What Dreams May Come

Teri

Chapter 1

It was late. Too late to be here, he knew that. And yet he hadn't been able to stop; five days was much too long a time to be apart from her. That thought, flitting out without conscious thought, startled him. Hadn't he told her once, long ago, that they must measure their time together differently, in minutes and moments rather than the hours, days, seasons and years that other couples enjoyed? Yes, he had. When had that ceased to be true for him?

A ragged sigh escaped, drifting out over the night with the cool autumn breeze, the question too big to be undertaken at this moment. At this moment he could only acknowledge the deep and undeniable need within him - to see her again, to be with her again, to feel his heart complete again, as it hadn't been during those five long days.

Broad shoulders lifted with resolution, he turned from the night, from the shadowy expanse of the park he loved so well, eighteen floors below, toward the darkened glass of her balcony door and the single light at the desk beyond it, toward the woman who sat at that desk, her head bowed in thought over an open file, silken hair shining, beckoning for his touch. Reaching out, his fingers encountered glass instead, hard and cold, a blatant contrast to the softness and warmth which defined the woman beyond it.

Sharp nails tapped twice, an almost silent signal, but he never doubted that she would hear, sensing even now a ripple through the bond that communicated her sudden awareness. Even as she turned to look, her feet took her from the chair, propelling her swiftly across the space that separated them. Only ten feet stood between them, yet the moment felt interminably long, and he couldn't resist shortening that distance by pulling the door open wide just as she reached for the handle. Her outstretched arm became two, spread wide, and without thought he moved into them, to the warmth of her embrace, his heart again whole.

Tighter, she whispered, and he wrapped his arms more securely about her slender torso, completely unable to ignore that heart-felt plea, not when it was his wish as well as her own. A soft moan of relief vibrated through his chest, her face buried at its very center, pressed hard to the slight gap left by the loosely laced edges of his quilted vest. Tighter... The word echoed through him, reminding him forcefully of that time he had almost lost her, barely six months before, and the chaos and confusion which had followed so shortly thereafter, leaving them adrift and lost, the days of his illness turning to weeks of painful recovery and healing. The memory was brief, a fleeting image, but devastating for all that, and he pulled her closer still, his muscles taut with tension. It wasn't enough, would never be enough, he thought. Her entreaty was now like that of rustling leaves, an almost silent chant which filled him, over and over and over again with a restless and relentless demand.

"Vincent?"

The murmured question broke through the hazy spell surrounding him. Heat flared up into his cheeks as he hastily released her and stepped back. She hadn't spoken until that moment, he suddenly realized, the echoing plea trailing off until there was nothing left but a ripple of thought in the smooth pool of their bond.

"What is it?"

Her hands had captured his, unwilling to let go all vestiges of touch between them with his startled retreat. They grasped his own now, urging him back, just a little. He tried to avoid her gaze for a moment, desperate to regain his slipping control, but a fleeting glimpse was all it took, his momentary discomfort pushed aside by what he saw. His hands tightened on hers as he drew her closer to the bedroom door, angling her toward the faint light beyond. Her face was pallid and drawn, dark circles a vivid contrast to the beloved green-gray eyes staring up at him. He pulled one hand from her own and reached a tentative finger out to stroke the soft-furred back of it soothingly against one ashen cheek, stunned at the ivory translucency there. He explored her face intently, probing the bond as he did, and felt a flash of embarrassment a second before delicate color tinged her cheeks.

"I know, I look awful," she said, lifting her free hand to hide her face from his.

His own hand cupped her chin, urging it up, and her hand dropped away, her eyes meeting his fully for the first time this night.

"You look tired," he corrected gently, inspecting her drawn features more closely. "I shouldn't have stayed away so long," he murmured, more to himself than her.

"Nonsense, Vincent, you had a job to do in the lower levels, and it was only five days. There's nothing wrong with me that a good night's sleep and an hour-long facial won't fix," she joked.

Her wan smile didn't fool him. "I didn't sense anything worrisome over the bond while I was gone, Catherine." Truth to tell that thought now consumed him, part of him frantically reassessing the measured rhythms their bond had communicated to him while they were apart. Nothing. There had been nothing to indicate that anything was amiss.

"It's just been a long week I suppose. Truly, Vincent, nothing happened, and nothing's wrong."

He stared at her, uncertain and unassured. He hadn't felt anything to indicate a problem while he was gone, and he sensed nothing now; no subterfuge, no evasiveness, nothing. She was telling the truth as she knew it, but something was wrong, he could see that clearly.

"Come Below, Catherine," he said abruptly.

She stared at him in confusion. "Vincent, it's two o'clock in the morning. You want me to come Below now?"

"Yes. Come Below. Stay the weekend. If you stay Above, I know you'll work. You brought home case files with you, didn't you?" he asked shrewdly. Her eyes glanced furtively toward the dimly lit space surrounding her desk and he followed her gaze, quickly counting three full files on its surface and guessing there were at least four others in the thick briefcase resting on the floor beside it. His eyes returned to hers, and took in the deeper flush now coloring her previously pale cheeks.

"Come Below, Catherine," he repeated, the words and tone verging on command.

Counter arguments trembled on her lips, but disappeared in a sudden burst of comprehension. Vincent was asking her to stay Below for a whole weekend. To stay for two full days with him in the tunnels, in his home, after a five-day enforced separation.

"Will you come?"

These words were only somewhat less a command than the previous ones had been, but there was a note of entreaty there that would have been impossible for her to ignore, even had she not been so firmly in agreement with his own desires. She squeezed the fingers which grasped her own, giving the only response which was possible.

"Yes, I'll come."

The click of the doorlatch on the floor above was little more than an additional signal telling Vincent what he already knew; Catherine had reached the sub-basement level. When the concealing boxes had been moved aside, and the hidden door swung open, he was at the top of the ladder, waiting.

"Give me your bag, Catherine," he whispered, the words impossible to hear beyond a two foot radius. he handed a nylon sports bag to him, and he slung it over one shoulder and around his back, out of the way, before reaching a hand back to her. "Come."

She slid her feet to the third rung, then eased around to face the wall, all in the safe circle of his arms and body, hypersensitive to each brush of her body along his. When he reached past her to pull the door part shut and maneuver the boxes behind it into a reasonable position once more, she felt the full length of him pressed firmly along her back, and felt her muscles tense in response. It took a few minutes to arrange the boxes, but it wasn't nearly long enough, as far as she was concerned, though the tension in her body increased almost in contradiction to that thought. All too soon they were in place to his satisfaction and he pulled the door closed and began to descend the few steps necessary to reach the tunnel level. Catherine moved with him, greedily embracing his proximity, a part of her guiltily grateful for the anxiety her appearance had raised in him thus allowing a closeness he would have formerly avoided. When they reached the ground, Vincent stepped back and gazed down her length, his eyes pinned quizzically to the floral print silk of her robe, and the pale rose silk of the gown beneath it, both peeking out from just below the hem of her long trench coat.

"It's two o'clock in the morning, Vincent."

He returned her gaze with one that held a small smile, and she felt her face flame bright red.

"I didn't think I needed to change to come Below at this hour - it wasn't likely that anyone would see me in the stairwell and besides..."

He stopped her mid-sentence, before she could begin stammering in confusion. "You're right, Catherine. It's a very good idea, since you'll be going to bed as soon as we reach the hub."

She closed her mouth with a snap, disoriented. That hadn't been her plan at all. "Not right away, please. I haven't seen you in five days..."

He shook his head, stopping the flow of her words once more, the small smile of a moment before now replaced with the serious expression he had worn on her balcony twenty minutes before. "You're tired, Catherine. We have the whole weekend ahead of us."

That said, he slipped one arm around her back and the other beneath her knees, scooping her up into
his arms before she knew what he was about.

"I can walk, Vincent, really," she protested, though careful to keep her voice low this close to their threshold.

He was already ten paces down the tunnel by the time she finished, and made no attempt to put her back on her feet, answering easily as he went. "I know you can," he said, continuing on his way with a swift stride that no one else could possibly match.

In ten minutes he had covered the distance that usually took the two of them twenty. No others were seen on their trek, but twice she heard a light tapping as they passed, and both times she saw Vincent nod almost imperceptibly toward a spot in the seemingly closed walls of the tunnel structure, toward the hidden sentries that waited and watched.

The last turn off the main tunnel was before them now, and a pale light gleamed from his chamber entrance, about fifty yards down the side path they now travelled. About midway to that point an opening appeared to their left, and he took it, a torch lighting the passage some ten yards down. She sighed with regret, accepting that there would be no cozy chat or shared book reading in his chamber this night. Ten yards beyond the torch the short passage ended with a slight S-curve, leading directly to one of the less-frequently used guest chambers. This was the one she always used in her stays Below, rare though they were.

The chamber itself was dark, its opening protected from the torchlight without by the swerving curve at the entrance. No one had been expected here this night. Despite the absence of light, Vincent strode into the room without pause, unerringly side-stepping the rocking chair near the door and the writing table at the center of the room, before placing her on her feet once more. The abrupt absence of motion disoriented her for a moment, and she reached out blindly, touching the quilted covers on the bed beside her, using its sturdy surface to steady herself. A moment later light flared at the bedside table, and she saw Vincent's face highlighted in an amber glow as the light spread to embrace him at its center, and all that surrounded it. She followed his gaze around the room, and noted how neat and clean it was - leave it to Mary to always ensure the habitability of these extra spaces.

Finally assured of the same, Vincent turned his attention back to her. "Do you need anything else tonight, Catherine? Are you sure you'll be warm enough?"

She thought she could discern a slight blush on his own cheeks before he went on hurriedly.

"I have some of the clothes you've worn here in the past in my chamber. I can bring them now if you like."

She shook her head, images of those items tucked safe with his own clothes momentarily making her speechless. "I'm fine, Vincent. I don't need them just now. Maybe tomorrow..."

He nodded in turn, his gaze slipping away to scan the bed behind her.

"The quilts are warm, and there are extras here," he indicated the wardrobe beside him as he spoke, "if you need them."

She nodded in response, wishing there were something she could say to make him stay, just for a bit. No one could be more obstinate, though, when he thought he was right - not even Father, she thought ruefully. Letting the opportunity slide by untried, her hands went to the belt of her coat and then to the buttons beneath. The last button was down low, just past her knees, and when she looked up she was surprised to find his outstretched hand waiting.

"I'll hang it up for you."

She slipped the coat from her shoulders and handed it to him silently, feeling inexplicably shy. She'd appeared before him in her nightclothes many times on her balcony, and even here, Below, though then the typical woven fabrics had been both warmer and more concealing than the silky ones she favored uptop. Now they were in his world, in a place safe for them both. No dangers awaited either of them here, unless they were of their own making...

A movement startled her from her reverie as Vincent stepped to her side to turn the quilts and
blankets back on the bed. She watched his tall form bend to the task, and for a moment envisioned them together, a couple settling in for the night. The robe of her gown was undone in a trice and she slipped it across the foot of the bed, dreamily letting the vision fill her senses for a moment, just a moment...

The look in Vincent's eyes when he turned to face her brought her back to reality. Shocked surprise, abrupt discomfort, and... Yes, for a fleeting second she was sure she had seen the yearning desire which had filled her thoughts during that momentary, dream-like state. Blushing furiously, she slipped into the bed and pulled the covers up to her chin, anxious to protect them both from the naked vulnerability suddenly so near the surface of their bond.

"Goodnight, Vincent," she whispered, turning to face the wall to hide the confusion on her face, holding tight to the bond from her end, hoping that he wouldn't sense her feelings just now. Beneath the covers she slipped her trembling hand up to grasp and hold the crystal at her breast and felt a taut nipple in passing, that touch setting up a quivering response throughout her whole body. Please don't feel this, please don't feel this, she thought with desperation, her eyes squeezed shut tight. He hesitated beside her for only a minute more, and she felt nothing to indicate that she hadn't been successful.

"Good night, Catherine, sleep well. I'll see you in the morning."

She listened to his retreating footfall until it disappeared - only a few steps beyond the entrance - then turned to her back to stare up at the ceiling blindly. It was so much harder now than it had been in the early days. It had been two and half years, and controlling her desire for him was getting harder and harder. She pondered this problem, but in the middle of one very complex thought, involving not only Vincent and herself, but Father and Lisa as well, fell fast asleep.

Something is wrong with Catherine. Something is very wrong. It's been well over two years since I found her, and our bond has only grown, each day the sensations I feel from her stronger than the last. I know that it has changed for her, too. I know that she has become aware of its presence, and that awareness is growing. But we rarely speak of it; Catherine, because she thinks I'll be frightened by what it all might mean for her life, and me, because she's right.

What happened while I was away? What could possibly have happened to cause the change I saw tonight that would not have been felt by me over our bond? It looks as if she hasn't slept for days, three or four, perhaps even five. Impossible! I would have known if such a thing had happened. I would have known, just as I know now that she sleeps. I feel it clearly and yet I doubt my own senses now, after seeing the contradiction of all I know in her face tonight.

Vincent's focus on the journal before him shifted abruptly, a sudden hiccup in the bond grabbing his attention. Eyes unfocused, he gazed outward unseeing, his head cocked in the direction of her chamber, as if his unique sense of her were somehow linked to sight and sound, though it wasn't, not at all. He waited motionless, sure she was waking, but the disruption in the bond smoothed away quickly to a shivery wave, like ripples in a pond, until it disappeared altogether, the bond returned to its former, peaceful state. With a resolute shake of his head, Vincent turned his attention back to the journal before him, rereading what he'd already written before he added another line:

The bond tells me that she sleeps, but I have to see it for myself.

With that he threw down his pen abruptly and left the chamber. Within minutes, less than two, he reached the candlelit entry to the guest chamber. It was exactly as he'd left it just fifteen minutes ago, except that Catherine now lay on her back, instead of on her side. She was fast asleep. He scanned her face closely, trying to find some clue. He found none. Five minutes passed without a sound or motion from him while he watched, waiting. For what he didn't know. Three minutes more. No, nothing. But still he waited.

Then it happened. It was the same as before. The same disrupting jolt over their bond, only this time he saw corresponding lines of tension appear on her face. They deepened and she stirred, as if she would wake, a soft groan escaping her lips, but as the bond quieted, her motions did too, and within a minute it was as if nothing had happened, nothing at all. His brow furrowed in concentration as he focused on the bond, searching for some residual sign of what he'd seen, what he'd felt, but nothing of it remained.

Another minute passed and still he stood silent, leaning forward slightly as he watched her face. Finally he stirred, straightening slowly. Reaching behind him he drew one of the two chairs from the center table toward the bed. He settled into it, his eyes never leaving her face, and waited.

* * * * *

Twelve more minutes elapsed without a sign to mark its passing from either person in the quiet chamber. No clock was present, though hand-wound alarms weren't uncommon Below, and no signal over the pipe had sounded to indicate the time - that only happened on the full hour, almost forty minutes away. Vincent needed neither. His innate sense of time was inevitably correct. Not only was he always aware of the time of day, whether Above or Below, but if he focused on it, he could correctly interpret the passing of time itself, as if he had some equivalent to an ear for pitch in the cyclic nature of chronology.

There. Again.

He leaned forward in the chair, eyes pinned to her face, their bond focused as intently to the internal rhythms of her sleeping psyche. A sensation wavered through him, barely there and almost impossible to glean. In the momentary interval of its occurance there was only time enough for him to gain the sensation of a deepening, a sinking down into the slumber enfolding her. The planes of her face eased in that instant, seeming to verify that interpretation, ambiguous though it was, but no sooner had that vague softening occured, than it reversed itself, line of tension appearing again, as they had almost fourteen minutes before. As it had then, those lines of tension were immediately followed by a sensation of wakening.

Almost, but not quite.

For a fleeting second he was sure she would wake, could feel that abrupt withdrawal from the deep repose which held her a moment before, but it halted just short of sleep's absence, and she remained in its grip, though that sleep felt more tenuous now, less secure than a moment before.

A frown deepened the line between his brows as he eased back in the chair once more. Time passed inexorably slow as he counted off the minutes. At ten he leaned forward once more, waiting. A quiver through the bond alerted him at thirteen, and this time he was better prepared than before. Staring hard, he caught the sudden flutter of her eyes beneath their closed lids. Ignoring the sensations from their bond for the moment, he focused his attentions there. Back and forth they darted rapidly. It came to him without effort - REM. Random eye movement. Dream state.

Part of him recognized the cessation of deepening sleep through the bond, even as the physical symptoms occurred. A light whisper of sound. A sigh? A groan? He wasn't sure, so tentative and fleeting it was, but the motion beneath her eyelids ceased as well as sleep retreated close to the threshold of waking. Only a minute had passed, and once again everything was still, as if nothing had happened at all.

Thirteen minutes, give or take one, he thought, until the cycle begins again. Casting his mind over the subject of sleep and dreams, all he knew of REM came to him. The time frame was about right, if he recalled it correctly - fourteen minutes or so for an average cycle. All humans dreamt, though many rarely remembered those events, frequent though they might be throughout the night. The REM cycle indicated the deepest level of sleep, when the subconscious was free, and fears, wishes, needs and desires were let loose, as if to purge the psyche of residual anxieties contained there. It was also the time when the vast benefit of slumber was gained. Those few minutes, set in a preassigned cycle, accumulated throughout an evening's sleep until the energies spent by day were gathered once more by night. All else preceding and following that moment existed in some shadowy land somewhere between the nebulous world of dreams and reality, neither waking nor resting, but rather a preparatory moment, awaiting the spark that united both. If Catherine's REM cycle was being interrupted throughout the night, as he had himself observed four times in the last hour, that would easily account for her careworn state. Without the deep sleep state represented by the REM cycle, she might just as well not sleep at all!

That realization shocked him. So peaceful she looked lying there, fast asleep, but it was a sham, a trick of sight that hid the truth. She was seriously sleep deprived even now, and though she knew she was tired, apparently hadn't a clue as to why. The odd almost waking end to each attempted REM cycle explained that. She didn't realize that her sleep was interrupted at those crucial moments, and thus was convinced that she was getting a full night's sleep each night, while instead her energy was depleted with each passing day.

That last thought fled abruptly as he realized how much time had passed - and how little remained until the next cycle began. The restlessness in him stilled instantly as he prepared himself, a complete stillness settling over his large frame. This time he didn't lean forward, and he didn't study her face. Instead, eyes closed, he focused the bond sharply, directly upon her. The clarity of her presence swept over him with a staggering force and he gasped, hands tightening on the arms of his chair, strong nails digging in to score the ancient wood with deep grooves.

He almost never manipulated the bond so dramatically, so intentionally. Only under the direst threat had he done so in the past, and when he had, it was usually under the stress of the other's presence, the sensation and memory of it receding to a hazy fog upon the dark one's retreat. Oh he felt her presence always; that was inevitable, the bond communicating a sense of her continuously, even when he held himself with the strictest of control. A day never went by without him reaching out to her through their bond, the need to assure himself of her safety or to feel her there, within his heart, so strong it could not be ignored. But those were tentative touches, a side-ways, peripheral glance as it were, and one which only caught the barest glimpse while yet ensuring minimal intrusion. Even that touch, distant and controlled as it was, felt like such an intimacy, such a trespass, as if he took her essence into himself, stealing a small part of it and holding it close. It was as if her soul flowed through his own, drawn to him by the very opening of the bond, tendrils of thought and emotion twining silkily together with a breathless, shivery jolt that was both indescribable and utterly familiar. It was as if they kissed in that instant, the sensation at once both fleeting and eternal. But now...

Now, though she slept, her emotions a calm, still pool, her resting presence was so strong, so clear in him. He wanted to sink within it, to join her in slumber and let their souls merge without restraint. A heavy sigh drifted through the quiet chamber as he struggled with the strong emotions inspired by her proximity, both physical and ephemeral.

Time was passing, an insistent voice whispered. He had to focus, had to!

It took a supreme amount of will, but in the end he did it, leaving himself open and vulnerable to her, while maintaining the clarity of focus required to analyze the minute changes he had witnessed earlier with his eyes, only this time using every nuance of the ethereal connection of their bond.

And just in time. Even as he gained the last gasp of strength required he felt a sinking wave, soft and sweet, flow through him. It had lasted only seconds before, but this time he was ready, focusing the bond to that sensation in an instant, holding back the counterforce even now felt which had earlier this night interrupted that silky ripple of emotion. He held it back and the sensation deepened, swirling outward and through him, leaving him weak and breathless. There were no images, not yet, but the ripples spread, growing in languorous waves, until finally a hazy form appeared in his mind's eye. It was indistinct at first, like a column of light, but as he held their bond open it began to shift, until finally, within the flame two figures appeared, arms entwined, bodies pressed tight, lips locked together in a passionate kiss.

With a gasp his eyes flew open wide. The control he exerted to hold her sleeping subconscious back wavered, and in an instant it snapped shut, the image and sensations disappearing abruptly. A groaning sigh whispered out through the night, and in the midst of his chaotic response he was unable to tell if it had come from himself or her. Finally the efforts to regain that lost control succeeded, and his eyes blinked open hazily. Catherine lay on the bed before him, in the same position as before, to all appearances fast asleep.

********

Jacob Wells stopped at the chamber entrance and watched, incredulous, as his son paced about the room, apparently oblivious to his presence. The faded carpet had a distinct pattern around the perimeter, about the table at the chamber's center, worn by more than twenty years of activity. It was in his teens, shortly after his illness, when Vincent had developed the habit of pacing off nervous energy, and Jacob was struck now by how little things had changed. But then again, at least one change never ceased to amaze him; his son had grown in stature, there was no doubt about that. It was rare when he had the opportunity to observe him so closely without his awareness, and he took advantage of it now, scanning the full length and broad shoulders of the man before him. Who would have ever thought that the small toddler would grow so big, he thought, almost in awe at the memories of that lad's youth, and the enormous power contained now within the man he had become. Finally he shook off the images that had held him still and cleared his throat. Vincent turned abruptly, his head whipping around to find his presence in the doorway in an instant, a look of shocked surprise on his face.

"Father, I didn't realize..."

"So I see," Jacob answered dryly, filling in the awkward silence of the unfinished words.

He moved toward the center table and Vincent automatically pulled a chair out for him. Jacob sank into it with relief, his hip aching from an uncomfortable night's sleep. Even the least irritation could inflame the joint for days now, and he knew that unless he sought out the hottest pool several levels down, and soon, he would simply have to live with the added discomfort until the weather shifted and the inflammation subsided on its own. That had happened last month, and he was determined not to endure that pain again if he could help it. He would go below shortly, but first...

"Vincent, Daniel tells me that Catherine is below."

He tried not to let the irritation he felt over this news be heard in his voice. Vincent had grown particularly sensitive to any criticism where Catherine was concerned, especially after the pain-filled events of the past spring and early summer. Still, he knew he hadn't been completely successful, the simple statement sounding like an accusation, even to his own ears. Vincent had barely been gone five days, had only been home a few hours, long enough to say hello and drop his pack off, before he'd headed above. This was getting out of hand, and Jacob was determined that they should have the talk that had been put off for far too long. It was time they spoke openly about the growing closeness between his son and Catherine. It was a mistake, and Vincent had to be made to see it, for his own good, as well as hers.

He cleared his throat again, ready to face the certain displeasure that awaited him in this endeavor, but strangely enough, either Vincent hadn't noticed the edge to his tone, or had inexplicably chosen to ignore it. He hadn't ceased his pacing, either, after that momentary pause, and the exasperation which had propelled him to this spot so early on a Saturday morning faded into worried concern.

"Is everything all right? There's nothing wrong, is there?"

Vincent stopped abruptly and passed a hand over his eyes, the motion betraying a disjointed confusion and anxiety. His normal grace was suddenly gone, as if the motion itself had been a conduit for its presence, and synonymous now, with its absence. Finally he reached out a hand and pulled his own chair from the table, joining his father there.

"There is something wrong, Father," he said, his eyes bleak and uncertain.

Any anger Jacob had felt upon the sentry's morning report evaporated in an instant, replaced by an anxiety of his own. Something was wrong with Catherine?

"Tell me, Vincent," he commanded, quelling his own rising fear so as not to add to his son's.

But Vincent was no longer paying attention. His head had turned toward the chamber entrance, and he sat still, listening to something inthe corridor, his hand raised in his father's direction to still his questions.

"She's coming," he replied tersely to the unspoken question.

A moment later Catherine arrived, pausing hesitantly at the doorway when she saw that two inhabitants were there, rather than the one she had expected. In a moment Vincent was at her side, his hand rising unconsciously to the small of her back to guide her solicitously into the chamber. She glanced up at him, smiling, and he thought his heart would break. She was so beautiful. The silky fabric of her robe was cool and smooth under his hand, and beneath that he could feel the curve of her spine, undisguised by any heavy or layered fabrics. Heat flamed in his face and he looked down in confusion, letting his hair hide his features, berating himself silently over such an inappropriate thought, especially now. Her voice broke the spell, drawing his attention away from his own thoughts.

"Hello, Father," she murmured. Another pause, then she slowly approached to greet the patriarch of the tunnels. Upon reaching his side she placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned down to press a tentative kiss on his cheek.

Jacob reached up to squeeze her hand, admirably controlling his shocked dismay at her unexpected appearance. She looked so tired, so worn out!

"Catherine, my dear, how are you?" He tried to keep his tone light, tried not to betray his sudden concern, but unlike Vincent, Catherine didn't seem to miss the nuance in his tone.

"I'm fine, Father, really. Vincent insisted I come below for a day or so."

"The weekend," Vincent correctly firmly.

Their eyes met and she looked away first, giving in with a sigh.

"He's afraid I'll work all night instead of sleeping - otherwise I wouldn't
intrude on you all like this..."

"Nonsense," Jacob admonished sternly. "You know you're welcome here any time."

Later he would review the words he'd spoken with amazement, ruefully chagrined by the sentiment which had so clearly contradicted the purpose of this visit in the first place. But the unexpectedness of the moment betrayed a truth he couldn't deny - more than anyone else from above; Catherine belonged here, with them, in whatever capacity she chose. Certainly all she had done for them in the past had given her that right long ago. But no, it was more than that. She loved his son, and he loved her. The nebulous thought made itself heard despite his best efforts to ignore it.

Catherine smiled shyly, a light blush staining her cheeks, bringing into painful contrast the pallid ivory surrounding them. She looked so weary, so very tired...

His worried musings were interrupted by Catherine's soft voice.

"I was going to take a bath, if you weren't heading there yourself?"

"No, no, I wasn't," he said, squeezing her hand once more. "You go ahead and take a long soak. There's still plenty of time for breakfast, so take your time. Vincent's right, Catherine. You need to forget your work, just for a few days."

She returned the pressure of his hand, and blinked away sudden tears. "I will, Father, thank you." She hesitated a moment more, then kissed his cheek again before turning back to the chamber entrance.

Vincent walked silently down the side passage with her, stopping just before they reached the torch-lit entrance of the bathing pool, his hand still resting at the small of her back. The thought of not touching her was somehow painful just now, even though she was close and safe, here in his own world. He stopped and she paused in the same instant, as if she didn't want to leave him either. They stood silent for a moment, until Vincent realized that his fingers were softly stroking the tender curve of her spine through the silken weave. His hand dropped away abruptly and for a moment he felt curiously disoriented. Only the sound of her voice drew him from the confused state which suddenly encompassed him.

"You don't need to wait for me, Vincent. You should go have breakfast."

He looked down at her wan face. Her eyes shone with a luminous light despite the dark circles beneath them. Even he, despite all his protestations of the past, couldn't mistake what he saw there. Love. For him. He drew in a deep, shuddery breath hoping that all appeared normal to her. The last thing she needed now was to feel his own anxiety and confusion.

"I'll wait, Catherine. We'll go together."

He congratulated himself for managing to keep his voice fairly normal, unaware of the effect those husky tones had on her. He had no idea that for her, normal was not a word she would ever associate with his voice. But he neither felt nor saw anything out of the ordinary, and finally drew back a step. Only when she stepped through the doorway and disappeared from sight did he turn and make his way back to his own chamber.

Father was sitting where he had been a moment before, waiting. When Vincent sat down in his chair once more, Father turned to him and said, "Tell me."

**********

Vincent paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, his brow furrowed in thought. Finally he spoke, the words as disjointed as his earlier pacing. "When I went above last night, I saw what you saw, and was just as surprised."

Jacob jumped immediately to the heart of the matter, completely in tune with his son in this regard. "Do you mean to say you had no idea that there was problem before then? That you felt nothing over the bond while you were below?" His voice was incredulous, and Vincent's expression perfectly matched the sentiment expressed in those tones.

"Nothing. I didn't have the least idea that anything was wrong," he said.

Jacob considered this surprising statement, unconsciously stroking his beard as he did. When next he spoke, his words were more tentative, as if he was asking something he didn't really want to know. "Were you blocking the bond for some reason?"

"No," Vincent replied, shaking his head vehemently. "I felt her constantly, just as I always do. When we're far apart, I even open the bond more than I normally would from time to time, just to ensure everything's all right. I did that several times while I was gone. I felt her so clearly, and there was nothing, nothing at all to indicate... this," he ended lamely, unwilling or unable to articulate what 'this' actually was.

"You spoke with Catherine about it, that's clear. What did she say?" Jacob asked.

Vincent shook his head as he answered. "She knows she looks tired and she knows she feels tired, but she has no idea why. She says she's sleeping at night, and I believe that she thinks that is the case."

Jacob's ears perked up at this last sentence, hearing a message between the spoken lines. "But you don't think she is?"

"I know she's not," his son replied tersely.

Jacob sat back abruptly in his chair, his hand falling away from his beard, eyes narrowed as he considered this statement. "You watched over her last night," he said. Vincent confirmed that speculation with a nod of his head. "And?"

"I watched her sink into sleep, watched her eyelids move as that sleep deepened."

"REM state," his father supplied, and once again Vincent nodded in agreement.

"Yes, but each time the cycle was interrupted just as it began."

"She didn't wake?" Jacob said, leaning forward in his chair, academic curiosity getting the better of him.

"Almost," his son replied, "but not enough for her to be aware of it." Vincent's voice was bleak.

"She's not dreaming," his father said, wonder in his voice at the realization. "How is this possible? Couldn't you tell what was causing it through the bond you share with her?"

Vincent shifted in his chair, eyes suddenly lowered, and Jacob caught his breath. Of course he knew. He waited, silent, for his son to continue, knowing that he would do so only in his own time.

"It was difficult at first. The time interval was so short - impossible to feel much more than the first waves of sleep as she sank into the REM state, and the jolting sensation when it was cut short."

"But eventually you did feel something more," Jacob prodded gently.

"Yes," Vincent murmured, his voice almost too low to be heard. "I focused the bond as her sleep deepened, then opened it wider to hold off the counter-effect. I didn't do it for long, just long enough. Her subconscious is short- circuiting the dream state. She's not getting the sleep she needs, but she's not consciously aware of that deficit.

"She's trying to hide something from herself." Jacob added the logical conclusion to his son's words,
then spoke the simple, final question that waited. "What?"

Vincent's eyes lifted to his father's, and Jacob saw the tension both there and in his taut muscles as he sat still before him.

"She's trying to protect me, and herself, I think," he finally replied.

"Protect you?"

Vincent nodded. "When I held the bond open, I saw the beginning of her dream, before it snapped closed again. I felt her emotions." He hesitated again, unable to go on, his eyes pleading with his father's for understanding.

"Vincent," Jacob began, his voice gentle, "I know I haven't been very h helpful for you, where your relationship with Catherine was concerned. I've let my own fears, my own past color my view of things, perhaps too much. But you must know how much I love you, how much I want you to be happy."

Jacob paused for a moment, scrutinizing his son's face, only going on when Vincent had
acknowledged that sentiment with a slight nod of his head.

"I know it's hard for you to trust me now in this area, given my behavior before, but I'm asking that you try, not just for your sake, but for Catherine's."

Vincent's eyes met his squarely, and though the anxiety was in no way diminished, Jacob read resolve there as well.

"Catherine's dream was of me. Of she and I, together."

Jacob didn't need any further elaboration to know exactly the form that dream had taken. He nodded sympathetically, aware of how difficult it had been for his son to make a disclosure on such an intimate, private thing.

"You said you think that she's protecting you by hiding these emotions, and herself. I understand the first part. She must know how uncomfortable it would be for you to experience these emotions from her through your bond."

Jacob watched as Vincent nodded in response before going on. "But I don't understand the second part. What is she protecting herself from? Do you think she's afraid of the commitment such feelings imply?" he asked gently, thinking of his own failed relationship with Margaret when they were both young.

Vincent shook his head immediately. "No. Catherine isn't afraid of commitment. Perhaps at one time she was, but that was long ago. She knows her heart, no matter how much I pretend it to be otherwise. It's me, Father. I'm the one who fears what that commitment implies. Catherine knows this, even though we never speak of it. She thinks I'll make her leave me if I feel needs within her which I feel myself unable to fulfill." The words tapered off to a whisper at the end. "She's afraid of my response, and so she holds those emotions hidden, deep inside. Only they're growing too strong now, too powerful. She can't do it any longer," he finished bleakly.