Disclaimer: "Beauty and the Beast" and the character Pascal andall the rest belong to Republic Pictures. No infringement isintended. Max and her ilk belong to me. That and all the rest of thelegal stuff. 'Nuff said.

Little Black Book

by Kayla Rigney

His chamber was dark and unkempt. Thepipemaster felt badly about this, because in spite of his raggedappearance, he was a fastidious person. He liked to keep his thingsin order. For the past month, this had not been possible; and Pascalfelt defeated. He fell into bed without removing so much as his vest.He cradled his head in his arms and forced himself into somethinglike quiet.

He hadn't seen Max in weeks. At the beginningof the shutdown he left a letter on the table next to the futon:My dearest Max, The community is in the grips of an all-out 'fluepidemic. Father feels it best that I do not see you until thedisease has run its course. I am forced to agree. Please don't worry.All will be well soon. Love, Pascal. Her reply was waiting in thetunnel outside Paradise: Dear Pascal, I understand. I love you.MLS." They exchanged furtive notes until Pascal was just too busyto keep up. He did his suffering alone in his chamber. That was hisway.

The pipemaster tried not to think about whathe'd seen. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't block the imagefrom his mind. His plan that night had been to catch a quick bathafter his shift. His shoulders hurt very badly and the only thingthat helped was to completely submerge himself in the hot mineralwater of the second-level baths. It was past midnight when he wasfinally able to get away from the pipes. The Tunnels were very quiet.He didn't see a "flag" posted at the entrance to the bath chamber.And he walked in on Vincent and Catherine.

Pascal quickly and silently moved back into theshadow of the hallway; they didn't see him. But he saw them.He didn't understand why he was expected not to see Max, not totouch her, not to make love to her, when Catherine was free to comeand go from the tunnels as she pleased. It was yet another example ofhow the rules did not apply to Father's own. As much as he loved hisfriend, Pascal could not forgive Vincent's lifelongimpunity.

Alone in his bed, he tried to imagine the feelof Max in his arms and could not.

In the days that followed, he'd been toopreoccupied and then too sick to feel the pain of being withoutParadise. He always felt the dull ache of being without Max. He didnot laugh easily without her; so the pipemaster back fell into afamiliar shell of grayness. His friends avoided him when he got thisway. It made life easier. Tonight, he just felt tired and cold andempty. He pressed his forehead hard against his arms. He was tooexhausted to sleep.

He jumped a little, when he felt her cool handon the top of his head. "It's me, hobbit," Max said, softly. "Ibrought you some dinner."

Leave it to Maxine Seaton to defy Father'sorders. Pascal sighed and moved his hand up to cover hers. Somehow,he found the energy to sit up and give her a soft kiss. "It's so goodto see you," he said. He took her in his arms and held her for a longtime. It felt so wonderful to touch and be touched. "I've missed youso much."

Max rocked him gently. "I just couldn't bear tostay away any longer," she said.

"I don't want you to get sick, Max," Pascaltold her. "This 'flu is nasty bad stuff. I speak from experience."The pipemaster himself had been out cold with it for aweek.

"Oh, I never get sick," she replied, laughing."Besides, Addie's been shooting me full of vaccine for the past twoweeks. I've got the bruises to prove it. Want to see?"

"I think I'll pass," he replied. He wouldn't besurprised if Addie got some sort of perverse satisfaction out ofshooting her sister full of human disease and leaving a bruise."Dinner sounds great. I haven't eaten in two days."

"Why not?" Max asked.

"I haven't felt like it."

She leaned out of their embrace and motioned tothe floor in front of them. "Enjoy," she said.

Pascal gasped with honest surprise. Max had setout a real picnic on the floor beside his bed --; complete withred-checked blanket and a basket. There were china two place settingsand real silverware for him. (Max used chopsticks.) Two thermosbottles poked out of the basket; and there was a loaf of fresh bread.How she'd accomplished this in total silence with him lying on thebed above her, he couldn't even begin to imagine.

"Oh, Max, thank you," he said. He meant it witheverything that he was.

Max smiled and slid to the floor. She beganunloading the basket. "I hope you like chicken soup," she said,uncapping one of the thermoses. "It's homemade."

Pascal joined her on the blanket. "Did you makeit?" he asked.

"Hell no!" she replied, laughing. "I don'ttouch dead bird flesh for anybody, not even you. Ad made it.It's a special family recipe with extra orange and lemon for vitaminC."

Max poured some soup into china cup and handedit to him. It smelled faintly spicy and very rich. Pascal's handsshook as he lifted it to his lips. "This is delicious," he said,sighing with contentment. "I can't believe your sister made this forme."

"Well, she's decided that you should be allowedto live," Max replied, smiling wickedly. "For now. I don't thinkshe's all that certain about me, however."

The pipemaster laughed aloud. Max's banterwarmed him more than the soup did. "Father's going to have your headon a platter," he said.

"As a matter of fact, he won't," she replied,pretending to be absorbed in slicing an apple. "Father sent Mouse tofetch me. Everybody's worried about you, Pascal."

"Why?"

"Because you don't sleep and don't eat andwon't talk to any of your friends."

"It's not like that, Max," Pascal told her."I'm just overworked."

"That stops now," she said, decisively."You have the next thirty-six hours off. That'snon-negotiable."

Fresh bread and fruit and cheeses appeared onthe plate in front of him. They shared a cup of sweet hot tea betterthan any he'd ever tasted before. He noted that Max ate her usualsteamed rice and spinach with Feta cheese and peaches on the side. Itmade him smile. She asked him simple questions about his day and howeveryone was doing. Pascal responded with few words. Their time wasso easy, so special. His triple shift faded away.

"Do you have any idea how miserable I've beenwithout you?" Max asked. "Last weekend, I got so desperate, I allowedAddie to con me into visiting a Petting Zoo with her and the kids.Let me tell you, never ever give a three-year-old a cup ofdeer food. It's ugly." She deftly wrapped a string of spinach aroundher chopstick and pointed it at him. "Did I mention the deer areallowed to rove free? And that said deer are really viciousanimals that travel in packs looking to attack the weak and infirmand bark for no reason I can think of? I had to put the baby on myshoulders and smack the mutant beasts to make them leave usalone."

Pascal smiled. "Max, deer bark because theythink they've lost their young," he said. "It's not a war cry oranything."

"In your universe, maybe," she replied. "I'mtelling you, we were lucky to escape that Petting Zoo with ourlives."

Pascal suspected that Addie could easily take adeer blindfolded and with one hand tied behind her back, but didn'tsay so.

"Anyway, I missed you," Max said. "A lot. Andwhen Mouse showed up, I didn't wait to be asked."

Pascal reached over and touched her cheek withthe back of his hand. "I'm glad you're here," he said. "I haven'tbeen myself."

Max smiled. "I know," she said, with greatgentleness. "Neither have I."

The pipemaster was so absorbed in the act ofbeing in the moment, that he almost didn't notice Max move behindhim. He simply became aware that she'd slipped off his vest and hadstarted slow work of easing the knots out of his upper back. Herhands were very capable and very strong. Pascal leaned into hertouch. Tears sprang to his eyes. She did not know and he did not knowhow to tell her, that she was fulfilling one of his most secretfantasies. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to say this is all I haveever wanted --; to be asked how my day went and to have my backrubbed after a long shift.

He wanted to tell her; instead he becameenraged. He pulled away and stood with his back to her,seething.

"Pascal, did I hurt you?" Max asked. Shesounded afraid.

"No." The pipemaster heard her get up and walktoward him. He shrugged her hands off his shoulders. "Don't," hesaid. The rage came from deep inside.

"I don't understand," she said, evenly. "Whyare you acting like this? Did I offend you?"

Pascal spun around to face her. He literallyturned on her. "Why did you stay away? You say you love me," he spat."But you left me alone in the dark. Why?"

"Generally, when someone says he can't see me,I respect that," Max replied. She stood in front of him with her armsblatantly at her sides, palms facing him. "I take words at facevalue, Pascal."

Her acceptance made him even angrier. Hegrabbed her by her shoulders. Hard. He wanted to hurt her and hedidn't know why. He wanted her to be afraid. Pascal dug his thumbsinto the tender place beneath her clavicles. She was thin. It was tooeasy.

"Please stop," Max said, without any inflectionin her voice. "Hurting me won't solve anything." He twisted histhumbs until she cried out. "Pascal, what the hell is wrong withyou?!" She brought her arms up between his and tried to force themaway, wrist against wrist.

Instantly, Pascal realized what he was doing.His sudden rage dissipated, he carefully loosened his grip. Maxwinced when he removed his thumbs. She put her hands on his forearmsand held them there. Pascal began to cry. "I'm so sorry."

"This isn't about me, is it?"

The pipemaster shook his head. He couldn't lookat her.

"Hobbit, talk to me," Max said. Her voice,which should have been angry, wasn't.

"I don't know how," he replied.

"Try," she said, softly.

Pascal drew her into his arms. Nothing he couldsay would change what he'd done to Max. "I'm scared," he said,simply. "I wanted to hurt you, and I'm scared."

Max held him very gently. She slid her arm upto the back of his neck and tenderly caressed him. "Pascal, how longhave you been depressed?"

"I don't know," he said, his eyes shut tightlyagainst the dark. "Time doesn't mean much, when I'm like this." Itwas a relief to have a word for it.

"No, it doesn't," she agreed. "Do you know whatstarted the cycle?"

The pipemaster nodded into her tender neck. "Ireally can't handle enforced isolation, Max," he whispered. "Whenit's not my choice, it makes me crazy. It literally makes meinsane."

Max ran her hands softly up and down his back.It was comforting --; and incredibly erotic. "Pascal, have you evertold anybody about this?"

"No."

"Tell me," she said.

Pascal closed his eyes and tried to calm hismind. She doesn't know what she's asking, he thought.Nothing like my life has ever touched her. Max was thefavorite in a close, huggy family. She was coddled and adored on aregular basis. Even when she was lonely, she was never alone. Howcould she know what hopelessness was?

All of his life, Pascal buried pain. Hebelieved that people simply did not wish to hear about these things.The few times he had opened up, he'd been hurt. "Do you really wantto know?" he asked.

"Yes, I do," Max replied.

The way she touched him was incredible.Pascal's body responded with breathtaking intensity --; and not inthe way he expected. Instead of arousal, he was hit with a flood ofmemories; memories he had never shared. His back and arms and legsstung with the feel of them. And the whole time, Max continued tocaress him.

"I wanted to be a musician," he said, fightinghis own words. "I didn't want to stay in the tunnels."

"Why did you?"

Pascal held on to Max tightly. He buried hisface in her neck and in her hair and struggled not to hurt her withhis words. "I didn't exactly have a choice," he replied. Thebitterness and anger were too close to the surface. He forced themback.

She gentled him to the floor, where they satwrapped around each other.

"Life here isn't what you think it is," Pascalsaid. He locked his hands together across her upper back. "Sometimes,it's dark and ugly. I was born here. Believe me. I know."

Max touched him so gently, he ached. Shenuzzled his cheek.

"The people who founded this place were all onthe run from something," he went on. "From the beginning, there weresecrets. Secrecy became not only a matter of survival but also a wayof life."

Her hands moved to the base of his spine andpulled him even closer.

Pascal couldn't fight the memories any longer.He was there.

"Why didn't you have a choice?" Maxasked.

"It was always assumed I would grow up and takemy father's place at the pipes," he replied. "From the time I couldwalk, I had a pipe in my hand. I spent almost every day in the pipechamber." He shuddered against the cold. "I liked it. It was likemusic."

The memories seemed to come from herhands.

"At first, there were good times," Pascal said."My mother came from a musical family. She gave me a violin when Iwas three; she taught me to play a little." The memory of his motherwas so real; it was almost solid to the touch. "She used to take meAbove to concerts. Her family was very-well connected and we alwayshad excellent seats." He let himself see through long-forgotten eyes."Mom was pretty. Not like me. She had blue eyes."

Max sighed and ran her hands up his spine tothe base of his neck.

The pipemaster let the mental images wash overhim. They came fast and hard. He forced himself to speak quietly."Sometimes, we met my Uncle Bram in Central Park. I remember he had aScottie named Fala, like FDR's dog; and he always bought me an eggcream. He played the violin, too. He'd been a concert master inEurope before the war." He went on. "And when I was six or seven, mymother started taking me to my Uncle's apartment for violin lessons.It was the most amazing experience. Whenever I played, I felt like Iwas flying. Nothing else mattered."

"What happened?" Max asked.

"After about a year, my father found out,"Pascal replied bitterly. "And I never saw my Uncle again. It was asif he had been erased from the face of the planet. My violindisappeared, as well."

"What did your mother say?"

"What could she say? It was against the rulesto be seen regularly Above at the point."

"That doesn't make sense," Max said. "Whatabout the Helpers?"

"The Helpers weren't family," he replied. "Itwas more difficult for the feds to pinpoint where we were if wedidn't follow patterns." He fought to keep the pain at bay. He turnedhis face to hers and kissed her desperately. And he buried his facein the crook of her neck just to feel her pulse. "Those early yearswere hard ones."

"What happened to your mother, Pascal? Nobodymentions her."

She disappeared, too, Pascal thought. "She diedwhen I was ten. She fell," he said, simply. "I was climbing on thepipes and she was trying to get me to come down." Pascal felt likehe was falling into an abyss of memory. "I got my firstbeating the night she died."

"But it was an accident," Maxwhispered.

"That didn't matter to my father. He becameconsumed with grief and anger and&endash;"

"And what?"

He held on to Max for dear life. "I became theobject of his frustrations." When he closed his eyes, he saw hisfather standing before him in the embryonic pipe chamber. He was abig man. He seemed to block the light. "Yet I was expected to followin his footsteps without question."

"Oh, God," Max said.

"From the time I was ten, I spent every wakingmoment outside the classroom learning code and maintenance of thenetwork," he told her. "That's when my friends started to think Iliked being alone. I didn't, Max. I just didn't want them to see howI lived."

"What do you mean?"

Pascal took a deep breath. He could see andfeel everything again. This was excruciating. Holding it in would beworse, he told himself. "If I slipped, if I forgot code or made amistake, my father would hit me," he said. He felt the grueling painof his father's fist against his bare back. "He always hit me whereit didn't show --; my back, my legs, my upper arms. His favoritemethod was to beat me until I passed out from pain."

Max was trembling. He could not offer hercomfort.

"But even that was endurable," Pascal said. "Ihad friends. When he figured that out, he began punishing me byconfining me to my chamber for days on end. I wasn't allowed visitorsor to receive messages. He took my books and my radio. The onlyrecourse I had was to escape into my mind."

"But what about Father?"

"He stayed out of what he called FamilyBusiness."

Max held him with the utmost tenderness. Hecould feel her shallow breath against his cheek. It made him feelalmost alive.

"It all stopped when I was 15."

"What happened?"

"I got the mumps," Pascal replied. "My fatherdidn't believe I was ill and made me work the line. When I finallyfainted on the job, he just lost it. I don't remember what happenednext. I woke up in the infirmary. Mary told me I almost died." Thepipemaster wished he could disappear inside Max's warmth. "Thebeatings stopped after that."

"And nobody ever mentioned it again, did they?"Her voice was bitter.

"No," Pascal whispered. "They never did." Hekissed her neck softly. "Something died in me that year. I justdidn't care anymore. I decided that if they wanted me to work thepipes, I would. It was almost like music."

"It feels like music," Max said. Her fingertipsrested gently against his shoulder blades.

"Yes, it does."

The memories faded back to wherever they lived.Pascal unclasped his hands and let himself caress Max's back. "Whenfather called the Quarantine, I understood," he told her. "I did. Butit took me back to all those years spent in enforced apartness. Ijust can't&endash;"

Max gently lifted his face to hers and finishedthe sentence for him. "--;live without love."

Pascal nodded. "I was angry, Max. You're all Ihave."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

Pascal held on tightly. "Probably the samereason I never told anybody that my father brutalized me," hesaid.

Max sighed. She arched away from him and lookedinto his eyes. Why did you do it? Was written all over herface.

He ran his fingertips over the sensitive hurtsbeneath her shoulders. He looked into her beautiful eyes and foundpeace looking back at him. "I think," he spoke slowly, allowing thereason to surface in waves of feeling, "I lashed out because therules applied to you and not to her." He couldn't bring himself tosay the name aloud.

"You mean Catherine, don't you?" sheasked.

Pascal nodded. "I walked in on them," hewhispered. "All that time, I was without you, Vincent was not withouther."

Max held him so tenderly; he almost felt herreply before he heard it. "Pascal, that's not right," she told him."It must have hurt you very much."

She'd said it. She agreed that it wasn't right."I was just so lonely, Max."

"I'm here now," she said.

Pascal wasn't expecting what camenext.

Max put her mouth next to his ear andwhispered, "Pascal, you can't keep everything locked away in youremotional little black book." He felt her smile, felt her fingers inhis hair. "Don't you know that talking about hurt steals itspower?"

The pipemaster gently turned her face to his.Hewanted to hang his head in shame, but he didn't. "I'm not worthy ofyour love," he whispered.

"What?"

"You give me so much, and I give younothing."

Max looked at him with her bottomless violeteyes. "Whatever gave you that idea?" she asked. "Do the words stuffand nonsense mean anything to you?" Now she wasangry.

Pascal didn't know what to say.

"You give me you," Max said. "That'senough."

"Max, you give me everything I've ever wanted,"he blurted. He was breathing very hard. "When you asked me about myday and rubbed my back like that, it was the answer to years ofprayer." There, he'd said it. He told her.

Her expression softened. "Really?" sheasked.

"Really."

Max smiled. It was her warm, open smiled thatmade him love her in the first place. "Oh, Pascal," she said. "It'sall right to accept my love. I accept yours."

"Yes, you do." He felt his body begin to comealive again. All the feelings he buried -- the wonderful ones --started to break the surface.

"Then try to accept mine," she said. She slidher arms from around his neck and cradled his face in her hands. "MayI kiss you?" she asked.

He did not answer. Instead he leaned in andkissed her. It was the single most powerful kiss of his life. He wasaware of every inch of his body and of hers; and he caressed her withhis lips and his tongue and his voice. He touched her in ways thatmade her shudder and moan. He kissed her with all he was.

"'I give you nothing,' he says," Max said,wryly. Her voice was so low and warm; it made him trembleinside.

"Stuff and nonsense," Pascal replied. His ownvoice was shaky.

"Where were we, Pascal?" she asked. She restedher forehead against his and touched his cheek with herfingertips.

"I was eating dinner and you were rubbing myback," he told her, softly.

Max took has hand and helped him to his feet.She led him back to the blanket and poured him a fresh cup of tea. Hesat down and she knelt behind him. She seemed to be healing him withher touch.

"How did I get so lucky, Max?" hewhispered.

Max worked her capable hands down his upperarms. "Luck has nothing to do with it," she replied. "Youdeserve to be cared for, Pascal." She wrapped her arms aroundhis chest and hugged him. "Now, finish your dinner, while Istraighten up. This place is a sty. Definitely not like you, Pascal.Like me, yes; like you no."

"I'll never hurt you again, Max," he told her.It was the truest thing he'd ever said.

"I'm counting on that."

Pascal did not look at her. He was afraid thatif he watched her, he'd say something. So he did as he was told andate her nourishing food until he was sated. When he finally lookedup, his chamber was transformed. Order had returned to the world. Maxknelt behind him and started rubbing his neck again. The month's painslowly drained away. He wanted to ask her, but he darednot.

"Pascal?"

"Yes?"

"I was just thinking," Max said, in a low andvery gentle voice. "When I first started working as a tech, I hadterrible nightmares. I mean, they were so bad that I still can't talkabout them. I got so afraid, I stopped sleeping all together," shewent on. "I was twenty-two years old and scared of thedark."

Pascal could not imagine Max afraid ofanything. "What did you do?" he asked.

"I tried everything," she replied. "Meditation, biofeedback, pills; nothing worked. Finally, I talked tomy mother."

"What did she say?"

"She told me if I looked out my window and sangto the moon every night before I went to bed, I wouldn't have anymore nightmares."

"That's sweet," Pascal said. "But did ithelp?"

"Believe it or not, it actually did," Maxreplied. He could hear the smile in her voice. "Would you like tohear it?"

"Yes." He leaned back into her arms.

"It's a really old song," she told him. "AndI'm a really bad singer."

"Sing it anyway."

"Okay," she said, laughing. "You asked forit."

Max sang in a low, breathy voice. She soundedlike she was singing from some faraway place. She caressed hisshoulders in time to the music.

Roll Along Prairie Moon, Roll Along while Icroon

Shine above lamp of love, PrairieMoon

Way up there in the blue

Maybe you're lonely too?

Swinging by in the sky, PrairieMoon

Dreamily, Pascal realized that she was playinghim as if he were an instrument. He became part of the gentle song.Max was drawing him into a safer, kinder place. The pipemaster wasmiles away from anything that hurt him, including his own past. Hewas waltzing with Max outside of time and beyond pain. His soul wasat peace.

When his body was completely relaxed, Maxhelped him to his feet and then eased him into his bed. Grayness andexhaustion were replaced by hard-earned tiredness. The sheets weresmooth again. The cycle had been broken.

"I like your song, Max," hemurmured.

"I thought you would," she replied.

She tucked him in as one would a child. Max ranher fingertips across his forehead and over the bridge of his nose.She smiled and said: "I'll be right back." Pascal watched sleepily asshe put away the remains of their picnic.

Max was rarely still and never quiet. She wentthrough life singing and dancing. She simply enjoyed the act ofliving, a trait Pascal often envied. She'd switched from RollAlong Prairie Moon to Schubert's "Trout," and was swaying to thatas she straightened. It was as if the pain had never happened. Itsurprised him.

Max caught him watching her. "Yes, Pascal, Iknow Schubert," she said, laughing. "And Mozart, and Bach andBeethoven and Chopin&endash;and even those angstful Russians. But I'ma syncopated kind of gal." She sat down on the bed beside him, stillhumming "The Trout."

Pascal could no longer keep the words inside."Stay with me, Max," he said.

Max leaned over and kissed him on the tip ofhis nose. "I intend to," she replied, laughing softly. She kicked offher shoes and curled up under the covers next to him.

Her laughter warmed him, but left it himwanting. "You don't understand, Max," he said, slowly. "I'm askingyou to stay here with me."

"I do understand," she replied, with equaldeliberation. "And it's my intention stay here withyou."

Finally, Pascal could no longer contain thereal question. "I mean, marry me, Max."

Max looked at him with her calm violet eyes."Pascal," she said, evenly. "You need a wife who can give you afamily. I can't give you that. I'm a tech."

"You are my family," he replied. "We fittogether." Pascal cherished the knowledge of how well they fit inbody and in soul. His heart sang whenever he even thought about beinginside Max.

"But I'm a tech," she said again, as ifthis explained everything.

He traced the outline of her mouth with hisindex finger. "Why is it you can accept me as I am, but I'm notsupposed to accept you? That's not fair."

Max blushed and looked very surprised. "I neverthought about it that way," she said.

Pascal moved very close to her. He put his lipsnext to hers, letting his very words become a caress. "You completeme, Max."

"And you complete me," she replied, softly. Hecould taste her breath in his mouth.

"Marry me," Pascal said again. It was not aquestion.

"Yes," she said, smiling.

"Did you say 'yes'?" Pascal asked. He thoughtshe'd said 'yes.'

Max smiled her warm open smile. She leaned inand kissed softly and very deeply. "Yes, Pascal," she said, her voicelow and a little rough. "I said, yes."

The pipemaster pulled her into his arms andheld her as gently as humanly possible. Simply holding her like thiswas as erotic as anything he'd even known. "I love you," hewhispered.

Max smiled. "You have my heart," she replied."I love you very much."

Pascal melted into her embrace and she becamepart of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could still hearher faint, low voice --

Far away shed your beams

On the one of my dreams

Tell him, too, I've been true, PrairieMoon

He sighed with happiness, and for the firsttime in three weeks, truly slept.