sat a large, steaming kettle, and next to it a smaller teapot and two cups and saucers. He set the tray on the table, poured out the tea and set her cup on the bedside table to cool for a moment. Before he returned to the circular table, he retrieved a pitcher and basin off his washstand, then poured some steaming water from the kettle into the basin, adding some cool water from the pitcher then testing the mix to ensure it was warm, but not too hot.

Once mixed correctly, the basin was set next to the teacup on the bedside table, and a washcloth added to it, before he finally sat carefully at her side, on the edge of the bed. He picked up the cup and slipped a hand behind her back, supporting her so that she could take a sip of the soothing brew. She closed her eyes and let the scented vapors drift over her, recognizing it as a special blend William mixed especially for healing and sleep. She took another sip and sighed, feeling the tensions begin to abate. The cup was set aside and he eased her back to the pillows once more, tenderly stroking the sweat-soaked, limp strands of hair back from her face.

A moment later he turned away and wrung out the washcloth, then began to wipe the streaked dirt and grime from her cheeks. She let her eyes drift closed, letting his soothing touch fill her completely. He worked slowly, moving along her face then stroking down her neck and along her collarbones, warmth infusing her. Suddenly the washcloth was removed and she felt a finger hook into the scooped neck of her t-shirt, tugging it gently aside. Her eyes opened and stared downward in bemusement until she saw what it was he was looking at - a long scratch revealed by the now-missing dirt. Near it was a yellow/purple bruise, a small edge of it peeping out from underneath the top of her sports bra. Her hand came up to tug the t-shirt away from his suddenly motionless fingers, dropping it back in place. She kept her gaze lowered from his while she did so, trying to keep her emotions muted.

"It's nothing, Vincent, just a scratch."

She almost added 'it happened when I fell', but the lie stuck in her throat. He was silent and finally she looked up to assess his response. The look on his face was carefully neutral, but there was a stillness there and over the bond which didn't feel normal or natural.

"The scratches need to be cleaned and treated, Catherine, to keep an infection from setting in. I can get Father, if you don't want me to do it."

"No!"

The surface calm disappeared at that suggestion, her eyes flying open wide. He waited patiently, and finally she spoke again,this time her voice once more under control.

"No, that won't be necessary. I'll go to the bathing pool..."

The words died away. He didn't speak and he didn't move, and somehow she knew that she had already been given her only options, that there would be no others forthcoming. She didn't want him to see what they'd done to her, minor though the injuries were, for more reasons than she cared to look into at this moment, but finally she sighed and gave in, knowing it was useless to resist. He would make sure she was all right himself, and that was that.

"You, Vincent. Father would only worry unnecessarily, not just about me, but about you, too."

He nodded, then left her for a moment to hang his cloak on a hook at the side of his wardrobe and retrieve a small glass vial and a plastic tube of lotion from the top drawer of the washstand, which he sat on the bedside table, next to the enamel basin. Then he slid his arm about her waist, his hand supporting her back, and gently pulled the t-shirt over her head, dropping it to the floor near his feet, leaving her torso bare except for a hot pink spandex bra. He looked at it in frank bewilderment, slipping a finger beneath an inch-wide strap at her shoulder to test its elasticity.

"What is this?"

The tension of the previous moment disappeared and Catherine couldn't contain the small chuckle his words caused.
"Women wear them when they're playing sports, or running. It's more comfortable, you know..."

He looked up at her and though he nodded, she could still see that he found it odd and quite foreign to what he knew of both the clothing and exercise habits of the women Below. In fact Catherine couldn't recall the topic of exercise ever coming up here, besides the frequent swimming that went on in the larger communal pools by the tunnel inhabitants regardless of their age, and she suspected that was much more relaxation than exercise per se. With all the hard, physical labor required to maintain their world, the one hour daily workout, so common uptop, was probably quite redundant here Below. But she couldn't keep this train of thought for more than a flashing second. Vincent still stared at the hot pink oddity, a bemused look on his face. It was more top than bra thankfully, especially when compared to her more normal, daily underclothing, which was silky, lacy and generally delicate in the extreme, given her weakness for fine lingerie, still, she was sure this 'top' was not familiar to him even as that, certain it didn't resemble any sort of feminine clothing - under or outer - he had ever seen here Below.

Then he looked down again, and seeing the scratches both above and below the edges of the garment and how they led beneath it, his expression changed. For a moment he was absolutely still, his eyes carefully shuttered and shielded from her own, then his hand moved down to tentatively test the elastic at her ribs, but it was quite tight, and there were no hooks anywhere. The tension that had dissipated a moment ago was back in full force now.

"I'll do it" she said quietly. "It's comfortable to wear, but not the easiest thing to get out of."

It was futile to argue now, she knew, with that still look upon his face. A churning shudder laced through her and was gone, leaving her almost before she was aware of it at all. But the aftermath of that emotional moment lingered on, and she could identify it easily; seething anger bordering on rage. Her own response was a strange contradiction of trepidation and surprise. The strength of his emotions frightened her, but they had allowed her a small, momentary access to the bond which was extremely rare, and she was intensely grateful for that temporary two-way opening. How she wished she could spare them both what the next few minutes would bring, but it was no use, that was plain to see. After a momentary pause she sat up and hooked her fingers into the bottom edge of the garment, pulling upwards and crossing her arms in front of her to stretch the spandex sufficiently to remove it. Though she tried to be careful, it was impossible to avoid scraping the fabric along her bruised skin, and she winced a little as she pulled it upward. For a moment her face disappeared within the garment, so that she only heard his almost silent indrawn breath at the sight of her bared flesh. Her face was bright red when she finally pulled the synthetic cloth over her head, knowing that gasp wasn't in admiration, but rather in dismay.

"It's nothing, Vincent, really."

Scratches and bruises covered her breasts, and it was easy to see now how rough they had been with her while she had been tied helpless before them. Even the tender flesh of her nipples showed signs of their abuse, a scratch trailing just beneath one.
His eyes rose to meet hers, and tears stood in them.

"Lay back, Catherine," he said, his voice a husky whisper that was almost inaudible.

She did so, ignoring the almost overwhelming urge to cover her bared breasts with one arm. He turned away to wring out the washcloth once more, then began to gently clean the red and raw scratches, revealing numerous dark bruises as he went. The flare of anger which surged through the bond now was not so easily contained, and she gasped, but he gained control again swiftly, the absence of that sudden emotional sweep leaving her breathless.

"I'm sorry."

His voice was so quiet, his eyes meeting her for just a moment, enough for her to see the contrition there. Beneath that sympathetic expression, though, she could sense the full truth of his feelings. He was furious that this could have been done to her, a tearful wrath filling him which was all the more powerful for its impotence. Gently he pressed the warm cloth to her pale breasts, cleaning the blood and dirt from the scratches there. His hands trembled, and she knew it had nothing to do with the naked sight of her, and that made her furious in turn. It shouldn't have been like this. This should have been a moment of sweet intimacy between them, of shy glances and touches, followed by a joyful discovery of all they were and all they could be to each other. Instead...

Her stomach churned at the thought of what this might have been... and what it was. Oh Vincent! It happened quickly, and she couldn't contain the yearning call of her heart. His startled gaze flew up to hers, searching the depths of her gray eyes for a moment before falling away, resolutely focusing on her tender, bruised flesh once more. She squeezed her eyes shut tight in dismay, trying to regain control once more. But it was difficult. The warm water and his gentle touch were very soothing, lulling all other thoughts from her, and suddenly she was having trouble concentrating at all. With her eyes closed, his touch upon her took on new meaning, and for a moment she let herself be lost in it. The minutes passed - she had no idea how long it had been - when suddenly a pleasured sigh whispered through the night. It came from her. Her eyes flew open wide in consternation to find his gaze intent upon her face. She knew her expression had been unguarded in those past minutes, and that he had seen and heard everything. She blinked rapidly, wondering what she should do, knowing she had to do something...

"Shhh, Catherine, it's all right."

She stared at him in astonishment, wondering what in the world those husky, whispered words meant. He couldn't be referring to her suddenly erotic musings of him - could he?! No, he would never have acknowledged such emotions from her at all, much less responded to them in such a way. Yet that possibility hung before her, impossible to ignore. It had to be something else - it had to be. Perhaps he simply thought she was falling asleep, the strain of today's events finally taking their toll. Yes, that was probably it. And yet...

Her chaotic thoughts were interrupted by his voice once more.

"The scratches need to be treated so they won't become infected. I have iodine for that and a healing salve. It should help make sure the scratches heal well. There won't be any scars."

Her gaze flew to his at those last words, and she could see that he thought she would worry about that. She wanted to assure him that it wasn't important, but a moment's reflection told her otherwise and she remained silent. She wasn't a vain person, but this was a complex issue. It was supposed to be different. It was supposed to be a lovers exchange, an offering, a gift. She had wanted to give that to him for so long now, to offer him her naked body as he already possessed her heart and soul. To see him lose himself in pleasure - a pleasure he had denied himself for far too long. She wanted to be the one, the only one...

"The iodine will sting, Catherine."

His words brought her back to the chamber once more, and she nodded in response.

The liquid-coated glass applicator was cold on her skin, then hot, and she sucked in her breath as the first scrape burned. Moving quickly, he coated the others, hesitating for a moment only at the scratch just beneath one nipple, on the flesh of her aureole. Her eyes squeezed shut in response and she grimaced as the liquid seared that sensitive flesh. Then her eyes flew open as a new sensation touched her. Vincent leaned over her, his hair tickling her ribs, and blew warm breath upon her skin, upon the last, rough scratch, negating the pain that had been there a minute ago. Before she could control her thoughts, her body responded, the tender peak tightening. Her face flamed with red heat, and she felt a similar flush sweep up over her whole chest. She stared down at him, unable to look away. For a long moment he was absolutely still, his shuttered gaze pinned to the inevitable response of her body to him. Then he pulled back abruptly and turned to the bedside table, golden strands of hair hiding his face from her.

"The salve is one we get from Peter."

His voice was low and hoarse, the words unnecessary, and she knew he was trying desperately to get through this awkward moment. She closed her eyes and gathered her control fiercely, determined to help him.

"It will be fine."

Her voice was husky, not quite her own, and the words, like his, innocuous and vague, their intent meant only to soothe his obvious agitation.

It took a few minutes, and she knew he was using that time to pull his own control about him this night. She knew how difficult this was for him, especially when that darker side had so recently held sway. She thought she knew what he was feeling now, and deep down, she held close to her heart a desperate wish that someday he wouldn't be afraid of those emotions and their inevitable response, that he would share them all with her. She knew that when and if that day came, they would rejoice together in their new-found freedom.

Finally he turned back to her, the tube of salve in hand, his expression carefully contained. He squeezed out a bit on the tips of his fingers and gently rubbed the lotion onto a scratch along her ribs, beneath one breast. His eyes didn't meet hers while he worked at this task, as if that would be too much, and he was probably right. The feel of him stroking along that tender flesh - despite the healing nature of it - was impossible to separate from the erotic, and she watched breathlessly as he moved over her breasts, those touches now clearly converted to caresses in her heart. He was so careful, trying not to touch her with his sharp nails, though that was inevitable at times. When it did happen, it made her shiver, the response clear to him. She knew he felt her emotions within, too, and hoped he could tell that there was nothing of pain or fear in it. She waited, wondering if he would be able to tackle that last scratch, given both their responses from the earlier treatment with the iodine, and he did hesitate, but didn't back down, rubbing the cooling lotion tenderly along the sensitive flesh of her aureole with his thumb. The pad of his thumb stroked the side of her nipple in the process, and again, try as she might, she couldn't control her body's response to his intimate touch. It was impossible, too much... She closed her eyes and let the sensation drift through her, filling her.

Though she would find it almost impossible to believe later, the absence of his hands upon her breasts wasn't immediately noticeable, entranced as she was in the general feeling of well-being and care his presence engendered. It wasn't until she felt her legs lifted, shoes and stockings slid off, that she became aware of their surroundings yet again. She roused herself with difficulty, gazing down at her now-bare legs. Vincent had moved the basin to the foot of the bed and now sat with his back to her. In a moment the warm cloth stroked along her feet and calves, cleaning the dirt and grime away. She shivered at the touch of that warmth on the sensitive skin behind her knees, enjoying his touch immensely.

It was over all too soon. He carried the basin across the room to the nightstand, then retrieved a thin cotton nightshirt from his wardrobe and brought it to her. Sitting beside her yet again, he slid an arm around her and slipped the gown over her head, easing it down. The front had three ties only to secure the long opening and they were undone, the garment edges gaping open to bare her breasts and torso past the edges of her knit running shorts. Vincent began to tie the laces, and when he reached the last one, he glanced down to the visible edge of the gray fabric and nodded toward them.

"Catherine, I can take your clothes to the laundry chamber to be washed if you like."

She nodded and slipped her hands beneath the thin cotton, stripping the loose knit shorts and panties off with one motion, dropping them to the bedside floor where she knew her tops both rested with a sigh of relief. All things considered, she now felt reasonably clean and comfortable, though she would have liked to go to the bathing pools to wash her hair and have a long soak. A huge yawn interrupted that thought, and she smiled to herself, knowing she didn't have the energy even for that simple luxury. Vincent pulled the covers up around her, tucking her in, and she suddenly realized that he intended her to sleep here, in his chamber, in his bed.

"Vincent, I don't want to take your bed. I can go to the guest chamber."

He didn't answer, except with a slight, almost imperceptible shake of his head. Instead he began to roll up the long sleeves of the nightshirt, matching them to the length of her own arms. When he was through he left her side for a moment, returning with a glass of water in one hand and a book in the other. He held her up once more while she took a long drink, then laid her gently back down upon the quilted pillows, covering her up to the chin once more.

"Would you like me to read to you?"

He held up a volume she recognized clearly - Shakespeare's Sonnets, and she nodded sleepily. Leaving the bed, he pulled his chair close, but before he got through half of the first sonnet, she was fast asleep.

* * *
Catherine stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel to dry off with. A reflection from the mirrored wall off to her side diverted her, and she paused, then turned fully to gaze at her naked body in the mirror. She stared down at herself, then back at her reflection critically. The scratches were all gone, the bruises finally healed. No physical evidence remained to tell the tale of that night two weeks past. She was startled to realize that it was indeed true, and further yet that she couldn't find any lingering resentment or anxiety within her over the touch of those strangers' hands upon hers. The feel of them, the thought of them, had been washed away with Vincent's own healing touch later that night, in his chamber as he'd tended her wounded flesh. If only she could tell him that. If only he could understand...

She sighed wearily. It was impossible. She couldn't tell him any such thing. Slipping her robe on, she left the bathroom to find jeans and a shirt. She was going Below tonight. Things had not been the same between them since that night, and she didn't know what to do about it, but she couldn't stand any separation from him, not now. But oh, how she craved that sweet closeness they had shared for such a short time before it had all been shattered. How she craved his passionate kisses and tender touch. Would they ever regain that closeness again? It had to be possible, it just had to be. If she thought it weren't...

No, it didn't bear thinking.

* * *
Vincent felt her approach just as he stepped into his chamber. He paused for a moment, eyes closed, and when they opened again, he moved decisively, grabbing his cloak from where it had been carelessly thrown over his high backed chair and exiting the room quickly, even as he pulled the dark garment over his broad shoulders. He had planned to go Above to her this night, but his path now was not to their threshold, but rather to the park, to the east entrance. He moved quickly, suddenly fearful for her, though he felt nothing but calm contentment across their bond. Still, it was the east entrance - the area where Brooke had been attacked and Catherine herself taken by the same gang so recently. They were no longer a threat, he was sure of that. The leader was dead and the other two would come nowhere near this spot ever again, of that he was certain. Despite that certainty, he increased his pace, anxious to reach her and bring her to the safety of the tunnels. Her presence grew stronger in him as he neared the entrance, and as the distance lessened his worries began to ease. Finally he was there. The heavy iron door slid aside with the pull of a lever, and then, after a momentary pause to listen closely for any unfamiliar sounds on the other side, he swung the grated door wide.

She wasn't there.

He stared about the short tunnel alcove in bemusement, still clearly feeling her comforting - and safe - presence. Suddenly that sensation disappeared and his head swung up toward the opening to the park with a jolt. He didn't hesitate, running to the mouth of the exit instantly, but there he stopped, peering into the night, all his senses finely focused on both the surrounding area and the sudden quiet of their bond. There had been no fear, no pain, no anxiety, but rather just the abrupt absence of what had been before. His own anxiety was almost overwhelming, his heart racing and breath coming in panting gasps. A dizzying wave overtook him, and he heard a rumbling growl, deep and low, almost as if he were separated from it, though he felt the vibration throughout his whole torso. Only then, with that hazy fog engulfing him, did he find the thin thread of her that still remained. It was so deep and so still within him that he was amazed he could sense it at all, but it was there, and it belonged to Catherine, it was Catherine!

He moved away from the tunnel opening rapidly now, toward the open circle of trees that lay just beyond the rise ahead, onward to the spot where the first attack had taken place. It took only seconds for him to reach it, and when he did, he peered into the circle from the shadows of three large fir trees - the same ones which blocked the view of the tunnel opening from the vantage point of the glade beyond. Even before he looked, though, he knew what he would find. Nothing. There were no sounds, no people here, none except Catherine, and she was here, though he couldn't see her and could barely sense her. The moon was full, lighting the clearing except for the shadowed groups of foliage here and there, which provided him coverage. Finally he moved to the back of the trees and began to search the outer perimeter. He hadn't gone far when he stopped again, this time before a huge fir tree, the largest one in the area. This was the tree he and Catherine had hidden beneath that night. A change over the bond, almost too minute for him to notice, drew his deeper attention to the shadowed, dappled depths within the branches of the large tree. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath, all his emotions stilling. Catherine.

She lay beneath the tree, on the other side of the trunk, just where they had lain that night. Her feet rested near the trunk, her head closer to the low sweeping branches. Her arms were flung up over her head, both hands just reaching the soft circle of grass which could come no further beneath the encircling boughs. Her eyes were closed, he could see that much, but there was nothing else visible in her expression, and the quiet of the bond persisted. But she was all right, that much was clear, and his own emotional tension dissipated with a quivering rush. Dropping to his knees, he slipped beneath the branches.

Catherine felt the cool ground beneath her, the thin strands of grass at her fingertips and the gentle, fanning breeze through the boughs as they dipped and swayed close above her. Moonlight dappled through the branches leaving a dim path of light and dark over her still body. The light camaflouged rather than betrayed though, and no one, besides Vincent himself, would ever have been aware of her still presence beneath the tree. She'd had no thought of stopping here on her way through the park to the east entrance of the tunnels, but upon finding herself in that familiar surround, had been unable to resist the lure of this quiet spot to relive those recent memories. For despite all that happened since then, they were wonderful memories. With a strange combination of intense concentration and diffused, drifting thought, the images and sensations of that night came back clearly once more. She felt Vincent's body stretched out along her own as they lay still, upon first finding themselves within that quiet enclosure. Her mind leapt over the moments when they'd sat tensely still at the base of the tree trunk, waiting for the danger to pass, instead jumping ahead to the time which had followed. This time she felt the full weight of him pressing her down, his mouth hot and demanding upon hers as he held her close and tight. And it didn't stop there, as it had in fact that night. The images from that time had been augmented and modified by the other connected event which followed. As she had with the first memory, the fearful times were resolutely ignored in favor of the blissful aftermath. She remembered the warmth of the water, the soft cloth gently cleaning her bruised flesh. That's what had happened, but that was not what she saw now... oh, no... In this vision the scrapes and bruises were gone, as was the wash cloth. The warmth came from his hand alone, as he caressed her tenderly here, beneath the sheltering boughs, with the stars shining above them. Oh, yes...

Like viewing a video tape which had been edited and spliced together in a loop, the fantasy memory scrolled over and over again, sensations drifting through her body with layer upon layer of exquisite, shivery emotions. None of it escaped the still quiet of her expression, though, just as it didn't escape to him through their bond. She'd done it the first time, out of necessity, closing down that part of her response from him during the long trek below, to Paracelsus lair. Now she did it again, with full forethought and knowledge. This was not something he was ready to share with her yet, despite that part of the vision that was true, the one that represented those very real moments here, not so very long ago. It would only send him running from her, far away, physical separation a necessary component to the emotional distance he would ultimately put in place between them, all for her own good. At least that's how he would see it.

No, she couldn't yet share this with him, much as she craved it, and yet she could no longer hold back these visions and fantasies either. They intruded constantly now, and she found herself waking often in the night, gasping from the sudden interruption of a warm dream of him, of them, and knowing that it was her own vigilant subconscious which had caused the waking, to ensure that those lusty images and thoughts were hidden from the bond... hidden from him.
Even now she felt the stirrings of that deep voice. It urged her to stop, before it was too late. The emotions growing within her could not be contained without limit. She didn't have the strength for that, though she sometimes wondered if perhaps Vincent did. Well, it was irrelevant just now. She didn't, and that's all that mattered. With an almost inaudible, whispered sigh, she let go of those images, closing them off once more, burying them deep. She felt them go with regret and sorrow, but they would be there when she needed their reassurance again, and that made it bearable. And she knew what awaited her when she left this cozy place, and that was worth everything. Vincent.

Her thoughts were now focused ahead, on their meeting this night, instead of in the past, and her eyes fluttered open lazily, a small, enigmatic smile gracing her lips. The dappled moonlight through the trees dimly lit the enclosed space not with highlights, but instead with shadows, and he was there, a part of them, sitting quietly beside her. At first all she saw was the enclosed darkness of him, his ebony cloak hiding all, as it was designed to do, but the blue of his eyes glittered brightly, staring down at her, and her gaze immediately fell within his own. It was so right that he should be here, so natural, that for a moment all other logic flew from her thoughts entirely. It wasn't until he spoke that she was jolted from the tender haze enfolding her.

"Are you all right, Catherine?"

She half sat up on her elbows and glanced around quickly, to assure they were alone in the clearing, then breathed a sigh of relief and fell back weakly to the ground when it became apparent there was no one else in this area but they. Her thoughts flew in a jumbled confusion as she responded, and she knew he couldn't miss the abstract and breathy tone of her voice.

"I'm fine, Vincent, really. I'm sorry if I frightened you."

Her eyes had evaded his for those first words, but finally she raised her face to his again, wondering how much he knew.

"How... How did you know I was here?"

His own reply came after a slight hesitation.

"I felt you coming through the park and came up to meet you. When I arrived at the east gate..." He paused again, before finally going on. "The bond became silent, Catherine. You were gone. I was worried."

She drew in a gasping breath, dismayed that she could have forgotten such a basic consequence to her actions.

"Oh, Vincent, I'm sorry. I never thought..."

She didn't know how to go on, though he waited silently for a few minutes more, hoping - she could feel it clearly - that she could explain why she had done it. When she didn't, he spoke again, and she could feel the hesitancy in his voice.

"Are you... Are you thinking of what happened that night, to Brooke?"

She shook her head quickly, glad to be able to answer in the negative, and glad his question hadn't been a bit broader.

"Are you thinking of what happened later, to you?"

She shook her head again, only this time she hesitated, knowing she was skirting the issue on a technicality, certain now that he wasn't going to simply give up. And she was right. Though he was silent for a moment longer, staring down at her pensively, he finally slipped down from his half crouch to rest beside her, propped up on one elbow, then continued on, as she knew he would.

"What is it, Catherine? Can you tell me?"

His voice was almost always a low whisper by nature, and tonight it was even more so as dictated by their surroundings. She wondered if he could possibly know what that husky whisper did to her? She clamped down tight on the bond for a moment more, to stop the shivery sensation from escaping to him.

"I was thinking... I was thinking how lovely a view of the night sky there is from here. How quiet and peaceful it is. It would be cool in the summer."

She consoled herself with the fact that those things were true, even if they weren't the full truth and did nothing to explain her reasons for blocking their bond this day. He stared at her for a moment longer, then turned his gaze upward, to the branches above them and the sky beyond. Finally he eased down on his back beside her and they laid staring at the night sky together.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said.

"Hmmm."

He seemed so relaxed with her now, so completely comfortable. When she spoke again, the words came out completely unplanned.

"Vincent, that night two weeks ago..."

"Yes?"

His own voice was steady, despite the momentary pause, calming the sudden fears that had begun to build within her at the reference to that event. She hadn't meant to do it, but now she had to go on. She had to find out how he felt about it, how it had affected him. She had to know what she was up against.

"Do you think about it?"

He was silent for a bit, and she held her breath, waiting for his reply.

"Do I think about it? Yes, I can't help thinking about it, and the other times..."

Her breath released abruptly in confusion.

"The other times? What do you mean?"

She stared sideways to him, and he turned to meet her gaze, confusion evident there as well.

"The other times... The times I've had to protect you or any of the others Below."

Understanding flowed through her, but her tension remained. He hadn't understood what she was asking him. Finally she turned her gaze back to the stars overhead, too embarrassed to go on if she watched him directly.

"No, I didn't mean that."

"Catherine?"

Damn! Why had she brought it up? There was no way to ask this question without making matters worse.

He rolled onto his side and leaned up on an elbow again, their faces almost touching. One hand reached out and cupped her chin, turning her to face him more clearly.

"What is it?"

"I thought perhaps... I was afraid you would..."

She sighed loudly in exasperation, and shut her eyes tight, wondering how in the world she could articulate this particular fear.

"Tell me, Catherine."

Her eyes flew open again and met his, and she saw that he would not let this rest now.

"Before it happened we were becoming closer. You haven't kissed me or touched me since then. Why?"

A gasp escaped him and his eyes flew wide with consternation. It took a minute for him to respond, and she knew that he was now going through the same confusion as she over this topic.

"Catherine, no! You can't think that what happened could in any way ever change how I feel about you?!"

She could feel the trembling of her lower lip and chin, and was glad he held her there, sure she would have burst into tears without that firm support.

"No, I know nothing could change the way you feel about me, but I also know how sensitive an area this is for you, and I do think your response to... to our relationship could be affected. That maybe you might think I don't want you to touch me or kiss me again."

His dismay deepened, she could see it clearly on his face, and hurried to reassure him.

"I don't want to force this issue, Vincent, that's not it. I just need you to know..."

She couldn't continue for a minute, wondering what the best way to word this might be.

"Tell me," he said again, his voice even lower than before.

She drew in a deep, shuddering breath before continuing on.

"The bruises are gone, and so are the scratches, just like you said they would be."

She paused for a moment and he waited, knowing there was more.

"And I don't think of that night, Vincent, at least not in the way you might think. I don't think of them, ever. Do you know why?"

Slowly he shook his head, his gaze intent, his expression open and vulnerable.

"Because whenever I think of that night there's only one image that comes to my mind, and that's of you taking care of me, of you touching me..."

He drew in a deep breath, his eyes widening, but he didn't pull back from her.

"It's what I was thinking about here, tonight, before you found me." Her voice broke slightly. "That's why the bond was silent. I thought you would be upset if you felt those emotions in me, so I blocked them from you. I was thinking of us here, beneath this tree, of you kissing me, and then later, in your chamber, of you touching me..."

The trembling increased, but now it came from the hand which held her, and she cupped her own about his and drew it up, pressing a warm kiss at its center. Sliding them both away at last, she held him captive at her cheek, her eyes entreating his. Slowly, almost hypnotically, he lowered his mouth to hers. This kiss was soft and warm and oh-so-gentle. He brushed against her lips, caressing them tenderly, cherishing her silky softness with his own. When he pulled back, she saw sorrow mixed with something like trepidation in his eyes.

"Nothing could ever change the way I feel about you, Catherine, know that."

His voice was so intense, his eyes willing her to believe that it was true, as if he needed to convince her, despite the assurances she had given him a moment ago. That's how she knew it was only a prelude to something else, and she waited, breath drawn in tight, for him to finish.

"But I do worry about this, you know that, even if we haven't spoken of it."

She felt his trembling through the hand which still held her. She saw it in the naked entreaty for understanding in his eyes.

"What they did to you..."

For a moment he seemed unable to go on, dropping his head to shield his expression from her. When his eyes met hers again, she gasped at the chaotic mix of anger and despair there.

"It makes me sick, Catherine. I know it could have been so much worse, and yet even this fills me with such rage. That they could dare touch you like that, hurt you..."

He shook his head, eyes closed, as if seeking to banish the images he saw there. When he opened his eyes again, the pain and fury were gone, replaced by a hopelessness so deep she shuddered in response.

"I know what you want from me, Catherine. I know what you need, what you deserve. But don't you see? I'm a risk to you in the same way that they were, despite my love for you."

"No! No, Vincent, don't say that!"

"It's true, Catherine, it's true."

He was crying now, hot tears falling down on her cheeks, mixing with her own. His hand released her chin and slid down to cup the curve of her shoulder, his chest partially covering hers as he moved to hold her close, pressing the words home.

Do you think I don't want to kiss you, to touch you? I want it all the time. Sometimes I think I'll go mad with the wanting of it.When we're together on your balcony, when you meet me there, dressed in thin, delicate silk... You don't know how it affects me, Catherine. You can't imagine the thoughts I have of you then, of us!"

Her eyes widened at the unexpected outburst, stunned by the openness of his words, at the naked declaration. She felt the emotional wildness coming from him, felt it as a fast, deep, rushing river, dammed and held back for so long, now suddenly released in a raging torrent.

"You are so beautiful, so delicate, like a flower..."

His voice was suddenly quiet, but she could see the intensity of his gaze as he stared down at her, almost as if through a fog. His hand slid away from her shoulder to stroke along her throat, down to where her collarbones met, then traced one back along her shoulder, this time beneath the layers of her unzipped leather jacket and buttoned linen shirt. She gasped at the unexpected feel of his warm hand on her bare skin, stunned that he had touched her so intimately, in the midst of his rejection of those emotions.

"Such beauty should be worshipped, cherished, adored, as it deserves. I want to be that for you, Catherine, but my desires don't stop there."

His hand held her again, as it had a few minutes since, cupped about her shoulder, only now it rested on her naked flesh, beneath her shirt, his thumb stroking tenderly along the indentation just above her collarbone. She shuddered at the delicacy of his touch, appalled by his words, by the terrible constraints he laid upon his own sexuality. Her thoughts flew back over the course of the last month, from the new discoveries made that night after Samhain, and their tentative moves forward, to the abrupt upheaval of the attacks which followed, and the dramatic reversal it had put on the evolution of their relationship. And yet wasn't this a move forward of sorts? He was telling her things he had never before found the courage to say. He was opening himself to her, as painful as that was for them both, in a way she would have thought impossible just two weeks ago. And hadn't she made her own, difficult disclosure here, just minutes ago? She had told him she blocked the bond from him, not because she was in danger, but because of her intimate thoughts of him, of them. This had to be considered progress, didn't it? If it didn't push him inexorably away from her, the terrible thought drifted over the others, as if spoken from a source outside herself. She didn't know what the answer was, but she knew one thing, they were talking about his fears, and the more he told her now, the better the chance that they could work things out in the future.

"Do you think I want that, Vincent?"

His gaze turned back up to her face, away from the tender hollow of her throat which had held his contemplation for the last few minutes. She saw a hazy cloud of confusion there, as if he didn't quite know what was happening.

"Catherine?"

"Do you think I want to be worshipped, cherished and adored by your thoughts alone?"

His confusion deepened.

"I'm not a statue on a pedestal, Vincent. I'm a woman, with wants and needs and desires, just like your own."

Her eyes softened and her hand came up to cup his cheek, stroking away the wetness still coating him there.

"I know you love me. I feel it all the time. No one has ever loved me like you do. And I love you. Nothing in my life could have prepared me for the depth of emotions I feel for you. I love you, Vincent, unconditionally. I adore you. I want to cherish and worship you for the rest of my life."

Her voice dropped lower yet, barely reaching his own sensitive ears, as if she spoke directly to his heart.

"I want to cherish you by holding you close, worship you with my body, adore you with all that I am. I want to give you pleasure, Vincent, I want to share my deepest physical responses with you, because I love you. I want to ground the ethereal connection of our bond with the physical sensations of our bodies. We were meant to have this, I know it."

His eyes widened in shock as her words sunk in, then, as if a curtain had dropped over them, his thoughts were suddenly shuttered from her. His hand slipped from inside her shirt to rest once more on the safer outer layers of her clothing, and she could feel the difference in this touch, despite their closeness.

"You deserve to have everything, Catherine. To love a man completely, and have that love returned. But I can't promise you those things, as unfair as that is. You have to know this now. I don't want to mislead you any longer."

The words weren't cold, not exactly, but they had a tone of finality, of doom to them, which made her shiver. He really thought that there could be no more for them. He really thought that! Only her own belief, her unwavering certainty that he was wrong, allowed her to control her features, to not let her first response of stunned disbelief get through to him from their bond. She steadied her own thoughts before speaking again.

"I will accept whatever you can find within you to share with me, Vincent. There is no other choice for me. But you need to know that I don't share your belief. I know we were meant to have it all. I know it. I won't stop trying to convince you of that, and you need to know that, too."

He stared at her in bemusement, and she could read his expression so easily. He had used harsh, final words - or so he thought. It was the closest he could come now to suggesting that her life might lay with another, as he had so often tried to tell her early on in their relationship, but she had ignored that deeper message entirely, bypassing it completely, as if it were no option at all. As it wasn't, of course. She almost smiled at the very idea that he could make himself believe such a thing. She knew it was impossible for him, no matter how much he tried to fool himself into thinking otherwise.

"I'll always be here for you, Vincent. Everything I have and am, I give to you, you know that, don't you? When you need me, whatever you need of me, I'll be here, to give it to you. I can't make you accept this, I can only offer it, and I do, with all my heart, mind and body. You are my destiny, Vincent, just as I am yours. It's not a burden, it's a blessing.

His stoic expression crumpled, tears filling his eyes once more. His arms slid down to encompass her, wrapping tightly around her waist. He pressed his face tight to her breasts and pulled her close, shuddering sobs wracking his whole body. The linen of her shirt was wet with his tears, and she felt the myriad textures of his face as he nuzzled against her softness, seeking comfort. Her own arms wrapped about his shoulder4s, holding him tight, one hand cupping his head to her bosom.

"Oh, Catherine... Catherine..."

"It's all right. I'm here, Vincent, I'm here."

She crooned the words over and over again, assuring him of her love and constancy. No matter how long it took, she wouldn't give up. They would have their happy life, she was determined of that.

* * *
Catherine stood on her balcony, overlooking the city and the park below. The cool, crisp weather of fall had given way to an early winter, a thin coating of snow blanketing the city below her with its pristine whiteness. She loved this time of year, this early transition to the still, cold and quiet. Days would pass quickly now, and night come early, leaving her more time to spend with Vincent, especially here, on her balcony. The last few weeks had passed slowly, the aftermath of that difficult discussion in the park followed by a stiff formality on his part that had taken a good two weeks to break down. He couldn't maintain it, of course, but it still wasn't quite the same, not yet. She grieved for what had been lost - they had come so far, only to see all their progress disappear yet again. But they would have it back again, all of it, she swore fiercely to herself. Determined not to yield on this point, she had changed nothing, meeting him as usual in her silken gowns when he came to her late at night. He had tried to stay away, but that didn't last a week. She sighed with regret at that thought, knowing the colder weather would now require warmer fare, despite her obstinance. Oh well, it didn't matter, one way or the other, he would know that she hadn't changed her mind. If only he would finally accept, once and for all, that she wouldn't change her mind - ever!

She was suddenly distracted, though, by the image that came upon the heels of those most recent thoughts. She remembered the stunned look on his face when, after a week's absence, he had appeared on her balcony and she had come to him in a pale green silk gown, a thin robe of jade loosely belted over it. He had blatantly stared, something he never allowed himself to do, and she could tell he'd half expected her to be dressed like an Eskimo after their conversation of a week before. She started to giggle at the recollection even now. He knew her better than that. She had told him she wasn't going to make this easier for him, and she meant it. Still, it couldn't have dismayed him so very badly, she thought, a wicked smile on her lips, for he had come back again the next night, and the night after that, and had managed to hide any further shocked response he might have had to find her each time clothed in her most delicate lingerie as she waited for him.

A sudden blast of cold air broke in a wave against her and she shivered, her silk gown and robe no protection against the invisible, icy fingers. The chill of the floor beneath her feet could easily be felt through her ridiculously thin slippers, reminding her again of the inevitable change to come. She sighed regretfully, stubbornly resisting anything which would deny them the pleasure and comfort they had in each others company in this way, even if it was unspoken, indeed unacknowledged by them both.

"Catherine?"

His voice drew her immediately, a hazy, surprised pleasure enfolding her as she turned. She had told him once that she wondered if she would ever not be surprised to find him there, hidden in shadows, and it was indeed true. Each time was like the first, full of breathless wonder and poignant, astonished love. Could this magical, beautiful creature really exist? Really be here, looking at her with such love in his eyes? What had she ever done to deserve this wondrous gift? The urge to go to him, to burrow beneath his cloak and into the safe haven of his arms was almost overwhelming and it took all her strength to resist. She wasn't going to make it easy for him, she had firmly made that decision, but just as firm was her decision that he must make the next move. She remembered a similar time, when the chaotic confusion over that episode with Michael had held him back from her. She had waited then, and he hadn't disappointed her, drawing his arm about her and pulling her close, here, on this very spot, not so long ago. So now she waited again, staring at him with a love she couldn't hide, no matter how hard she tried.

"Vincent."

Her throat was numb, and she was amazed she'd been able to get anything out at all. Even to her own ears, though, the sound of it was intensely sensual, full of a desperate longing and an eternal love. He didn't move, but she could see both the yearning and doubt in his eyes. It had been so long, too long. The physical distance carefully kept between them for the last few weeks was taking its toll. Finally he spoke, and she realized that he was having as difficult a time of it as she was.

"It's cold, Catherine."

He stopped, and there was no way she could tell if it was an observation only, if he was suggesting she go inside or stay. Either seemed equally probable with the confused light filling his eyes as he gazed at her.

"I know."

She knew her own reply was equally vague.

He turned to stare past her shoulder, out over the city for a moment, as if weighing his options, unconsciously worrying his lower lip while he thought. She found that sight strangely compelling, her breath catching in surprise. He felt it, of course, his gaze turned back to her, his expression even more confused than before. She was struck, as always, by the improbable, thrilling mix of vulnerable innocence and massive virility radiating from him, the sudden image of it so familiar and yet just as unexpected, sending a shuddering jolt through her belly, culminating in a convulsive tightening deep within. She desperately tried to control that sudden sensation, hoping he hadn't received it, or if he had, could make no sense of it, foreign as it must be to him, or indeed to any other male. But Vincent was not any other male, and it was clear he both felt and understood it by the almost inaudible gasp which followed, and the haze which dropped over his eyes for a moment. She knew his attention was caught by that sensation, focused both inward and out, through their bond, to trace it to its source, knowing it viscerally, by their unique and magical connection. Her face flamed with heat, and she turned away abruptly to lean against the balustrade, eyes closed, face tilted upward to catch the now-welcome cooling winds.

"I'm sorry" she whispered, knowing he would hear her.

She wasn't going to make it easy for him. She'd said it and she'd meant it, but she hadn't intended to do it this way, flaunting her emotions, teasing him with a physical sensation he couldn't help but respond to himself. Despite the unintentional nature of it, she felt guilty, the last few years of strict control she'd imposed upon herself having taken on the aura of a norm. She hadn't thought of it before, but now, that thought acknowledged, sorrow filled her with a sudden sweep. This wasn't normal. She loved him with a love that surpassed anything else she'd ever felt or imagined, and she knew it was so with him, too. Containing these emotions, these responses, it wasn't right, it wasn't fair, not to either of them.

"Shhh, Catherine, it's all right."

She started at his voice, so close to her ear, then felt his arms enclose her and pull her back, until she rested against his solid chest, and she no longer felt the cold at all, but instead a radiant heat that warmed her everywhere. Strangely enough, despite the renewal of the physical proximity she had missed and craved these last few weeks, for a moment her attention was focused entirely on his words alone. He had said them before, that night he'd tended her wounds, when other thoughts of him, of them, had managed to escape her barriers and get through to him, her state too vulnerable to contain the emotions she usually kept hidden. She'd wondered then if he could possibly have been referring to those thoughts, telling her it was all right, not only to have them, but to allow them freedom, unhindered by any containment of their bond. In the end, she had convinced herself that his words had nothing to do with that, but were instead merely an expression of comfort, to calm the churning he had to feel within, following the hours of danger just past. But now, as difficult as it was to believe and accept, she thought that the first explanation was indeed the true one. But how? Why? Why would he tell her that, when it was so obvious he still kept a tight reign on his own emotions and physical responses in this regard? Those stolen moments before Brooke's attack in the park seemed like a dream now, a step outside reality. She shivered uncontrollably at that distressing and painful thought, at the idea that he might ignore what had happened, leaving it silent and unspoken between them, an achingly sweet memory never to be relived. On the heels of that thought, as if he'd read them as well, his arms tightened, pulling her back more fully into the comforting security of his body. She couldn't stand this, couldn't stand the conflicting signals a moment longer. She turned in his arms, and her eyes rose to his, imploring.

"Tell me what this means, Vincent, please. I can't stand this silence between us, not any more. Are you telling me it's all right for me to have these thoughts, these feelings about you, about us, but that it's not all right for you? Tell me, Vincent."

He sighed raggedly, his eyes cast upward for a moment, as if looking for divine intervention.

"It's not a matter of what's right or not, it's a matter of what is wise, Catherine."

His eyes met hers again, and now they implored, begged her to understand, to not make him speak of it further. He found no escape there, shaking his head as if to clear those disturbing images before going on.

"I can't stand to see you do this to yourself, it's too much an injustice to your feelings."

"And what about your feelings, Vincent? Don't they count? Or are you telling me that you don't feel as I do, that you have no such feelings to hide?"

He gasped, eyes widening in shocked surprise at her last words. Both knew how ridiculous they were, and yet for a moment, for a fleeting second, she could see that he toyed with the idea of such a lie, then discarded it instantly. She almost smiled. That he thought he could lie to her at all, much less on this head, was laughable.

"You know how I feel." The words were almost inaudible, and his eyes slid away, unable to meet hers.

"Yes," she whispered, "I know how you feel."

For a moment they were silent, but their bond pulsed between them, full of chaotic, confused emotions that were intensely uncomfortable for her, so much so that she could only wonder how in the world he could endure them at all, so much stronger did he sense their connection.

"Vincent, look at me."

He resisted her words, the muscles at his jaw tensing, but she slipped a hand upward to cup his cheek, turning him back to her.
"I do know how you feel, just as you know how I feel. How could we not? Even without our bond, a person would have to be deaf, dumb and blind not to see what's between us. We love each other. And it is an injustice, one we do to ourselves when we deny those feelings. Most people never find the one true love of their lives, but we have, Vincent, we have. We can't deny that, it isn't right. And it is a matter of what's right, whether it's wise or not."

He stared at her, his lower lip quivering. She could see it in her eyes, he agreed with everything she said deep inside, and yet he still struggled, unable to let go of those fears.

"Vincent, is it so impossible for you to begin, just a little, to test the boundaries you've always imposed upon yourself and upon us? Surely there must be a way, a place, where you could feel safe with me. If we took little steps..."

He drew in a deep breath.

"Little steps? That's what I thought I was doing in the park the night after our Samhain outing, and later that evening, in the Great Hall, and later yet, in my chamber. There are no little steps and no safe places when I'm with you, Catherine, there is only the whole, and I am too easily lost in it, no matter where we are."

He looked at once both miserable and ecstatic, the memories he'd called forth impossible not to respond to, the futility of it all overwhelming him.

"That's not true, Vincent, it's not. Wherever we are, as long as we're together, that's our safe place. It's only when I'm with you that I feel truly safe. You are my refuge. I want you to have that with me, Vincent. I want to be your sanctuary, just as you are mine."

She gazed sorrowfully at him, and he interjected hurriedly, the words torn from him, as if he couldn't help but speak them.

"Oh, Catherine, you have to know, you must know..." He took a deep, shuddering breath and went on. "My heart is with you, and only when I'm with you do I feel whole and completely safe. It's that sensation, that security, that feels so tenuous to me. It's too precious to risk, too important to jeopardize. But you mustn't feel safe with me, you mustn't... because you're not."

She began to protest, but he spoke first, cutting her off to repeat his last words in a quivering voice, staring at her intently, "You're not."

He tried to turn away once more, to pull back from her, and she could tell that he was bitterly ashamed of what he perceived to be the hidden truth between them, of the very disclosure of it, but she wouldn't let him go, tightening her hold on him and bringing him back.

"Don't, Vincent. Don't turn away from me."

He looked profoundly uncomfortable, his body tensing against hers. She realized suddenly that his many layers of clothing did not hide from him the thinness of her own, nor the response of her body, caused first by the chilly air, and then by his warm proximity.

"Catherine, please, don't. This is too difficult for me..."

"I know, Vincent, I know it is."

Her eyes shone with a deep well of sympathy, but the love could not be hidden, nor was she trying to do so. It was impossible not to see that while they agreed on the problem itself, her solution to it was considerably different than his own. He stared down at her, searching for the answer, finding only the same mocking questions which plagued his days and haunted his nights.

She stared back, and easily read his confusion. He was as fully stubborn as she, they both knew that, and with a sigh she moved out of his arms, noting the momentary resistance in them before they reluctantly gave way. He could say it all he wanted to, but there was a part of him that could not let her go, and she knew, whether he admitted it to himself or not, that it was something he had no control over. She moved to the end of the balcony, putting five feet of distance between them, and stood looking out over the park.

"What will you do?"

There was a silent pause, but she felt a wave of confusion and unease, and knew that it came from him.

"What?"

The word was spoken in a low whisper, but this time there was a breathy quality to it, and she suspected that the question had caught him completely unaware. She turned to face him and saw him staring at her.

"What will you do, Vincent, now that we've kissed?"

He blinked rapidly, and she saw the answer clearly - he had no idea.

"Will you take us back to what we had before? To platonic hugs, and chaste caresses? Will you be able to forget what we shared? I know I won't. I can still taste your kiss, even now, weeks later. I think I always will now. I can still feel the way youheld me that night, in the Great Hall, when we danced, and afterwards, in your chamber, the way you touched me..."

Her eyes had drifted closed and indeed she did feel those sensations again, and her body's response to them. There was no attributing this reaction to the cold winds, not this time. When her eyes opened, languid and calm, she found him staring at her, his gaze for once straying beneath her face to skim her yearning body. In a moment his eyes had risen to hers, and she saw a deep flush sweep over his face, embarrassment projected easily across their bond.

"Don't be embarrassed, Vincent. I'm not. I love to have you look at me."

"Catherine, please..."

He could barely get the words out, breathless with anxiety and longing - she saw them both clearly. Slowly she walked towards him, and then, with several inches still between them stopped, reaching out a hand to lay her fingers against his trembling lips.

"Shhh, Vincent, it's all right."

He stared at her, and she could tell that he knew immediately that she had chosen those specific words intentionally, that she was telling him it was all right to have those thoughts of her and of them, that it was all right to let them free, despite their bond, despite everything. She knew those words would no way ensure that he would do so, but it was a start, and they would go on from here.

"Can you stay, Vincent? I could make some tea..."

She knew he would not, but made the offer nonetheless, trying to regain some sense of peace between them, worried about him leaving like this.

Slowly he shook his head, his eyes shining with turbulent emotions.

"I should get back..."

She nodded, gracefully accepting his need to be away, to think things through in solitude.

"I understand."

Backing away slowly, she stopped at the french doors, her eyes never leaving his.

"Goodnight."

He stared at her a minute longer, then pulled the hood of his cloak forward, over his hair. Finally he turned to the wall, the few climbing steps it would take to reach her roof and the elevator access panel so familiar he gave them no thought. But at the balustrade he paused, his back to her, for several long minutes. Catherine watched his struggle silently, wondering what he would do next. When he turned back to her, she let out her breath with a sigh, not realizing she had held it until that moment.

He walked back to her slowly, almost hypnotically, his eyes never leaving hers. As she had done, he stopped, just inches away, staring at her in bemusement, and she could tell that whatever impulse drove him, it was something he didn't fully trust, but could also not deny. He was torn, she saw that, and so she waited, letting him make the choice.

Finally he reached out, as if in a dream, and slowly drew her to him, his arms closing about her slender body. He held her gently, pressing his check against the silky softness of her hair, and she knew he breathed in her scent as he nuzzled there, the action slight, but unmistakable. When he pulled away, it was only a slight separation, so that their eyes could meet without putting any distance between their bodies. His eyes closed and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against her own, and her arms came up in response, circling his waist beneath his cloak, her hands stroking his back tenderly.

"Catherine, you know, don't you...?"

He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. She knew very well what he meant. He loved her and he wanted her, no matter what he said, no matter what he feared. She knew then that it would be all right. To escape his fears he needed to move slowly, and she would honor that and help him, no matter what her own needs were. This was a move forward, no matter how slight, and her heart rejoiced.

"Yes, I know" she whispered, speaking the words, though they were surely unnecessary now, with their bond singing between them. Finally he released her and stepped back. He fully intended to leave, she could see that clearly, but still he hesitated, then finally spoke.

"Can you come Below tomorrow?"

"Is there a concert in the park?"

He shook his head.

"The children are ready to put on their production?"

He shook his head again.

She paused before going on, her next words a low whisper, hope filling her.

"You want me there, with you?"

Slowly he nodded, still silent.

"Then I'll be there... with you."

He stared at her a moment longer, then turned and was gone.

Catherine stood waiting for many long minutes, imagining his descent to her sub-basement, over their threshold, and into his world. The wind swirled bitingly about her, whipping the thin fabric of her gown, completely unnoticed. Not until she was certain that he was safe Below, the dangers of her world behind him, did she leave the balcony. Her apartment was dark, but she turned on no lights, slipping out of her robe and into bed, then pulling the down quilt about her until it enclosed her in a warmth that was both light and complete - not unlike his last embrace, the thought drifted sleepily through her. She gave herself over to sleep, knowing she would dream of him.

And she did.

* * *

To Part 3

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