The Walls Grew Thin - Part 3

Teri

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

* * *

The wind blew gently above, and though a voice in her head insisted that winter had just begun, her senses would have none of it, the balmy breezes and subtle tendrils of scent speaking plainly of spring, of budding leaves and fertile earth, of life unfrozen and unfurled, of affirmation and renewal. Stars twinkled overhead and they were not the stars of winter, but instead of the vernal equinox, sharpening her sense of time, contrary though it was to what the other voice told her. She resolutely turned aside from that voice, accepting the truth around her until those other thoughts disappeared.

The timing may have been a matter of confusion for those few seconds, but there was never a question as to the place. The sharp scent of pine and the boughs waving gently, just above, left no doubt as to where she was. She had been here before, twice, and both moments, despite the trauma surrounding them, held the sweetest of memories for her. Both times Vincent had been here, beneath the large fir tree, with her. They had shared kisses here, kisses that were both sweet and tender, urgent and desperate. She could taste them even now, tracing her lips lightly with the tip of her tongue, as if to feel again the pressure of his mouth upon her, the scent and sweetness of him. She sighed, her eyes drifting closed, wishing he were here again, with her now.

"Catherine."

She should have been surprised, but she wasn't, not at all. The sound of her name on his lips was the sweetest thing imaginable, and she drew it deep within, nestling it close to her heart, as a mother cradles her nursing child to her breast. When she opened her eyes he was there, a dark shadow looming over her, sitting beside her as she lay on the softened earth.

This was Vincent, and yet not. He looked much like he had that last time, when they'd had the painful talk about his fears, only then his eyes had been bleak, full of hopelessness and despair. He'd had an altogether different look on his face that first time, when the other was dominant, in protective mode as the police searched the area just surrounding their hiding spot. There was no hint of hesitation of doubt in his face then, and when he kissed her, it was clearly his idea and his moment. Now...

Now he looked different, not quite like either of those two previous times. She searched his eyes, trying to define what it was she saw, and could only describe it as a serene acceptance. His lips quirked upward a bit at her searching glance, and suddenly his eyes twinkled teasingly, humor apparent there. Throughout it all, his love for her shone through, undiminished.

"What is it, Catherine? You're looking at me so oddly, as if you see me for the first time. Well, perhaps not quite like that," he amended, chuckling lightly at his own joke.

The confusion on her face deepened, though her heart beat faster at the evidence of a new level of comfort portrayed by his voice and demeanor - both with himself and with her. It didn't make sense. When had this change occurred? Surely such a drastic change had to have had a dramatic impetus. And surely she would be aware of any event which could have precipitated such a thing. How was this possible?

"Vincent?"

Her voice died out on the end, uncertain of how to continue. Seeing that confusion, and hearing it in her voice, his teasing ended abruptly, the serious expression she knew so well dropping into place. He leaned down, searching her own face closely.

"What is it, Catherine? Is something wrong? Tell me."

The husky, whispered tones of his voice made her shiver weakly. Something had changed, and though she didn't know how it happened or what it was, she knew a way to test the boundaries of this new, confident Vincent sitting at her side. She drew in a deep breath, stilling the other voice which had suddenly appeared once again, shouting at her to keep still, to tell him nothing was wrong, to smile and sit up beside him, to start a gentle, non-threatening conversation about his day Below and her own Above. She didn't listen to the voice and she did none of those things.

"Kiss me, Vincent."

His eyes widened in surprise, but he was not shocked, she saw that clearly, and that in itself shocked her. Nor was he dismayed, an eager light replacing the serenity of a moment before. His gaze dropped down to her lips and suddenly she felt intensely self-conscious, aware of them as she had never been before. They quivered with apprehension and expectation, and try as she might, she couldn't make it stop. As if he'd read her thoughts, as surely he must have, given her complete inability to control her end of their bond this night, his hand came up and a finger pressed against her trembling lips softly, that light pressure blanketing her with a security that touched her deep within. He brushed them with the soft pad of his finger and the sharp tip of his nail, tracing their outline. They felt swollen, pulsing with need, and Catherine had an almost overwhelming urge to open her mouth and draw him in, kissing and nibbling at the sensitive flesh waiting so close. Of course that was the very thing she mustn't do, absolutely must not do, the voice in her head cried out, but even as it did, her tongue peeked between her lips to lightly taste the salty skin of his finger as it stilled upon her.

She became aware of her action only as she did it, and prayed he hadn't noticed. Pressing her lips tightly together once more, she glanced up to meet his eyes and found them glittering darkly, the bright blue of his irises swallowed up by the blackness of his pupils, expanded completely to maximize his nightvision. She knew that though he was a vague image in shadows to her, he saw every detail of her completely. His finger left her mouth and she whimpered at its absence, the trembling beginning anew, but he never withdrew his touch, his palm sliding to cup her cheek and jaw, holding her still. When his mouth began to lower to hers, she gasped in anticipation, suddenly unable to get enough air into her lungs to support the increased demands of her body. "Catherine," he whispered once more, just before his lips met hers.

The sensation of his kiss was unbelievable. They had kissed before, the recent Samhain evening they'd shared opening the floodgates between them, but somehow each kiss was as the first, completely unexpected and defying description. Each touch between them was virginal and new, awakening shivery sensations that quivered through her body leaving her instantly ready for him and teetering on the edge of a physical response that frightened her with its intensity. It blossomed within her and she couldn't withhold the smoky groan that escaped her throat, torn deep from her belly and chest, a naked plea for more. He swallowed that sound, taking it into himself, his mouth ravishing her own with lips, teeth and tongue, teasing her mercilessly, loving her tenderly, completely. She was drowning in the sweetness of it, and willingly so. Surely air was unnecessary now, when they had this to sustain them. A moment more and she felt his weight upon her, covering her everywhere, heavy and hard. Her arms circled his ribs and grasped him closer yet and his own hands bracketed her face, holding her still for his questing mouth. His thighs moved against her own until he pressed a knee between them, urging them apart, and she instantly complied, wanting him there, needing him there, at her very center. She drew her legs up around his hips and he sank down, his hips rocking against her own. One hand traveled down her throat to cup a taut breast, his thumb brushing teasingly at the rigid peak, before moving downward to tug at the hem of her light spring dress. His fingers never hesitated, slipping beneath the lacy edge of her panties and slitting the seam at her side with his sharp nails pressed outward, away from her body. The garment was no longer an impediment, and in a moment neither were his own clothes, the fastenings quickly undone. His hot flesh pressed against the silky wetness of her own, and they both groaned in unison, needing to be joined. She pulled her knees up higher about his waist and he nestled down to her, their bodies positioned for the intimacy to come. "Now, Vincent, now," she whispered. With a thrust of his hips and a groaning cry he buried himself within her, filling her completely and Catherine exploded in a starburst of orgasmic joy.

"Vincent!"

Catherine flew upright, her heart pounding wildly, a hand pressed tight to her breast. She fell back to the pillow, gasping for air, and waited for the quivering convulsions to stop. Finally they did, and her breathing eased. A coolness drifted over her body, and she felt her nipples tighten, not from arousal, but rather from the chilly air surrounding her. A horn sounded from the streets below and her eyes flew open with sudden awareness. The room was dark, but it was hers, there was no doubt about that. She wasn't in the park with Vincent, beneath the large fir tree she now thought of as their own, and it wasn't spring. It was the middle of December and the source of the cold wind, as she quickly discovered when she scanned the room, was her balcony door, somehow ajar. The sheers blew wildly, and with a ragged sigh she wretched her lethargic body out of bed to fumble at the door and the lock. She stumbled back to bed and drew the down comforter about her, huddling within its plump, airy folds. It held body heat in to an amazing degree, and she was toasty warm in minutes, but there was no weight to it, and she blinked back tears at the vivid memory of her dream of Vincent and the feel of his body upon her.

* * *
Mid-December

"Get in here, Chandler. Now!"

Joe stood in the door of his office, the command in his voice one which brooked no defiance. Next to him stood a uniformed officer. Catherine stared at him for a moment in confusion, but he stood waiting and she quickly left her desk and joined him. He let her precede him into his office, then shut the door. The cop stayed outside, but she could she his form through the translucent glass. It looked like he was guarding the door. She whirled to ask Joe what this was about, and saw Dan Carter sitting at one of the two chairs across from his desk. She knew Dan, and so did Joe, and his presence here stopped her cold. He was one of the detectives they'd worked with during a drug case two years ago. That case had remained unsolved, much to his dismay, and she cringed inwardly at the sight of him now, knowing she had played a duplicitous part in keeping John Pater's role in it hidden. Paracelsus had killed Jimmy during that case...

"What's going on, Radcliffe?"

Joe's hard-edged question pulled her from the introspection claiming her and she glanced at both of them warily, her facial features tightly controlled.

"What do you mean, Joe? What's happened?"

Neither said anything for a moment, then finally Dan spoke, his voice much softer than Joe's had been.

"Cathy, I've been undercover on a case, and there's word on the street of a gang vendetta. It's a relatively new gang here, with origins in Chicago, and we've never really had serious trouble with them before, probably because there aren't that many of them here. But apparently a few have been attacked recently and one of them was the cousin of the gang leader in Chicago. When he heard of it he put out a call for revenge. Apparently they think the best defense is a good offense."

His wry smile was strained, and Catherine could tell this was no joking matter.

"They've done this twice before, in Detroit and St. Louis, and both times their targets ended up dead. My snitches have all said the same things - there's a sudden influx of these guys in the city in the last two days, and they won't leave until the contract is fulfilled."

"This sounds serious, Joe." She turned to find him still standing beside her, his arms crossed over his chest. "Do we know who the hit is for? If we can find out who it is we can get them in protective custody right away...

"It's you, Cathy", he interrupted her curtly.

"What?!"

"It's you."

His voice was softer now, but there was no mistaking the look in his eyes.

"It's true, Cathy," Dan said, drawing her attention back to him. "It's been confirmed through a couple of sources. They're after Catherine Chandler, Assistant D.A., and unless there's another Catherine Chandler working here that I'm unaware of it, it's gotta be you," he said wryly.

She stared at him, her mind working rapidly. It had to be the men who'd attacked Brooke in late October, and then her, a week after. Somehow they'd followed her and gotten an ID on both her name and her job. The officer's presence outside the door suddenly held new significance, and she turned back to Joe.

"What do we do", she said, speaking briskly, no emotion in her voice.

"We get you out of here, and I mean fast", Joe replied. "You can tell me what your involvement is with these guys later tonight, but right now we gotta move."

Dan stood up at her other side, and they turned toward the door, but she stood resolutely still.

"What do you mean, 'out of here'? Where are we going?"

"Out of the city. You can't know where just yet, no one can. There's an unmarked van in the underground parking lot waiting. Dan will go with you and I'll meet you there later tonight. We'll do an official deposition then and get started on the case immediately, tomorrow." He turned to go, but she stood unmoving.

"No."

He stared at her in confusion.

"No? Radcliffe, do you understand what Dan's telling you? These guys are serious, and they're very good at this. They know where you work and they know where you live. You have to be in protective custody, you said so yourself."

"For how long?"

Both men stared at her, then Dan finally spoke.

"You won't be safe while the contract is in play. It's not like we can catch one guy and it's over. This is a gang that has ties to all the major cities in the country. They've sent agents here, and they've only got one objective. You're only alive because the few members here are relatively new to the area and waited for the organizational protocol to kick in. Now that the big guns have arrived, you're fair game. You've got to disappear until the contract is called off. You know as well as we do what that means."

"You're talking about the Witness Protection Program", she said flatly.

Suddenly she felt herself seized by the arm and turned. Joe's face was pale and his voice shook, both with anger and concern.

"What else is there, Cathy? You'll be in jeopardy every time you walk out your door. Even if you moved, you'd still have to walk through the door here. They know you and they know where you work. An assistant D.A. can't be invisible, it's impossible. You'll be dead within a week, probably less, and everyone anywhere near you will be in danger as well."

He shook her, driving his points home, but she remained unmoved until his very last words, when suddenly the color drained out of her face. He saw that and rushed into the opening.

"Everyone, Cathy, your friends, co-workers, even strangers on the street. Anyone standing near you is at risk. If you aren't concerned about your own safety, at least think about theirs."

Her rigid posture slumped and his arms slid around her to pull her close. "Don't worry. I'll know where you are. These things always calm down eventually.

After a while, maybe only a few months, they'll get tired of looking and turn their attention back to business. We'll put you in a small town. You won't be able to work for the D.A.'s office, at least not at first, but you can practice law under a different name, maybe for a small firm or as an independent, we'll arrange everything. You'll be okay, believe me. I'll keep my eye on you, you know that."

He pulled away to look her square in the eye, but her gaze was turned inward and blank.

"Cathy", he finally said, "we gotta go."

Another moment passed, and finally she nodded. They left the office and the uniformed officer fell in step behind them. They took the service elevator down, but all three men were tensely alert, telling her more than their words had done in the office above. Another officer sat waiting in the van, this time dressed in street clothes, and Catherine and Dan got in back. Catherine noted that the windows were opaque from the outside, blocking any vision of the occupants within. Joe didn't linger with his good-byes, assuring her again that he'd meet her in about twelve hours. The uniformed guard scanned the surrounding lot tersely, his gun drawn but held down at his side. In moments the doors were closed and locked and they were on their way. Catherine thought through her options furiously as they maneuvered out of the ramp and headed uptown. She watched closely, and a few minutes later she was convinced they intended to leave Manhattan via the Triborough bridge. One chance, she thought, there's one chance...

"Dan, could you do one thing for me?"

"What is it, Cathy? And please don't ask me to stop at your apartment so you can pick up clothes. You know that's not possible."

"No, not that."

She smiled at him and saw him relax his guard just a bit. "Would you mind taking the park drive on the way out? I don't know when I'll get back again, and it's only a few blocks."

She held her breath, waiting for his answer, and when it didn't come immediately she was encouraged. He was thinking about it.

"Sure, why not. Mark", he called to the cop in front, "take the park drive."

"You got it, Dan", he said.

The decision was made just in time, and a few blocks up he took a right. Within minutes they were in the park. It was early morning in December, and a Tuesday at that, but there were plenty of people in the park nonetheless. Both Dan and Catherine scanned their surroundings closely, Dan looking for any sign they were being followed by gang members, Catherine for another reason altogether. There was a tunnel entrance not to far from where they were, but it was important that she be able to get there without leading Dan or Mark to that spot, and that no witnesses see her escape into the tunnels. Luckily the light dusting of snow from last night had melted off this morning, and tracks down a drainage tunnel wouldn't be easy to spot. Suddenly a jogger and his dog darted across the road and the van screeched to a halt. Mark swore out loud, turning the van toward the curb to avoid them, and Catherine took her opportunity, jumping out the door and darting away, toward a crowd of people on the green.

"Cathy!"

She heard Dan shouting after her, but she didn't look back until she was a hundred yards away and able to turn down a side trail that offered some cover by its rock-like wall. Peering around it carefully, she saw Dan and Mark in the crowd, searching for her, the van stalled at an angle in the road, three doors flung open. She slipped away quickly and made her way down the side trail until the drainage tunnel appeared. This one was in a fairly unobtrusive part of the park, and there was no one nearby at the moment. She hesitated, but not for long, fearing that any moment the officers might appear over the rise, heading off for the entrance at a run. When she was inside the outer edge she paused, hugging the concave cement wall tightly and looking out to ensure that no one was there now. No one was. With a gasp of relief she turned to the door and pulled the latch. It swung open on command and she pulled the grate shut behind her. She watched the metal door slide shut, and only when it was completely closed did she turn and head down into the bowels of the tunnels. Five minutes later, as she approached the outer levels of the hub, she heard a tapping close by, and knew she had been spotted by the sentries. At almost the same moment Vincent rounded the corner at a run. He skidded to a stop and grasped her arms, scanning her body quickly to make sure she was all right.

"Catherine, what is it, what's wrong?"

He didn't have to tell her why he was worried. She stared up at him, silent. Her plan had been made quickly, with no time for finesse, and she'd never given a thought to what might happen should she reach her objective.

"I'm all right, Vincent, but I need to talk to you and Father. Can we find him right away?"

"Of course."

He never questioned her need, but instead took her arm and immediately led her on. Fifteen minutes later they were in Father's study. Vincent led her to a chair at the round, council table and she sat down wearily, suddenly tired.

"Stay here, Catherine, I'll get Father."

She nodded and he left. Five minutes later Mary arrived with tea. As usual, her presence was a calming one.

"Hello, dear. I passed Vincent in the outer tunnel and he asked me to bring you this."

"Thank you, Mary."

The older woman poured out four cups and set them before the chairs surrounding the table, then sat down at Catherine's side.

"Father and Vincent should be here any minute," she said calmly, and just then they arrived. Jacob led the way down the stairs, limping lightly, and Vincent followed, a towering figure behind him. Father paused beside Catherine, placed his hand on her shoulder, and looked searchingly at her for a moment before taking his own chair, across from her. Vincent sat in the chair remaining, at her side.

"Tell me, Catherine."

The commanding words surprised her out of her momentary lapse, her wandering attention momentarily focused on Vincent. How strange to hear those words from Father, when she was so used to hearing them from his son, instead. It was easy to see now where he'd picked up that habit, and in an instant a picture formed in her mind of a small Vincent, standing contrite before his parent, facing those very words after some boyish prank had been planned and played. The image was a compelling one, and she turned from it with regret, focusing on the matter at hand with a resigned sigh, no closer to knowing where to begin than she had been twenty minutes ago.

"Something's happened, Father. It involves the gang that attacked Brooke over a month ago." She didn't make reference to the second attack on herself, a week after that, and she saw Vincent stiffen beside her, though she kept her gaze focused squarely on the older man sitting across the table from her. Neither she nor Vincent had told Father of that attack, not then, and she was sure he hadn't spoken of it since. She had wanted him to keep this between them, and she knew he hadn't broken her trust in this matter, though now she herself would have to.

"Good god, are you saying that they have somehow found their way into the tunnels?!" he cried, aghast. "No, no, not that."

She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. "Father, I have to tell you something now that I kept from you before. Vincent did too, but only because I asked him to." Jacob frowned and glanced at his son, but turned his attention back to her immediately.

"Go on."

" Apparently the men who attacked Brooke hung out near the east entrance in the days following Brooke's attack, hoping to catch a glimpse of Vincent again. They never found him," she hurriedly assured him, as his eyes widened with concern, "but they found me. I wasn't coming to the tunnels, just jogging, but they recognized me from before."

"My god! What happened?" he said with alarm.

"Nothing," she stumbled over that lie, unable to stop herself from adding to it, "it's not important, it's over now." She didn't dare look at Vincent when she spoke those words. It obviously was important, important enough to have brought her here under such extreme conditions.

"But they saw me twice, and Vincent too. They must have been watching for me, following me, especially after that. They found out who I was, and today I learned that the gang they belonged to has called for a vendetta. Apparently the leader of the group that attacked Brooke is the cousin of the head of this gang. They put out a contract on me, and agents from other cities have come here to fulfill it."

"Catherine!" Vincent stood up quickly, the chair he'd been sitting on toppling over carelessly.

"A contract?" asked Father. "What does that mean?"

She didn't answer right away. Vincent still stood beside her, and she put her hand on his arm comfortingly and waited, until finally he righted the chair and sat down again, though this time close enough to her that the arms of their chairs touched.

Finally she turned back to Father and answered his question.

"This gang plays hard, Father. The agents are assassins."

Both he and Mary gasped in disbelief. "When did you learn this, Catherine, and how?" Vincent asked tersely. "Just this morning. Word is out on the street, and it filtered through to two of our undercover detectives. They went to Joe immediately."

"You can't go back to your apartment or to your office, it's not safe," he said adamantly, his tone of command far stronger than Joe's had been under the same circumstances.

"No, of course not," Jacob agreed, his words echoed by Mary's.

"What happened in the park on your way here, Catherine. I felt your anxiety and fear. Are they nearby?"

"No!", she hurried to assure them. "At least I don't think so, though it's possible they have the park staked out, especially near the east entrance, by the glade of those trees." Her eyes met Vincent's and only she saw more than the confirmation everyone else saw in his glance.

"I was in an unmarked police van, with two police officers. They were escorting me into protective custody. I asked them to take the park drive, and when there was an opportunity, near a large crowd, I jumped out and ran here. I checked twice, no one saw or followed me that I could tell, though perhaps it would be best if you watched that exit, as well as the east exit, very closely now."

"I don't understand, Catherine, why would you leave the protection of the police?" Father asked.

Vincent was silent, but she could see that he waited for her answer as well.

"They've done this before, this gang, called for vendettas against individuals - twice. Both times they eventually hit their targets."

She actually felt Vincent cringe beside her, and felt a sensation through the bond that almost made her nauseous. She squeezed his hand tight and held his gaze with her own.

"I'm all right, Vincent, you don't have to worry."

Finally she turned back to Father.

"Protective custody in cases like this means the Witness Protection Program, Father."

His brow wrinkled in confusion, but beside her Vincent sat forward abruptly with a gasp. He knew about this program from long ago. She had described it in detail when Mitch had come to town again and started to extort money from the union officials on the dock.

"They were taking me out of the city, maybe out of the state. I would be relocated far away, given a new identity and a new job, completely unconnected from the D.A.'s office. I would be given a different life, untraceable to this one. I would be in danger if I came back to the city, and I would be a danger to anyone near me, for as long as the contract was active."

Father and Mary both gasped now, too, looking shocked. They were beginning to understand the magnitude of this 'protective custody'.

"How long could such a thing go on?" Father asked. "How long before the gang called it off and stopped looking for you?"

"I don't know," she sighed, pushing her hair back from her face wearily. Joe said it might only be for months, but it's possible it would never be called off. Most people who go into the Witness Protection Program remain hidden in it for the rest of their lives."

"No!"

The word was harshly spoken, and all eyes turned toward Vincent. "No. You can't do it, Catherine. I couldn't reach you, I couldn't protect you. You have to stay here." There was no question in his voice.

"I..." She glanced to Father, back to Vincent, then to Father again, finally directing her comments to him.

"I couldn't do it, Father, I couldn't. Will you let me stay?"

Jacob saw the rigid, stubborn set to Vincent's jaw, and knew the control it took for his son to stay silent now. There was no choice to be made, here, they all knew that. Even if Catherine hadn't been the woman his son loved, she was one of them, a helper who had earned her place here, and their protection. But that was nothing in light of the first reason he so blithely glossed over. He didn't even want to think about what might happen to Vincent should she be removed from his side for any length of time. No, it was unthinkable. And truth be told, he couldn't imagine it himself, despite the trepidation that filled him over the idea of her continual presence here Below. No, there was no other option, that much was plain, and there would be time later for all of them to consider the consequences of this decision. Now his calming influence was needed, and as usual, the patriarch and leader emerged, as he always did, in such times of crises.

"Yes, of course you'll stay. You're one of us, Catherine."

* * *

When Catherine woke up on Wednesday morning, she felt odd, but very relaxed. It was very dark, and for a moment confusion filled her, but then she remembered where she was and why, and reached for the matches and candleholder on the bedside table. The guest chamber sprang into view, the warm amber glow spreading pale light about the cozy space. She felt rumpled and warm from the numerous handmade quilts and blankets scattered over the bed, as well as the soft woolen gown Vincent had left for her on the dressing table last night. But the air was cool, and once outside of the blankets, its affect was immediately felt, and she reached for the long shawl draped over the chair nearby, slipping her feet into soft leather boots, ankle high as she did. They made a tremendous difference, blocking the draft that so often hovered near the ground, and the fleece lining inside felt soft and cushiony. If she had been Above, no doubt she would have been putting on high heels by now, and her feet would already be complaining, the wry thought surfaced. The candle in one hand, her shawl held closed tight in the other, she left the chamber and turned left, only to find Vincent rising from the rocky floor just before her.

"Vincent!"

"I'm sorry I startled you, Catherine. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, very well," she answered, but her thoughts were distracted.

"Vincent, you didn't sleep here, in the hallway all night, did you?"

He paused for a moment, and she knew that he had, though she suspected that he hadn't actually slept much at all and had, for a moment, considered answering 'no' to her question on that slim technicality alone. A fleeting smile appeared on her face at that thought, and the obvious one that followed; he couldn't lie to her, even over something small, like this. The closest he'd ever come to doing so had been over Lisa, when she had returned to the tunnels seeking refuge, and even then he hadn't been able to lie so much as simply withhold the truth, and he couldn't hide from her that he had done so, either. Those thoughts comforted her, but her relief was short-lived. She was the one seeking refuge now, and she was the cause of his discomfort. She leaned in towards him, her eyes concerned. "You don't have to guard my door, Vincent. No one knows I'm here, and you know the sentries are on watch and would see if anyone unknown came below. No one could get this far inside the hub without you and the others knowing."

He looked a little chagrined, but also stubborn, and she knew that nothing would convince him of her safety until he himself had assured it. "I know that, Catherine." He didn't say, 'I just needed to make sure,' but she heard it clearly enough."

"Oh, Vincent," she murmured, leaning close. She rubbed her hands along his arms, feeling the tension in them, and shuddered at how uncomfortable it must have been to sit on the hard rock in a cold passageway all night. She pulled back to look at him, her hands still stroking his arms lightly. "Come on, let's go get some tea." She doubted he would agree to get some sleep now that she was awake, but at least she could make sure he sat in a comfortable chair and ate something.

* * *

The day went by slowly, yet it was filled with a tension felt by all. Security was heightened, watches halved in time and doubled of sentries to ensure maximum vigilance. Everyone felt the strain, but especially in Vincent's presence. He hovered over her restlessly at breakfast and throughout the morning and early afternoon, as the Council discussed how the situation should be addressed. He watched her closely, and several times, when approached by a friend, had growled abruptly, startled by their nearby presence. His look of contrition and shame after each such episode wrenched her heart, but there was nothing to be done, not yet. It was clear this threat to her life had left him emotionally vulnerable, his nerves on end.

The Council talks went on long past noon with no breaks - William had sandwiches and tea sent in. In the end they decided there was nothing that could be done except to go on as they for the moment, to be extra vigilant and to send word to their Helpers to keep their ears open for any news. Visits to the tunnels were, for the time being, prohibited, except through tightly scheduled deliveries of goods via secure tunnel entrances linked to certain Helpers from safe, indoor locations. Catherine's apartment entrance was absolutely forbidden, the sub-basement access point to be blocked until further notice. A special, message was sent to Peter explaining the situation in secure, tunnel shorthand, with no location references - those would be clear to him. The message requested that he act as a go-between with the DA's office - it was ultimately decided that Joe at least should know that she was safe.

By four o'clock the decisions had been made, messages sent and instructions given for tunnel security. Several work crews were dispatched to significant tunnel entrances to close them up - Catherine's apartment included - and new sentry watch schedules drawn up. These activities required a deflection of resources from current tunnel projects, and several of these were temporarily put on hold as part of the decision-making process as well. Mouse was assigned to augment the automated security system currently in place, and Vincent had volunteered time with him, as well, though all the Council could see how torn he was, and many wondered if Catherine would find herself present at these work sessions so that he could watch her personally, even while taking the necessary steps to ensure her safety.

Finally the Council was adjourned, and all hurriedly left Father's study to return to the peace and comfort of their own chambers. Catherine suspected that naps were high on everyone's list after such a stressful day, and she eyed Vincent speculatively, wondering how she might manage the same for him. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes, and he almost looked a little pale, if that were possible given his normally golden skintone and the amber fur so liberally coating the same. It was almost impossible to make Vincent rest when he felt there were things to be done, but this time it turned out to be almost ridiculously easy, as she soon learned.

"Vincent, do you think we could get some tea and relax in your chamber? I'm tired..."

"Of course, Catherine. You should rest - it's been a long day for you. I'll read to you."

How typical, she thought, that he should give no thought to himself, for whom the day had been longer yet.

"Come."

He slipped his arm about her shoulder and held her close, guiding her out of Father's study. She sighed and let her tense muscles relax against his welcoming strength, and felt a faint relaxation in his own body in response. That response, small though it was, drove home a revelation; he needed to have her near, not just emotionally, but physically. He needed to know she was safe first-hand. Her resolve firmed at that thought, and she slipped her arm around his waist, beneath his encircling cloak, pressing closer yet. At the main passageway, he diverted them to William's kitchen for a moment, requesting some herbal tea. A pot was quickly brewed and handed off to Vincent while Catherine took two mugs. Three minutes later they arrived at Vincent's Chamber.

The room was filled with a low, mellow glow, perfect for napping, but too dim for reading. As Vincent moved to light additional candles, Catherine stopped him.

"Vincent, I think I'd prefer to take a nap. Unless you want to read, you don't have to light any other candles." She hoped he didn't see the guilty blush staining her cheeks, felt even now as a warming flush. She knew that he wouldn't want to disturb her nap with extra light, even if his intent was to watch over her while she slept, and perhaps read or write in his journal as he did. Circumventing these tasks, which would only keep him awake, rather than getting the rest she could see he needed, was her objective.

"That's a good idea, Catherine. Here, lie down." He gestured vaguely to his bed, and lifted a knitted afghan folded at the foot of it, ready to lay it over her.

Catherine toed off her soft tunnel boots, and crawled to the middle of the bed. Vincent drew the blanket over her, and stared down a minute longer, finally blinking dazedly and moving to the table to draw his large, upholstered chair near the bedside. He poured out two mugs of tea and handed one to her, taking the other for himself, then sat down and leaned back to sip at the steaming brew. A moment later, the warm mug held between his hands, his eyes drifted closed. Catherine knew, though, despite his still posture, that he was vigilantly aware, and closely watching her. The tension felt over their bond was palpable, even to her. She finished the last of the soothing tea and set the mug on the shelf overhead, then closed her eyes, feigning a relaxation she did not feel, and thought hard, trying to block her own unease from their bond. He certainly had more than enough emotional baggage to contend with right now as it was.

But it was impossible. She couldn't sleep, not while he sat so tensely still and alert beside her. Ten minutes went by as if it were an hour, and finally she sighed and rolled to her side, opening her eyes to find him watching her. "Vincent," she whispered, "I'm tired, but I can't sleep."

"Would you like more tea? It's herbal, and should help you sleep." When she shook her head, he tried again. "Would you like me to read to you?" She shook her head again. "What can I do, Catherine?" he finally asked, perplexed.

Her eyes stayed locked to his as she moved over, near the wall with the stained glass inset, patting the expanse of mattress left empty and waiting. "I need to feel you near me, Vincent." When his own eyes widened, partially with surprise and partially with dismay, she hurried on. "Please. Just for the afternoon. I know things will look different tomorrow, but right now..."

She didn't finish her sentence, she didn't have to. He knew exactly how she felt, she saw it clearly in his eyes as they met her own once more. Finally, after a tense moment of silence, he nodded, laid his now-empty mug on the bedside table, and leaned over to remove his boots. He unfolded from the chair and eased onto the bed beside her, a good two feet separating them. Catherine slid the afghan over him, enfolding them both in the comforting warmth. She moved over a little, reducing the space between them, but not closing it, and reached out to cover the hand which rested before him. He tensed beneath her touch for a moment, then relaxed and turned his hand to twine his fingers with her own. A moment later he eased over a few inches, until finally she could feel the warm gusts of his breath upon her forehead. She drew his hand, enclosed in hers, to her mouth, pressing a light kiss on the furred backs of his fingers, before slipping both beneath her cheek and falling fast asleep. Vincent watched her, his heart beating in triple time. She was so close now, safe in his arms, in his bed...

He wrenched away from that thought. Previous musings of Catherine in his bed - and they had been many, despite his best intentions - had inevitably brought with them fears for her safety, not comfort. He couldn't allow those thoughts to be mixed with these he felt now - it was far too dangerous. Still, for the moment she was here and she was safe - far safer than anywhere else she could be at this moment. The anxiety which had been his constant companion for more than twenty-four hours slipped away bit by bit with her proximity. He was half asleep and completely unaware of what he was doing when he moved nearer to her, slipping his left arm about her back to draw her close, his right hand still tucked beneath her satiny cheek. He nuzzled the silky soft hair at the crown of her head, pressing a tender kiss there, then joined her in sweet slumber.

When Catherine awoke, she had no idea how much time might have passed since they'd laid down. She only knew that she felt wonderfully rested, and that the cause of that extreme state of well-being was cuddled up close to her, still fast asleep. During their nap the distance between them had disappeared altogether. Vincent now held her tight in his arms, pressing her along the length of his own sleep-warmed body. They lay on their sides, his left arm beneath her head and around her shoulders, his hand cupping her left shoulder. His other arm circled her ribs, the hand resting, palm flat, along her upper back. His right knee had pushed between her thighs, his stockinged foot hooking around her right calf, against the mattress, to keep her close.

With the exception of those nights surrounding their Samhain outing, when they had found themselves hidden in the trees of the park, evading searching eyes, he had never held her so intimately close. Those nights in the park he had done so, pressing his heavy weight upon her, kissing her passionately, unashamed of his arousal. That had lasted only so long, though, his comfort with that intimacy fleeing with the dark side of him as the danger receded. Now there was no danger, and yet a similarity remained. His sleeping comfort would, no doubt, disappear with the waking, and she lay quiet, determined to enjoy every moment she could, before it was taken away, as she knew that it inevitably must.

* * *

"Peter!"

Catherine stopped short, at the top of the stairs to Father's study, surprised to see the unexpected guest.

"Cathy, honey, it's good to see you."

She moved down the stairs and he rose to hug her, holding her tight.

"Did you get the message to Joe?" she asked.

"Yes, right away when I got it yesterday."

"And no one saw you? No one was suspicious of your visit to the D.A.'s office?"

The message had been sent via a circuitous route, by three different helpers hands, to ensure that there was no traceability and no suspicion. Still, the security of the tunnels was at risk, and no one, least of all Catherine, took that lightly.

"Peter, are you sure no one followed you here today? They could be watching you, even Joe could." She stared up at him, a worried frown on her face.

"I'm sure, Cathy. I've been coming here for over thirty years, and I've developed a pretty safe system over time. No one followed me," he assured her.

She sighed and nodded, "Good." Just then Jacob interrupted, easing her concerns.

"Don't worry, Catherine. No one knows better than Peter how our safety depends on secrecy here. Sit down you two, and have some tea."

He poured out three cups from a delicate Limoge pot, and they took their seats at his table. Catherine sighed as she breathed in the soothing scent of the black tea blend, then reached for a scone in the basket at the center of the table. A week ago she would have spent the day racing from uptown to down, taking depositions and searching for witnesses, all on hot coffee, black, and little else. Three days spent being coddled Below, and already she felt like a new person. After a sip of her tea, and a nibble of the blueberry scone, she turned her attention back to Peter.

"Tell me."

Her words surprised a laugh out of him."You sound just like Jacob and Vincent," he said. "No doubt you'll be on the Council soon. I expect no less."

His words and tone were teasing, but his glance was one of respect, and she suddenly knew that he meant it. The thought of such a thing made her abrupt escape to the tunnels feel very much more than a temporary thing, and a warmth filled her at the thought that the dangerous circumstances disclosed only a few days ago might have brought about the very thing she had been wishing and praying for for almost three years. Peter went on, responding to her request, and she pulled herself away from those pleasant thoughts to pay attention. She had been extremely anxious about Joe for the last three days.

"I actually didn't go into the D.A.'s office, but instead called

Joe and arranged to have lunch with him. He was very distracted, Cathy, as you can imagine, and for a moment I thought he wouldn't agree, but I told him I had information that he would want to hear, and I think he suspected it might have something to do with you. When I met him there, well, first I told him you were okay, then I gave him the note. He tore it up and burned the pieces in an ashtray before we left the restaurant."

"How did he take it?"

"He's very relieved."

She laughed at that. "Are you sure you're not leaving something out, Peter?"

He smiled wryly in turn. "Okay, okay, at first he was very angry. But that's only because he was so worried about you, honey. He wanted to know everything, but I told him that was impossible, that your safety and the safety of those who were watching over you depended on secrecy. I reminded him that that was the basic tenet of the Witness Protection Program, after all. He finally came around. He just needed to be sure you were safe. I told him messages could be transmitted through me, but that it shouldn't happen too often, that it could be dangerous if any link was suspected. He agrees. There's nothing to be done until and unless suspects are apprehended and a conspiracy can be proven, so for now he just wants you to stay put. He's very glad you're okay, Cathy. He told me to tell you that."

"Thank god. I was so worried, Peter. I wouldn't hurt Joe for the world, you know that, but I couldn't let them take me away from the city. I couldn't."

"I know, honey, I know. It's all right." His hand covered her own on the table, squeezing her fingers tight. "Speaking of Vincent," He smiled as a blush swept up over her face, "where is he?" Jacob answered that question. "He's with Mouse and Kanin, working on a new security system. It's about the only thing that will take him away from Catherine's side at the moment. Usually he's hovering like some specter, watching the chamber entrances as if he expected intruders to waltz into the hub at the drop of a hat."

Father chuckled and Catherine smiled in turn, amazed to see him talking about her unexpected move Below and the effect it was having on Vincent, in such casual terms. No additional danger had appeared since she'd arrived in the tunnels on Tuesday morning. And though it was only Thursday afternoon, everyone was finally getting over their initial, shocked, response, and tension had eased considerably, though security was still heightened and would remain so for some time to come. At that moment Mary arrived with tea, and the conversation eased to other tunnel matters, relaxing her further. Being the center of tunnel activity was extremely stressful. She was used to being the Helper here, not the other way around. Father was right - it was harder by far to ask for and accept help, than to give it.

* * *
Mid-January

Catherine paced nervously, waiting in Father's study for the Patriarch of the tunnels. His request to see her, timed as it had been, immediately after Vincent had left for the outer perimeter of the hub to work with Mouse on a few adjustments to the new security system put into place so recently, left her anxious. Unfortunately Father had been called to the hospital chamber only moments after she'd arrived, to set the arm of a little boy who had been playing where he shouldn't have been, much to Mary's dismay, and she had been left to cool her heels, wondering what it was he wanted to talk with her about, an uneasy sensation at the back of her thoughts that whispered suspicions of what it might be.

Tunnel life had settled down much in the last month, the inhabitants accepting her in their midst as if she belonged there. All that is, save one. Vincent. His anxiety for her was still plain, but it was mastered now by a proactive plan to ensure her safety, his ever-present discipline more firmly at the forefront than ever, controlling the almost overwhelming sense of fear he'd felt upon first learning of the threat to her life. That control, the steely will which allowed him to focus so clearly on his objective, she understood well enough. It was not quite three years since that fateful night when he'd found her in the park, but no one knew him better than she. No one understood him like she did, they couldn't. The bond between them gave a depth of insight others couldn't possibly comprehend.

No, it wasn't his concern for her safety that worried her, it was something else - a formality in his treatment of her that had not been present since early on in their relationship, a emotional and physical distancing that left her cold and aching. It was especially dismaying after the advances of the fall. Still, she should have expected it, she told herself as she paced the worn, faded carpet around the council table, but in the flurry of activity leading to her arrival in the tunnels that day almost one month ago, the possibility of such a thing had never entered her mind. The familiar tapping of Father's walking stick in the outer passageway alerted her to his approach, and her mind snapped abruptly from those thoughts as she turned to face the chamber entrance. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and stood taller, unconsciously straightening her posture. She became aware of those actions a split second later, and couldn't contain a wry chuckle, memories flooding back to an earlier time, to the instinctive behavior of her teenage self upon her own father's approach after she had been involved in something she knew he wouldn't approve of. Not that she had done anything for this father to disapprove of, she thought, the smile disappearing from her face. In fact the chances for such a thing seemed to be growing ever more remote since her move Below.

Upon that thought any traces of humor in her vanished, and she blinked rapidly to clear away the sudden presence of tears, determined not to cause Father any additional concerns over her presence here, and what it might mean for his heretofore well-guarded son. Little by little she had tightened down on her end of the bond in response to Vincent's change in behavior over the past few weeks, matching her responses to his in an effort to offset the upsetting nature her continual presence here represented to him. She used those skills again now, tightening down on her emotions and pasting on an artificial smile just as Father came through the rocky entrance.

"Is Bobby all right, Father?"

"Yes, yes, he's fine."

She reached for his arm as he came down the steps, aware that his arthritic hip had been bothering him due to the recent change in the weather, the mid-January cold spell enclosing the city reaching its icy fingers down to the tunnels themselves. The rock and dirt labyrinth of passageways, chambers and pools was a naturally insulated environment where normally none but the hottest and coldest extremes could touch, the average temperature everywhere, except the pools and rivers, a constant 56 degrees Fahrenheit. They dressed warmly during the day, and slept beneath a cozy jumble of quilts and comforters at night, but overall it was a temperate living environment, easy to adjust to with a little care. The scorching heat waves of summer almost never reached into the tunnels, and that alone was a blessing to all Below, the cooler climes considered well worth it in trade-off. The city above, though, was now encased in a record-breaking freeze, the highs of the day not reaching zero, the lows far beneath it. The blistering winds which swept along and between the streets, alleys, and towering buildings brought the temperature down to minus 60 and more, the glacial cold whistling through the upper levels of the tunnels and filtering through the cracks and chasms to be felt even here, in the hub of the living quarters. The normal layers of clothing worn Below increased even more, and those with arthritic joints, Father among them, spent an inordinate amount of time in the hottest of all the public pools in the hub, just two levels down from here. The thought of the cold snap, and what it might mean for the Winterfest preparations currently underway, distracted her for a moment. The children would be so disappointed if it had to be delayed. In truth everyone would. That festival was the symbol of this world's unity and stability, and it had never been missed since its creation just over 35 years ago.

Her musing thoughts were interrupted by Father's response to her question. She jumped at the sound of his voice and blushed, dismayed at how easily her mind was wondering these days.

"It was a simple fracture, thank god, and should heal easily." Father sighed as he eased into his chair at the round table.
Catherine hurried to set a cup in front of him, pouring the steamy, fragrant tea which she'd had the time to fetch in his absence.

"Thank you, Catherine."

She poured out a cup for herself, hesitated for a short moment, then took a seat across from him, wondering which was worse, to be in arms reach beside him, or to be separated by a safe distance but to have to meet his eyes. She had long ago discovered that Jacob Wells had the innate skills of a fine cross-examining attorney.

"What did you want to see me about, Father?" She glanced up warily, but quickly looked down again, gratefully hiding behind her porcelain cup.

"Catherine, I'm worried about Vincent... and about you."

Her head snapped up at that, the first part of his sentence completely anticipated, the second part dumbfounding her.

"Me? You're worried about me?"

A blush warmed her cheeks as he chuckled ruefully, and she suddenly realized how much she had revealed in her unthinking response.

"Yes, I'm worried about you."

The laughter had disappeared, and his voice was completely serious now, as were his eyes as they penetrated her own. She couldn't look away, claimed by both the concern and sympathy there, and felt the tears rising up once more, blinking rapidly to keep them at bay.

"I'm fine, Father, really..."

"No, you're not." He interrupted her curtly, startling her with his unexpected and atypical response.

Interrupting was an infamous pet peeve of his, and she had heard him lecturing the children many times, singly and as a group, about the rudeness of such behavior. Her eyes grew wide, and she found herself completely unable to turn from his intense gaze, though every instinct in her urged that response.

"I... I..." She blushed again, hearing her own stammering response as if from a distance.

"No, you're not," he repeated, more gently this time, his voice soft.

He hadn't said anything at all yet to indicate what he thought it was that was troubling her, but there wasn't a doubt in her mind that he knew, knew it in every detail. The tears which had been so close in the minutes past flooded down now, unrestrained. As if the weight of the salty water alone broke the inexorable hold of his eyes on hers, her head dropped down to rest in waiting palms, her shoulders shaking fiercely as she strove to keep her weeping silent, not to let it turn into the wailing sobs which lurked so close to the surface. She was appalled. The tightening hold she'd exerted over the bond in the past few weeks had conspired to hide the depth of her emotions even from herself, and this sudden onslaught astonished and dismayed her with its unsuspected ferocity.

In the outer passageway, beside the chamber entrance, a cloaked figure leaned against the rocky wall, hidden in shadows. He lurched forward abruptly as the bond wrenched open between them, exposing the raw emotions she had kept hidden, a rumbling growl beginning deep and low, more vibration than sound. With a massive will he froze after one step, then melted back against the wall, every ligament and muscled line taut with tension. The flowchart programming sequence for the security system was held tight in his clenched fist, utterly forgotten.

"I know how difficult this is for you, Catherine," Jacob went on gently. "Being so near to Vincent day in and day out."

Her cries intensified, a mewling whimper released as the sole sound of that flow, astonished that he should have this concern for her, when it was so clearly Vincent who deserved their sympathy. She shook her head, trying to contradict him, but the words wouldn't emerge through the tears, her throat swollen and aching.

"Yes, Catherine."

She jumped in surprise to feel his hand resting on her back, and the shaking there intensified. All her energies were focused internally now, desperate to gain control once more. That she hadn't heard his approach was a clear indicator of the amount of strength that effort required, a small part of her mind noted with a strange detachment.

"I know your concerns are for Vincent, Catherine. I've watched you both during your time here. I've seen how's he's dealt with your presence. In fact I anticipated it right from the start," he admitted, a sigh in his voice. "And I've seen your own response, the defense mechanisms you both use to protect each other." He sighed again, this time heavier, the sound full of sorrow. "I know you blame me for much of what keeps you apart, but believe me, Catherine, I ache for you both." His hand stroked gently along the center of her back, soothing her, and between it and her own efforts, little by little she grew calmer, until at last she turned to face him, her eyes reddened and full of tears.

"I don't know if I can stand it, Father," she whispered, her lower lip trembling. She immediately wished she could recall the words, wondering what in the world had made her say them to the very man who might be most threatened by them. His response was all the more astonishing for its unexpectedness.

"I know. I know." He drew her to him and enclosed her in a tight hug, rocking her lightly against himself and rubbing her shoulders, arms and back, comforting her as he would a child here Below, distraught by some huge grief or fear, as so many of them were when newly arrived from the world Above.

"I shouldn't be here, Father. I can't do this to him, it just isn't fair. He's closed off the bond between us," she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion.

"And you?" The question was quietly spoken.

"Yes, I had to, to protect him. But now he doesn't even have that. At least before he had that, in compensation for all he wouldn't allow himself..." Her words trailed off. The details implicit in this statement were too private to share with anyone else. They were meant only for her and Vincent, though a certainty grew in the pit of her stomach, heavy and cold as stone, that whatever hopes she once cherished in this regard were slipping further away with each passing day. Deep inside her a voice cried out to do something, anything, before they lost it all. She drew in a ragged breath, her thoughts chaotic and fragmented. "If I had gone into the Witness Protection Program, at least he would still have the comfort of our bond..."

"Shhh... Shhh..." he whispered in turn. "It will be all right. You'll see, everything will be all right."

The words were formulaic, speaking not at all to her very specific and unique fears, but she was strangely comforted by them nonetheless, and relaxed against him, worn out emotionally. Finally she spoke again, but this time her voice, though calmer, was flat and without hope.

"How will it be all right?" The words were more a statement than a question.

"I don't know, but it will be. We'll make it right, somehow." He pulled back from her and slipped a hand beneath her chin to raise her eyes to his once more. "You'll see. It will all work out somehow." His eyes and voice were gentle, and despite the growing futility she'd felt over the last few weeks, they gave her hope. She took a deep breath and nodded, leaning back down to rest her face against his shoulder, letting him ease the last of her tears until they were finally gone.

Outside the entrance, the shadowed figure hesitated, leaning toward the chamber door, frozen by indecision. Twice he stepped back into the shadows, only to step forward once more, toward the entrance. Finally he turned abruptly and strode silently away, his cloak a billowing wave of black ink that carried the shadows with him.

* * *

Catherine rubbed her eyes sleepily and moved quietly down the side passage toward the bathing chamber. Vincent's own chamber was quiet and dark, and she tip-toed past it, careful not to wake him should he be within. He had moved on from his work with Mouse on the security system earlier that day to assist Kanin on the construction of a new chamber several levels down, with only a message over the pipes to inform her and Father of his location. Though teaching was his primary responsibility, manual labor of this sort was normally quite typical for him, especially on weekends when he had no classes to teach, his strength always in demand for the larger construction projects Below. But today represented the first time since she'd been here that he'd allowed himself to be so physically removed from her for such a length of time. Part of her welcomed the change, hoping against hope it was a herald of the return of the life he'd lived before her arrival, but another part of her missed him terribly. She'd grown used to his constant presence, dependent on it, despite the emotional distance that went with it recently. Sighing heavily, she cupped her hand about the flickering flame of the small candle resting in its brass holder. Up ahead the pale glow from the bathing chamber appeared before the entrance itself, hidden as it was around a curved wall of the passageway. Still half asleep, she stepped into the chamber, set the candle holder on the ledge to her right and utomatically
turned left toward the small entrance which led to the side chamber of the pool.

"Catherine?"

She stopped short, suddenly awake, and turned to scan the pool, recognizing that voice instantly. She found him near the far wall, in shadows.

"I'm sorry, Vincent, I didn't know you were in here. It's so late, and I just assumed..."

Her words trailed off, and she looked about, trying not to stare at him. She couldn't help but notice, though, that the water covered him to his throat. Since she knew very well that the water came to just below her own collarbones when she stood in the pool, she knew he had to be ducking down to hide himself from her view. She tried not to dwell on that distressing thought, gesturing vaguely toward the side passage within the chamber.

"I just..."

She blushed, and felt remarkably foolish over such a childish response, but his sudden appearance after the long day's absence, along with the thought of him standing naked in the water, in this very room, made her intensely warm and befuddled her thoughts altogether.

"It's all right, Catherine. Go ahead," he whispered.

She nodded and slipped quickly through the small opening to the left, anxious for an opportunity to control her thoughts and the bond once more. Once inside, she resolutely turned her thoughts from him in an effort to do just that, focusing instead on the deceptively simple engineering devised to take care of the plumbing requirements so taken for granted above. They were a real marvel to her. Vincent had explained it to her early on, and she still found it fascinating. Table water and underground streams had been identified by their outflow areas in the large and freezing river far below, and then traced backward by numerous routes to the hub. These water branches, once identified, were selectively diverted through an ingenious series of bathing pools and associated side chambers. The water flowed into both areas on one side of a given chamber, then was diverted into two streams by an amazing amount of manual labor in hard rock, to supply separate sources of water to the bathing and toilet facilities. On the other side of each respective chamber the two streams joined again to flow outward and down to the river below, which eventually made its way to the east river and the sea. The water to each of the individual bathing chambers was carefully kept unconnected. Some outflow systems joined on the way to the cold river below, but never was the inflow water supply anything but fresh water from a pure source. Clean water always flowed in, and waste water only flowed out, directly to that large water source which would dilute and purify what small stress was placed on it by the tunnel community's negligible numbers.

The bathing chamber itself was the largest of the two associated rooms. The pools were almost always circular and at least eight feet in diameter, often more. The depth of these pools was usually anywhere from two to five feet, rarely deeper, and a series of steps, both wide and long, were carved around the perimeter to be used both for safe access and for sitting upon. Water diverted for these pools mostly came from a large table water source which flowed close to the older, deeper tunnels built by the city itself, many years ago. Active steam pipes and electrical wiring still ran through these areas and it was from here that the tunnel community obtained what little power they needed to augment the manual labor so commonly used below. Mouse had built a junction box at one power source, and periodically a very small amount of electricity was diverted for use, though never enough to become noticeable to the city officials. Likewise the insulation around several large steam pipes had been modified to bleed heat into an upstream reservoir of tablewater nearby, providing much of the warm water to their man-made bathing pools.

Of course these were the man-made chambers, and there was a consistency to them intentionally developed over time, but there were many other pools Below which were not so constrained in their form. Those pools were essentially ponds or lakes -- natural water-beds associated with streams untampered with by the tunnel inhabitants. They could be either larger or smaller than those found in the man-made chambers, and were of random, irregular shapes, used for swimming and wading more often than bathing. The water there was almost always cooler, and sometimes very cold, as it was at the chamber of the falls, several levels down. Traveling downward through layers of rock stripped any residual heat from the water eventually, and the river below was extremely cold. No one, not even Vincent, went into the waters at the deepest levels of their world if they could help it. The children and most of the adults swam in the public pools often, but only Vincent cared for the colder waters in the pools near the falls, though she was couldn't swear as to the reason, be it the invigorating cold of the water itself, or the privacy that area provided. Once she had been sitting with Rebecca near a small, shallow pond popular with the children, watching them swim naked, and had ventured a question about the adults and that pastime. Rebecca told her it was very common for the adults to swim, too, though often in the deeper pools, rather than the shallow ones the children were restricted to until their skills were firmly in place. Only Vincent, she told her, never swam publicly, though he loved the water, and was known to seek it out often. She told her that Vincent had stopped swimming with the others when he was barely a teenager, and though neither spoke further of it, they were both aware of the likely reasons behind that abrupt change in
behavior. The thought of Vincent swimming in those regions brought images to mind that caught her breath. Images of him diving naked off a rocky platform near the falls, into the frothing waters below. She shook that dangerous thought from her mind and focused on her surroundings once more.

The side chambers associated with each pool were smaller and much more functional in nature. A short, narrow channel, no more than ten inches wide and eight inches deep, and usually about three feet long, had been carved through the floor of each small side room to expose a small stream of inflow water diverted from the bathing chamber proper. The channel sloped downward abruptly at its end-point, the channel narrowed to a small, safe opening, the water diversion designed in such a way as to lead it immediately down several levels upon exiting the small space of the side chamber, the water pressure increased there by the additional outflow from the bathing pool as it joined the smaller outflow stream. Aluminum canisters of dry chemicals, to aid purification, were always kept stocked in these chambers. They had child-proof lids and punctured holes on top, reminding her of over-sized, metal talcum powder bottles. Though these facilities might seem primitive on first inspection, they performed their function extremely well, with essentially no maintenance required once the original infrastructure had been carved out. Catherine had gotten used to the system long ago, at any rate. Though it couldn't be called modern plumbing in the traditional sense, she often thought to herself that the upstream portion of the channel was the closest thing to having a bidet on hand, clean, warm water constantly replenished from the main source. The flowing stream ensured that waste was carried away quickly and efficiently, and a light dusting of powder on the water surface and surrounding channel walls after each use ensured that the chambers were always antiseptic and fresh smelling. All in all, it was really quite amazing. The only other
items in the chamber was a supply of clean towels, taken from the wicker basket in the outer chamber, and soft handsoap in a dish. Lighting was generally low, but sufficient, obtained by the reflections of the torch in the main chamber, which was always kept lit.

Catherine made use of the facilities quickly, took a deep breath, then entered the main chamber, wondering if Vincent might have taken his leave while he could. He hadn't. She didn't want to make him more uncomfortable than she undoubtedly already had, but she couldn't help it, scanning the water for him. She found him immediately, standing just where he'd been moments before. She averted her gaze quickly, and kept moving toward the chamber exit with nothing more than a murmured goodnight, the memory of this morning's conversation with Father returning full force, leaving her depressed once more by the seemingly hopelessness nature of it all.

"Catherine?"

She stopped and turned, surprised but grateful for any opportunity which would keep her with him in this intimate setting for even a few extra seconds.

"Yes?"

"Catherine, I..."

His face fell forward, long strands of wet hair swinging down to hide it from her view.

"What is it, Vincent?" She took a step forward, then forced herself to stop, knowing how vulnerable he must feel, trapped as he was, in this defenseless position. Finally he looked up at her again.

"I have to tell you something," he whispered.

His face suddenly appeared a trifle darker, and she wondered if it was possible that he was blushing. An instant later she knew that he was, by the abrupt absence of color as his face turned uncharacteristically pale. She drew in a deep breath, suddenly afraid of what he might say.

"I overheard your conversation with Father this morning." Catherine gasped, staring at him, her mouth open, and he went on.

"I came up to review the security system diagrams with him. I didn't know you were there..."

He winced at those words, and though it was there and gone quickly, she flinched herself, knowing his thoughts had gone to that of their muted bond, as had her own in that instant.

"I'm sorry, Catherine. I should have let you know that I was there..."

He didn't finish that sentence, he didn't have to. They both knew why he hadn't made his presence known. The thought of him standing outside the chamber, listening to what was said within, was distressing in the extreme. He knew everything now. All of her efforts to block her emotions from him through their bond were for nothing. It was over. Anxiety swept through her in billowing waves, a fearful dread growing. What would he do now? Would he take this opportunity to define the new parameters between them, to articulate them clearly and coldly, setting up yet another barrier to separate them, a barrier of words? A chaotic stream rushed out at this thought, a desperate attempt to forestall what he might say next.

"Please, Vincent, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I tried so hard not to make this difficult. It will get easier, I promise. I'll learn to do
it. Just give me a little time."

"Catherine..."

His husky voice drew her attention to what she had said, and she reviewed her words, aghast. She was pleading with him, begging him to let her suppress and withhold the emotions, the love she felt for him. It was appalling. She drew in a gasping breath and stopped, wondering what the right thing to do was. Staying here would only hurt him, hurt them both. She shook her head, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape. "It was a mistake for me to come here, Vincent. You said so yourself when we first met and you explained the bond between us -- 'we cannot be together, but we will never, ever be apart.' That's what you told me. I thought you were wrong, but now..." She shook her head, the expression of distress on her face growing. "We're together now, but at what cost? I can't stand this silencing of the bond. I always thought I was deaf to it, that only you could sense it, but..." her voice caught in her throat. "I feel its absence now, Vincent, so much. It hurts. If we need to be apart to regain that...

"No!"

He stood up abruptly in the water, and she gasped at the sight of his broad, bared chest, rivulets sluicing down and over the strongly delineated muscles. He took a step toward her, then froze once more, finally easing backward, into the shadows.

"No, Catherine." His voice was low now, barely more than a whisper, but resolute. "It's not safe for you out there, I can't let you go."

Her eyes sought out the glitter of his in the shadows, pleading with him to understand. "The Witness Protection Program has a very good record, Vincent. I would be protected..."

"No!" There was a command in his voice now, a stubborn tone that brooked no opposition. "I must protect you!"

He stopped abruptly and they stared at each other, uncertain where this conversation would go next.

"Please, Catherine, please don't go. I need you here with me. It's not enough to know that you're safe. I need to see you every day, to be near you... I need that." The words were achingly poignant, his voice a low whisper, trembling and hoarse. Her own voice, when she spoke, matched his emotions perfectly.

"I know, I know, but my being here is painful for you. You don't have the bond any more, we're both blocking it now, and you won't..." she stopped, her words trailing off, unwilling to say what they both so obviously knew. "I don't want to be the cause of that, it hurts too much."

"Nothing could be more painful than for you to be gone from me, gone from this place when you need my protection most. Not even the bond could compensate for that, Catherine, don't you see?"

"I know." Her voice slipped, a mewling sound just escaping, then quickly contained. "I want to help you, Vincent, but when I try, I don't know if I'm making things better or worse. Tell me what I should do."

"It's not your fault, Catherine. I am to blame. I have so many fears." His voice broke hoarsely. "Some are nothing but my own insecurity, I know that, and yet still I can't seem to deal with them, but others... I'm afraid there is a real danger to you. I just don't know to separate those fears which might be real from those that might not. But losing you... I couldn't survive it, Catherine, I know that now."

He hesitated before going on once more. "I worry so for you, for all that might happen, and I'm frozen with indecision. I cannot make myself go forward, and yet I know I must. I... I need you to see all that I am, to know me beyond the emotional ties of our bond, before we can make a decision about going further. You have to see me, to know me, objectively, clearly, unimpeded by emotion."

She stared at him, unsure of the meaning of his words, but they became clear in the next moment when he stepped out of the shadows once more, standing straight, the water baring the top part of his shoulders and chest. Her mouth dropped open in a gasp as his full meaning made itself known.

"Vincent, you don't have to do this," she began, but he interrupted her brusquely.

"Yes, I do."

The first step was just off to his left, and she knew he was on it by the sudden exposure of his breast, down to the top of his ribcage. He walked slowly, and she felt as if time itself had slowed down to allow her to drink in the exposed sight of him. His biceps were clearly defined through the wet hair lying flat to his skin. It looked like burnished copper now, but she suspected it would appear a brighter, reddish gold when dry, and she ached to see it thus, though at the moment it seemed impossible that he could ever appear more beautiful than he did right now. His upper shoulders and arms were almost bare of this fur-like hair, but it thickened lower down on both his arms and chest, a profusion of gingery hair which perfectly complemented the bronze tone of his skin. His pectoral muscles were sculpted with such virile precision, small, pointed nipples standing out from the thicker whorls of hair on his chest. She stared at him in awe, a hunger gnawing at her belly that she absolutely couldn't control.

Suddenly he moved up onto the next step, and her gaze dropped as his torso was bared down to his belly button. The muscles of his upper abdomen were amazing, six distinctly separate masses that rippled firmly, coated by a thinner layer of fine hairs, almost absent off to the tapering edges of his sides, down to his trim waist. A thinner coating of hair continued down from his chest and his navel was nested in down, though clearly visible. When he stepped up a moment later, a tremor jolted through her. His hips were narrow, almost bare of hair on the sides, and his belly was tightly muscled and corded. The thin coating of hair was sleek there, expanding again at his groin. Nestled within the thatch of hair, almost hidden by the lush thickness, was his quiescent penis, its skin a golden hue which blended well with the gingery copper of his fur, though that was completely absent there. Water drained off him in rivulets and she gaped at the raw power and virile beauty displayed before her, her mouth suddenly dry. He moved more quickly now, stepping up and out of the pool to stand naked, a mere eight feet away from her. She forced her eyes downward, though she was almost hypnotically held at his center, and continued to scan the length of his legs. They were tightly muscled and long, with taut thighs and strong calves, His feet were strangely delicate looking, narrow with long tendons and a light dusting of golden hair. The nails of his toes looked sharp, but shorter than those on his fingers. Michaelangelo's David and Rodin's Man of Bronze paled in comparison to the sight before her.

Her eyes drifted upward from his feet, slowly traversing his long legs once more, until her gaze reached his groin again, and there she stopped. There was no doubt about it, he was big, and she had certainly wondered, she had to admit that, but she was also relatively sure he was within the range for the male population overall, though no doubt on the high end. Of course in this state it was no true test, but if the response of her body was any indication, then whether this was possible between them or not was irrelevant -- she knew she wouldn't concede it without a try. What she hadn't quite expected, she thought as she stared, was the elegance inherent in his scale. Everything about him in this delicate region, from the sensuous, protective fur to his very size, seemed to be made just as it should be for a creature that held so many intriguing possibilities. Having finally seen him, she couldn't imagine that he could be any other way than as he was.

When she realized how long she had been staring her gaze rose guiltily, to find his fists clenched tightly at his sides, cheeks flaming as he stared down at his feet. There was a strange sensation over the bond, a heaviness that almost felt oppressive, and suddenly she knew that was only a shadow of the anxiety he himself was feeling right now. She started forward abruptly and put her arms around him, pressing herself lightly to him. He stood rigidly still, but at her touch a tremble set up all along his length. Unsure whether to let him go or hold him tighter still, she finally took a step back, but kept her hands upon his arms, her eyes locked on his face.

"Oh, Vincent," she whispered, "don't you know how beautiful you are?"

"Catherine, don't..." His voice was hoarse and his head jerked off to the side, his eyes avoiding hers, clearly in denial and disbelief at her words.

"You are, Vincent, you are. I wouldn't lie to you."

She loosened the hold of her left hand on his right bicep and let it slip around to his upper back. His muscles stiffened under her palm, but she stayed there, slowly beginning to stroke his skin in small circles, her touch gentle and light.

"You have nothing to fear from me in your appearance, Vincent, please believe me." She moved slightly off to his side, her right hand slipping off his far shoulder to cup the curve of his neck, her thumb stroking over the tender, concave hollow at the base of his throat, and continued to gently caress him with her left hand, changing her circular motion to a broader sweep of her palm along the muscled planes of his back, slipping over the sleek coating of wet, silky hair, short and fine, and almost integrated with the golden skin beneath it. "You're tall, and strong..."

He shook his head, his eyes still avoiding hers, drawing deep gasping breaths as if he fought to stay still, beneath her ministering touch. Catherine sighed, wondering what she had to do to convince him. "Tell me what it is, Vincent, please. I see that you're different, physically, in some ways, but they're so minor. I can't believe that's it. What is it you fear that I'm missing?"

His eyes finally swung up to meet her own, astonishment in them.

"Minor? You think my differences are minor?" he asked, amazement and disbelief clear in his voice. "Tell me, Catherine. Tell me what it is you see that's different."

She paused for a moment, considering, then her right hand left slid up his throat and over his jaw to trace his lips lightly. His mouth dropped open as he drew in a deep breath and she took that opportunity to stroke a sharp incisor. "I've always known about these. I know you worry about them, Vincent, but..." her voice dropped to a whisper as she momentarily lost herself in the touch of cold, sharp enamel amidst his hot breath, "I find them very erotic." She shook her head to clear it and glanced away from his mouth for a minute to meet his eyes. He was shocked, even appalled, perhaps, but he wasn't stopping her. Suddenly she realized her finger was still touching his teeth, slipping along the sensitive inner flesh of his lips, and she shuddered, reminded of another thing she found erotic in the extreme. "And here..." Her wet finger slid to the center of his upper lip and stroked it lightly, then pressed deeper, finally touching the hidden, silky flesh nestled in the secret folds, eliciting a low groan from him. "I always want to taste this spot. It is different... and I love it.

"Catherine don't!"

He pulled her hand away from his mouth and held it tight for a moment, his eyes squeezed shut as he attempted to regain his slipping control, his breath now labored in a gasping pant. Finally he released her hand and dropped his own back to his side, looking at her with the open, vulnerable expression which touched her so deeply. She waited a moment, then raised her hand to his chest and curled her fingers in the thick thatch of hair there, feeling the shudder vibrate through him in response. "This is different, too. There's more than most men have, and the texture changes from one spot to another, rough and silky both. But it's only a matter of degree, Vincent, its not a difference that matters." He blinked rapidly at her words, and she moved on, opening her palm to sweep it across the broad expanse, up to his shoulder and down his arm, stroking over the back of his hand until her fingers could finally twine with his. She lifted her hand with his own held in it, then held it cupped at chest level, nails showing. "I've always known about this difference, right from the very start, and now I see that your feet are almost the same. I always thought it must be so. I'm not afraid of them, either, Vincent. You've never done anything but protect me. I just don't believe it's possible for you to hurt me, no matter what"

She raised his hand to her lips, pressing them against the furred backs in a tender, worshipping kiss. She held it there for a long, dramatic pause, then released his hand. It hung momentarily suspended, as if he still felt her own hand supporting it, her lips upon it, then dropped it back down to his side, leaving him open and vulnerable once more. Catherine stroked her hand back up his arm and to his chest once more, rubbing it gently for a minute to ease the shuddering quiver that began with her touch, before letting her open palm slide down his belly and over the silky-smooth flesh of his sex. He jumped at the contact, a startled gasp escaping his lips, his eyes opened wide in shocked surprise, but he stayed still beside her. It was a fleeting touch, just the flat of her palm whispered over him and gone, before she spoke again.

"You're not really different there, Vincent, just bigger than normal perhaps. She couldn't help glancing down then, along the length of his body, and her eyes widened, her heart surging abruptly as a new, more forceful rhythm established itself. From her faint touch alone his erection was beginning to swell. His chest heaved strongly, flushing red in a dramatic sweep, and she knew he was trying to exert all the power at his command to control this natural response of his body. She glanced up at him and he turned his head away quickly, though not before she saw the tortured look of embarrassment there. Her hand on his back was still now, and she clearly felt the trembling tension which shook his frame. Suddenly his stillness ended as he lurched away from her, turning toward the wall to press both hands against it, leaning his forehead upon the cool rock, the taut muscles of his bare back and buttocks straining visibly. For a moment she was distracted, her gaze lingering on him in stunned silence, until his tersely spoken words broke her still reverie.

"Please, Catherine, go." The words were low and hoarse, a groan muffled deep in his throat.

She stood stock still, his warmth gone, and wondered what to do. He had done this for a reason. Had he learned what he needed to know, or was he finding it simply impossible to be as brave as he had initially intended? Would this help advance their relationship eventually, or only push him further from her? Finally she moved forward to stand once more at his side, her left hand resting softly on the tense muscles of his back again.

"No, Vincent, I don't want to go. Please don't make me. You wanted me to see you because you've been afraid of my response. If I go now, you'll always wonder if that was part of it. It isn't. You have nothing to be embarrassed about. Your body responded sexually to my touch, and that's perfectly natural."

A shudder rippled down his length at her words and he groaned in despair and shook his head, his arms flexing massively as he pushed harder against the rock.

"It is, Vincent," she said, pressing herself closer to his side, "especially between two people who love each other as much as we do. God, my body responds to you all the time. Every time I'm near you, every time I think of you. It doesn't matter where I am or who I'm with, it's inevitable. I try to block my stronger feelings from you through our bond, but I can't control my body. It knows, just like yours does, that we were meant to be together. I want to touch you, to give you pleasure. Don't you want that from me? I need to know. If the answer is no, then you're right, there's absolutely no reason for us to continue like this. Tell me now, don't let me make a fool of myself trying to give you something you don't want."

"Catherine!" He groaned in protest.

"Tell me, Vincent," she insisted, her other hand now rising to rest on his chest. She held him bracketed between her palms and felt the beating of his heart and the expansion of his lungs as he gasped for breath, a rumbling vibration felt through his flesh even as his low growl erupted.

"Don't, Catherine, don't say any more!" he cried. "You don't know what you do to me." With an abrupt movement he pulled away from her and stepped off the ledge and into the pool, emerging entirely, then reappearing a second later, shaking his head, the drenched copper mane flinging wildly about his face and shoulders. He looked frantic, his eyes both hungry and fearful. He stared up at her for a moment, as she stared down at him, and she knew the look of shock in his eyes was reflected in her own. Time stood still as they stared at each other in stunned silence, then he slowly backed away, into the shadows once more.

"Please, Catherine, just give me a little time, please. I promise you..." His voice was a husky whisper that seemed to rumble from his chest, but she heard his words clearly, as well as the audible, gasping breath in that long pause. "I won't give up, Catherine, but please, don't leave me. Please."

Her own breath caught at the anguished plea in his voice, and her hand stretched out toward him instinctively, as if she could reach across the distance that separated them and comfort him with her touch. "No," she whispered in response, "I won't leave you. I promise." She sought him out, trying to pierce the inky darkness on the far side of the pool, but it was as if were melded to rock and water and shadow, only a darker blackness, perfectly still, and the glittering points of his eyes, revealing his presence there now. Her hand dropped down to her side and slowly, her eyes locked to the still form, she back away from him with a final, whispered vow. "Never, Vincent, I'll never leave you." When she reached the rocky exit, she suddenly froze, and after a long pause, as if considering, she moved back into the flickering light of the chamber. The distance between them lessened as she moved closer to the edge of the pool, and in the darkness across its width she heard an indrawn breath and saw a motion, as if he were attempting to move further away from her, impossible though it was with the rocky wall of the pool at his back.

"Catherine?"

"I'm afraid to go, Vincent," she whispered in reply to his unspoken question.

"Why?" The single word almost caught in his throat, his voice breathy and hoarse.

Halted at the edge of the water, she slowly slid to her knees, leaning forward a bit to lessen that distance even more.

"Because..." She drew in a ragged sigh, gathering herself to continue. "This is a pattern we follow, Vincent. Two steps forward, one step back - you must recognize it."

The pause that followed was drawn-out, but she waited for his reply, determined to break that pattern this night, to acknowledge it between them, and in the acknowledging, diminish its power.

"Two steps forward and one step back is still progress."

Her eyes widened at his words, and she considered them carefully. It was true. There was a time when she thought they could have nothing beyond the bond, that their love would have to be expressed through that ethereal connection alone, but that was no longer true. Their relationship had advanced, slowly, true, but advanced nonetheless. They were closer now, not just emotionally, but physically as well, small touches exchanged between them which had been altogether absent during most of their first year together, when it seemed they only touched under the direst of circumstances, where fear had driven him to hold her close and tight, as if to assure himself that she was truly safe. The changes had come slowly, often with a retreat on his part, but each time, ultimately, she had to admit that their relationship had emerged stronger, the distance between them diminished. They were in the midst of a retreating period now, all brought about by her move Below, and the closeness it entailed...

No. Her mind abruptly corrected that thought, bringing forth an image that stood at the apex of the events which had necessitated the need for that move Below. The attacks by the gang in November had led to this... The thought had barely presented itself when time receded once more, bringing her to the end of October, to that Samhain eve when Brooke had first been attacked, and from there she saw again those moments between them, in the park, in the Great Hall, in his chamber, and finally in the park once more, in the aftermath of that first attack, while they waited beneath the large fir tree while lights and noise flickered from the clearing. Those were the moments of advancement, and this...

She blinked rapidly and shook her head, focusing on her surrounding once more, seeking his outline in the shadows. "You're right. We have changed over time, and we're still changing now." A motion in the shadows could be seen, and she knew that he was nodding in agreement.

"Yes." The word was whispered soft and low, a poignancy in his voice that couldn't be missed, despite the brevity of his reply. She thought over the events of the last ten weeks once more, considering them carefully, unconsciously worrying her lower lip as she did. She couldn't see how Vincent's gaze dropped inevitably to her mouth at that small movement, or the guilty start that pulled his attention back to her eyes when she spoke again.

"But you must admit, Vincent, that this is the largest strain placed on our relationship so far. I'm here, Below now..."

"Yes." His reply was so softly spoken it was almost inaudible. She sought out his shape once more, trying to pierce the darkness where he hid himself from her.

"Vincent, if I hadn't had to come Below..." He gasped in response to her words and she hurried on, attempting to reassure him. "If I hadn't had to, do you think we would have moved past the retreat from our kisses on Samhain by now? Do you think, if I were still Above, that you would be kissing me goodnight when you left my balcony?" She regretted the question almost as soon as it was spoken. How could he answer such a thing? It was a childish wish to know the events of a timeline that had never existed, and yet it spoke to the heart of her fears for them now. With this enforced physical proximity between them, would Vincent ever be able to let his guard down? A sudden image of him standing before her only minutes before, dripping wet and naked, his growing desire plain for her to see, sprang to her mind, and she couldn't control her response, the laughter in her eyes at the realization of what that had meant escaping from her throat for a moment before she could catch it.

"What?"

She smiled again. He had spoken very little during her time here with him this night, but his one-word response now was considerably different than the breathy, whispered ones of a moment ago. His voice was stronger now, and tinged with the insatiable curiosity that so strongly defined him.

"I think I just answered my own question." She smiled and shook her head to clear that dangerous image, her mood considerably lightened. A motion across from her caught her attention once more, and her eyes widened as his dark figure moved out of the shadows, stepping forward into the light of the chamber. He stood at his full height, no longer attempting to hide his upper chest from her as he had done earlier this evening - what would be the point? The advancement that represented was now abundantly - abundantly! - clear, and Catherine was exceedingly grateful for it. She swallowed hard and stared at him, watching his slow approach with awe, her hands clasping the fabric of her tunnel gown and robe at her thighs as she knelt at the edge of the pool. This must be how the ancient Greeks had felt about their gods of antiquity, she thought, imagining the eager response of one such as she in that time, kneeling upon the banks of the Aegean waiting for Neptune to emerge from the stormy waters, his powerful form glimpsed in the frothy, churning waves. No wondered they had worshipped him...

He had reached her side of the pool, and she stared into his eyes with astonishment, the blue amazingly vivid and clear in the amber light of the chamber. He returned her gaze, watching her intently, as if to read her very thoughts. "Vincent?" It was her turn now, to whisper breathy and low, the word catching in her throat. He didn't answer in words, instead reaching out hesitantly to cup his hand along her cheek, his expression stern with concentration and resolution. She stared in bemusement, unable to imagine what it was he was doing. Even when she felt the pressure of his hand increase, urging her closer to him, her dazed mind never considered the obvious. "What...?"

"Shhh," he whispered, a moment before his lips touched her own. His hand held her still while their lips rested together softly, unmoving at first. As the realization of his kiss finally sunk in, Catherine began to tremble, her whole body responding to this move forward on his part. When that trembling finally reached her lips, she clasped the soft wool tight between her fingers, trying hard to stay still. She was almost successful, but the effort required for that physical restraint was too much to control completely, a smoky groan escaping her throat to vibrate against his mouth. She felt his indrawn breath in response, and then the first tentative nuzzling of his lips against her own. How was it possible that his kiss was so sweet and yet so devastatingly erotic? They had kissed before, most notably that Samhain night only ten weeks ago, and those kisses had been intensely physical, deep and lush. Despite that, this tender kiss now, the barely-there sensation of his lips on hers, swung through her with an impact that was impossible to describe. He was everything, everything! She whimpered against his mouth, trying to stay still, but he read her need to feel him closer, and an instant later his left hand slipped off of her cheek, his fingers tentatively stroking the curve of her neck and shoulder in passing as he slid his arm about her, slowly easing her down from her kneeling position on the rocky floor until she rested on her right hip at the edge of the pool, her legs curved off to the side. Her right arm slid beneath his left and around his back, fingers curling over the broad expanse of his far shoulder to hold him tight.

The steamy warmth of his body was slippery and wet beneath her arm, palm and fingers and she shivered at the intensely erotic sensation of the fine fur, now water-laden and sleek, coating his tautly sinewed torso. She felt his rock-hard muscled chest against her own softness, and wanted him closer, needed him closer. The demand was almost instinctive in nature, and without a moment's hesitation between thought and action, she slid her left hand around his neck, beneath the wet mane of his hair to hold herself to him tight, her hand clutching the curve of his left shoulder, fingers digging into the muscles of his upper arms. She rubbed her breasts against the solid wall before her, a mewling cry escaping her mouth to be caught by his. His response was inevitable, an answering groan whispering out which echoed eerily in the small chamber.

Their kiss blossomed, honey-sweet, lush and deep, tongues twining together, as if they sought the sweetest nectar, each from the other. Vincent's arms tightened around her possessively, trying to draw her closer yet to his bare chest, though she thought that was absolutely impossible. There wasn't an inch of space separating them there now except for her own clothing. The only possible way to get closer was to eliminate them, and she shivered uncontrollably as she imagined the sensation of her bare breasts against his hard muscles and silky fur...

Catherine felt the chaotic rise and fall of his chest against her as each breath jolted through him, the air drawn in from lips barely parted, the only concession made to the necessity of life itself. Breathing be damned! All she wanted, all she needed, was the assurance that he would never, ever stop kissing her...

Catherine's left hand slid inward, along his shoulder to curve around his neck, fingers frantically searching the arched column of his throat until she felt hot blood pulsing through the carotid artery. She moaned and pressed the sensitive pads of her fingers there, feeling the strumming surge of life in him, knowing with an absolute certainty that that pulsing was everywhere within him, scalding and strong and demanding in its urgent need. The bond, swollen with their fiery passion, abruptly overflowed, and she gasped as Vincent's emotions spilled into the sphere of her own, a tumultuous blending that scorched their nerve endings and left them panting.

Absorbed as she was in those emotions, and the maintaining of them through their kiss, Catherine gave no thought to words. What value were they in comparison to this heavenly communication which so clearly spoke of their hearts' desires? Pressing closer yet, she felt the cleft in his upper lip part slightly, and after a moment's hesitation nuzzled closer
there, flicking her tongue into that tender area, tasting the secret, slick flesh with a groaning sigh. Vincent gasped, his mouth falling open in shocked surprise, and she took advantage, exploring that tantalizing spot with a thoroughness that left him gasping. The only sound that escaped her mouth was a groaning whimper that joined with the growling rumble from his chest and throat. The combined sounds made a hauntingly beautiful duet of passion and need, building their desire even higher. There was no surviving the heat of this flame, it was irresistible, ungovernable. It pulled them together tighter and tighter, until at last all sensation shattered in an explosive release of blistering, white-hot heat. Her body fragmented into a million pieces, each shard sharp with an ecstasy that overwhelmed her completely. She felt it all, her cry bouncing off the water to mingle with his own, the riotous emotions his as well, as they sank together, into the glorious, welcoming darkness.

* * *

Vincent moved slowly through the tunnel, past his own chamber, turning right at another side passage a good thirty yards before the main walkway of the hub. The guest chamber was a mere twenty yards from this spot, and he was in no hurry to arrive there, the soft weight in his arms no burden, but rather the most precious of treasures. He watched her face, relaxed in slumber, as he walked, drinking in the beauty there, the ivory skin, almost translucent in its delicacy, the barest hue of peach on her cheeks, dark lashes curled against high cheekbones. And her lips... He shook his head, bemused by her loveliness, everything about them perfect, their shape, fullness, color...

That color. They were the most beautiful shade of dusky red he'd ever seen, like the fragile petals of a new rose, pursed as if in preparation of a kiss. He longed to lean down and make it so, but they were swollen as well, a stark reminder of the lush kisses shared just moments before. He swallowed hard as the sensations of those kisses filled him, licking unconsciously over his own lips to draw in her taste once more, lightly pressing the tip of his tongue into the cleft at the center of his upper lip, shivering at that intimate touch in such a sensitive area. Heat swept over his torso and face as he was filled with a combination of both shame and demanding need which dismayed him in the extreme. Still, he couldn't stop watching her, thinking of those moments at the water's edge, of the amazing end to their unexpected encounter...

He groaned, and squeezed his eyes closed tight for a moment, desperate to clear his head of those images and sensations, the passion and poignancy of them almost too much to bear. When he opened his eyes again the guestchamber entrance was just ahead, a golden glow escaping from the candles left lit within. The blankets and quilts on her bed were pulled back, the sheets already rumpled with her first attempt at sleep this night, and he laid her down gently at the center, his gaze flicking surreptitiously along the length of her slender body before he pulled the bedclothes up over her. She made no more than a small bump beneath the ubiquitous layers of warm, quilted fabrics, making her appear even smaller and so fragile.

She would take issue with his assessment, he knew that, and he had seen with his own eyes -- many times -- that her fragility was misleading. She was strong, not only physically, but mentally as well, able to handle situations which many a man twice her size might have
blanched at. She emerged from the violent attack which left her battered, bleeding and maimed with a strength of will he marveled at. Though she told him so often, he persistently discounted her poignant assertions that he was the one who had made it all possible. He knew her strength, had known it right from the beginning, had felt the source of it deep inside, through even the earliest sensations of their bond. If she only knew how often the calm, sure presence of her in their bond had lent him the strength he needed himself, stilling the wildness which threatened to overwhelm him at times. And yet that wildness responded to her as well. Never had he felt the two sides of himself so closely in contact as in these last few years, since he'd found her and their lives had merged, changing everything.

Vincent sighed and stepped back, his eyes still locked upon her. It seemed almost impossible to move forward while so many contradictory and untested facets still remained to their relationship, and yet he knew he must, had promised Catherine he would make the attempt. And after those moments at the pool, a voice deep inside told him going back was impossible, regardless of his altruistic intentions. As if sensing his thoughts, she sighed and shifted her head on the pillow, her face turned full towards him. A sweeping wave of love and tenderness filled him, and he knew those emotions came both from him and from her, their separate streams merging in the larger river of their bond. The thought emerged, wholly formed, a natural progression of his musings; what courage he lacked, he would find in her.

Slowly, reluctantly, he backed away, toward the chamber exit, unwilling to take his eyes from her until he absolutely had to. Her name, ever-present in his thoughts, escaped his lips in a hoarse, aching whisper, 'Catherine...'. The sound was too low to be heard, no echo of it in the chamber, and yet upon the speaking of it he felt, as he always did, waves of tender emotions stream out from his center in expanding, concentric circles until he felt himself surrounded, enclosed and held by the very source he sought. He almost convinced himself that she experienced that tender sensation as well as she shifted on the bed once more, turning until she rested on her side, facing him. Her hand moved to rest itself on the flat, cool sheet, just beside her head, sliding outward a moment later, toward the edge of the mattress, in his direction. He sighed, watching, wishing her hand could rest upon him in just such a way, stroking him gently and telling him with her tender touch that everything would be all right. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard, reaching a hand to steady himself against the arched curve of stone at the chamber door as a dizzying wave swept over him. Drawing his forces of control together, he finally turned and resolutely left her.

He never heard her own low voice, whispered out from the depths of slumber and dreams, but the poignant sound was filled with all the breathless hope and longing within her, the source of all contained within that one spoken name, 'Vincent...'

(Teri is working on part four even as we speak.)

September, 2005 - I'm afraid that Terry is no longer writing Beauty and the Beast fiction.  Sorry, I'm afraid this is all you're going to get.

~Lynn