Chapter 4

She gulped in a deep breath of air, that thought catching her up and hovering in a tantalizing way for some time unknown, before she grasped it and continued on with the observation. Vincent was naked under his cloak - naked! - and standing just ten feet away from her, in the doorway to his own chamber, while she lay in his bed wearing little more than a translucent silk nightgown. Her nipples hardened instantly and a flash of heat blazed between her thighs. The sensitive flesh there blossomed, tissues swelling to peek open, like a flower unfurling. She felt the creamy warmth gather, coating her, and blushed scarlet, feeling the heat sweep up over her chest and face. She might just well have a neon sign on her forehead proclaiming to all the world that she was in heat for him, that her body was ready and oh-so-willing to take his now, this very minute. Suddenly she was filled with an almost overwhelming compulsion to fling back the bedclothes, pull up her gown and spread herself open for him, a blatant offering which even he could neither ignore nor choose to misunderstand. She gasped, shocked at the thought of even imagining such a thing, and even more so by the urge still filling her to do it. Her hands tightened into clenched fists, gripping the quilt tightly to make sure that her wildly chaotic thoughts didn't take form on their own. The nervous expression on his face shifted instantly to worried concern. He stepped forward, her name a question on his lips once more, and she recoiled instinctively, needing to protect him from the shameful impulses still filling her.

Vincent froze, shocked by her response. He'd been standing outside his chamber for some minutes, aware that she was awake, and unwilling to go in to get clean clothes while so scantily covered. Her emotions had swung wildly in those few moments, and for the first time in days the bond seemed to be communicating them clearly to him once more. He was so relieved to feel her again, even the chaotic swings which characterized her thought process now, that he stood still, eyes closed, drinking it in greedily, avidly. But then he'd felt her emotions shift into something else, something that was more in tune to that curious lack of sensation of the week past. A feeling of loss swept through, impossible to bear on the heels of that blissful sense of rediscovery so new and fresh, still nestling beneath his breast, beating within his heart.

Forgetting his lack of clothing, he stepped through the chamber entrance and found her lying in his bed, lines of tension running along the pale planes of her face. At the sound of her name, she sat up in started shock, and stared at him in dismay. In an instant everything changed as her thoughts abruptly surged into the sexual realm, their descent so swift and so thorough that it was impossible to escape them before he was inundated with their savage intensity. He felt a tingling in his body and knew that it was a reflection of her own, through their bond. It was strange, and yet on some deep level, so very familiar, a simultaneous tightening and loosening of muscles and flesh that left him trembling. It was desire, it was need, it was a raging hunger. His body, so recently and exhaustively scourged this day, amazingly responded yet again, hot blood pounding through him, his erection surging. A harsh panting filled the air, and it took a moment for him to realize that the sound came from him. Turning abruptly, he stumbled to his chair at the center writing table and sank into it, dropping his head down to his folded arms with a groan.

"Catherine, please..."

For a moment she sat absolutely still, uncertain of what he needed from her, afraid to move. It was obvious he'd sensed her desire in that moment, but his response shocked her. How many times had he sent her away rather than let her see him in a weakened state? Hadn't she always honored those requests in the past? Was his plea another such request? And yet...

He was still here when he could have gone.

She pondered that amazing thought. It had to mean something. When he'd asked her to go before, it was because he himself couldn't. Most of the time he simply disappeared, going deep below to escape any further confrontation with her until his strength and control had returned. He had been standing just at the chamber entrance, and could as easily have chosen to exit it as enter, but he hadn't, not this time. Now he was still here.

She pulled the angora wrap tightly about herself and slipped from the bed. He heard her, of course, raising his head at her approach, but though his eyes entreated her for something, he didn't ask her to leave. She hovered hesitantly, on the other side of the table from him, waiting for him to tell her what he wanted her to do, and a moment later, he did.

"Sit down, Catherine," he whispered hoarsely, indicating the chair beside him.

Both relieved and concerned, she slid into the waiting chair, clasping her hands together upon the table in almost a mirror-image reflection of his own posture, anxiety apparent in every line.

"I thought I could do it, but I can't. I'm not strong enough, not for this," he said.

She stared up at him, unable to comprehend the rambling discourse.

"I need your help, Catherine."

That she understood, and though she didn't know yet what he needed, whatever it was, she would do it, whether it was humanly possible or not. His hands twisted together anxiously and she reached out with one of her own to cover them. He flinched, but didn't draw away.

"Tell me, Vincent. You know I would do anything for you - anything!"

His eyes still entreated hers, but there were tears there now, as if he begged her to understand what was so difficult for him to say.

"Not for me, Catherine, for you."

"For me? The dreams...?"

He nodded, confirming her thought, and she went on, trying to lead him through what was obviously a very painful process.

"This is about my dreams?"

He nodded again.

"You said I'm suppressing them, but that the bond might be able to act as a sort of counterbalance to my sub-conscious." This time it wasn't a question, but he nodded his assent nonetheless.

"What do we do, Vincent? How do we test it? Do I need to be sleeping to try it?"

He didn't answer. He didn't move at all, just watched her intently, the same look on his face as had been there since she'd sat down.

"Tell me, Vincent, please," she entreated, her hand tightening over top of his.

His lower lip quivered, but he answered anyway. "I did try, just after you fell asleep." His eyes flicked over to his rumpled bed and back to her again, and in them she saw his anxiety increase.

"It's all right," she reassured him, both hands now stroking over his, "It is."

He shook his head, tears spilling off the dusky lashes. "I should have told you, asked you..."

"You did tell me, you did," she rushed in.

He shook his head again, staring down at their clasped hands, unable to look at her. She shivered when his tears fell hotly upon her fingers.

"I didn't, not as I should have. My fear stopped me, even though I knew! I knew it was something we had to discuss. I'm such a coward, Catherine," he whispered, his head dropping forward to press against the back of her hands. Bristles, both silky and coarse, brushed against her sensitive skin.

"You? A coward?" It was impossible for her to say those words without incredulity in her voice, and just as impossible for him to miss it. "Never!" She was crying now herself, both in sorrow and frustration. "I know you do what you do to protect me, Vincent. I've always known that. Don't you think I know how hard it is for you to sacrifice your own needs in that effort?" He shook his head again, and the feel of those wetly sleek bristles made the muscles deep inside her clench helplessly. She hurried on, desperately hoping he hadn't felt that. "I do, I do know, no matter how ungrateful I sometimes appear."

He clasped her hands strongly beneath him and shook his head vehemently, golden strands of hand brushing over her wrists in the process. "You are not ungrateful, Catherine, never! You are the most giving, trusting, loving woman..." He shook his head, unable to go on for a moment, and when he finally did, it was to once again condemn himself; "And I am a coward." His eyes came up to lock with hers, and she gasped in dismay at the pain she saw there. "I know you've been denying yourself to protect me, and I let you do it."

"We have so much between us. This..." She blushed, unable to put a name to it even now. "It's not important, it's not!" she cried, contradicting her recent thoughts on the matter without a qualm, willing to do anything, to say anything. She would perjure herself gladly to take that pain away.

"It is, Catherine," he stopped her abruptly, grasping her hands tighter yet. "It is important." His eyes held hers, reinforcing the message of his words. "I tried to tell myself that it wasn't, but it's a lie. It's not fair to ask this of you."

"Please, Vincent," she whimpered, fear quivering through her. "Please don't." Her fingers were white from the pressure of their grip upon his own. "Please don't say it. I can't leave you, I can't." A sob caught the last words and it was her turn now to bury her face upon their clasped hands.

He stared down at her bowed head, then drew one hand away from her own to stroke the silky smooth fall of hair back from her face with fingers that trembled. The words he spoke next shocked her out of her tears. "I know," he murmured quietly, "I know."

She pulled away and stared at him, eyes wide with confusion. "You won't ask me to leave you?" Her pause ended quickly when the thought occured to her that there was another option he might still be considering. "Promise me you won't leave me, Vincent, promise me!" she insisted, suddenly frantic, consumed with a vision of him roaming far below, miles from the home tunnels, in an effort to break the link between them. She could see him so clearly, alone, bereft, without comfort or hope, and herself, above, as lost as he.

He shook his head slowly. "I could never leave you. You must know that by now."

A long moment elapsed while they stared at each other in silence, the hum of their bond vibrating between them. She could sense no subterfuge there. Finally she nodded, accepting his assurance but stunned by his rejection of the two things she feared most, uncertain where that left them.

"Then what, Vincent?"

No other words were necessary. She could see that he knew exactly what she meant.

"You have to let those emotions out, the desire, the need, everything. You have to be free to dream your dreams, no matter what they are." He paused for a moment, his face suddenly red, as if he if couldn't believe he were suggesting such a thing, but then pressed on, finishing the thought with a determination she could easily feel through their bond. "I thought I could do it alone, but I can't. I need your help, Catherine."

"Anything, Vincent, just tell me," she replied without pause, relieved beyond belief by his assurances. He didn't answer right away, and finally she spoke again, gently prodding him for the information that seemed so difficult for him to disclose. "Can you tell me what happened when you tried before, while I was asleep?" Where a minute before a flush had covered his face, all color now disappeared. He dropped his head forward until his hair obstructed her view and a line from an old sixties song, turned a whiter shade of pale, flitted through her mind. Finally he spoke.

"Do you have any recollection of a dream this morning? Anything at all?" he asked.

She didn't rush her response, closing her eyes and focusing inward to catch any nuances, any fleeting image she might have forgotten. There was nothing. "I don't think so. If there was, I can't remember it." He didn't respond immediately, and after a moment she tentatively asked a question, sure she already knew the answer, at least in part. "Did I dream, Vincent?" For a moment she wasn't sure he was going to reply, but finally he nodded, the slightest movement of his head and hair the only indication of that response, his face still partially hidden.

"Yes," he finally whispered, so low she wasn't sure he'd actually spoken at all.

She leaned toward him slightly, afraid she might miss anything else he had to say. It was lucky she did, for everything he added thereafter was just as difficult to hear.

"It was the same as before, but this time I was able to hold your subconscious back a bit longer, I could see things more clearly, feel them..." The words got softer yet, and trailed away to nothing.

Catherine was silent for a moment, torn between diverting the discussion which could only lead to discomfort for him, and going on. Finally she realized that this was not something that could be avoided, not any longer, no matter how uncomfortable it made them. "Vincent, what I told you is true, I don't remember dreaming, but I did wake up feeling something different."

He looked up quickly, and she noted with surprise that his cheeks were flushed once more, this time a vivid red beneath the tawny gold bristles that was unmistakable. He didn't ask the question, though she read it easily enough in his eyes and shrugged apologetically in response before she spoke.

"I'm not sure what it was. I only know that something's changed. I felt so tired before, weighted down somehow, slow and almost apathetic. I'm still tired, but those other things, they're not the same. I don't exactly know how to describe it except as a sense of expectation, anticipation. Whatever you did, Vincent, I think it helped."

She didn't think it was possible, but his flush actually deepened and he ducked his head again, hiding his face from her once more. She blushed herself, wondering what in the world had happened which could cause such an atypical response in him, and finally asked, certain now that going back was no longer an option. "Can you tell me?"

He looked up again, and in his eyes she read acute embarrassment and distress.

"Please believe me, Vincent, whatever it is, I'll understand."

He shook his head, and she could actually see his distress increase.

"How could you understand this, Catherine? Impossible..." His voice was hoarse and shaking.

Not for the first time this day, she found herself frozen by indecision. What had happened had obviously confused and disturbed him terribly, but she found it so difficult to understand what might have caused that response in him, when she herself felt nothing but the slightest tingle of sensation that defied description. She didn't know what had caused it, she hadn't a clue, but she did know that what she felt now was a dim spark of potential, of hope, and that was a tremendous relief. That thought gave her the courage to go on. He had to know that, at the very least. "I will understand," she insisted. "I don't know what happened, but I know that I feel different now, better. How can that be a bad thing?"

He sighed deeply and met her gaze once more. Whatever his feelings, he wasn't leaving, and in the absence of that, she realized he intended to face this with her, no matter how difficult it was for him.

"I tried to do it, Catherine, to hold back your subconscious so that you could dream. The bond is strong, but I'm not."

She wrinkled her brow, perplexed. He'd said this before, but she wasn't sure what he meant. He read her confusion and went on to clarify, anxiety clear in his shaking voice and hands.

"When I focused on using the bond in this way, I could see your dream images of us, feel them, not only as you did in the dream, but as I would too, the dream image of me. I couldn't mute those sensations, I couldn't ignore them, not without loosening the bond. That's what happened last night. Your subconscious immediately reasserted itself, and the dream disappeared. This time I was determined to hold it longer, to let you dream through to the end." He looked away for a moment, then met her eyes bravely. "I couldn't do it. The sensations I felt, the emotions, it was too much for me. I..." He faltered, then tried again. "I..."

Realization burst upon her in an instant. Of course! How could she have been so stupid?! She flew from her chair and moved behind him, her arms circling his shoulders to hold him tight, the back of the chair in interference that almost made her growl with frustration. His cloak was his sole protection in front, though, and even through the thick wool, she felt the springy softness of his chest hair, and the hard muscles beneath. She felt them jump in response to her touch, and beneath them she felt a continuous shudder that quivered through him. She suspected that he'd been feeling this ever since he'd reentered the chamber a few minutes ago.

"It's all right," she crooned softly, "it's all right." His muscles trembled more violently than before, but she wouldn't let go. "I understand, Vincent, I do."

His hands came up to cover his face, and she noted that they still shook, from his fingers down through his arms, where they rested against her own upon his chest. She was glad she stood behind him now. He could barely tolerate her presence in the light of what he perceived to be the most shameful of all disclosures, and if he had to meet her gaze, well, she knew that at this moment he just wasn't capable of that. She had to reassure him, and her mind flew from word to word, wondering how that was possible without increasing his distress. When she realized that there probably wasn't a way, that the two went hand in hand, at least in this time and place, she decided that the best she could do was to tell him the truth.

"You think you used me, don't you?"

A gasp followed her question, and he jerked forward, trying to pull away. Her arms stayed tight around him, though, and when he realized she wouldn't release him without force, he stopped.

"Yes," he ground out through tight-clenched teeth. "I did. You needed me, Catherine, and I... I..." He absolutely couldn't go on, bile rising in his throat at the thought of what he'd done.

"No, you didn't, you couldn't," she insisted, her voice now quiet and calm. "How could you take from me what I would gladly give if only you would allow it, accept it from me?"

He shook his head vehemently, gasping in loud pants. "No, no, you don't understand, Catherine!"

She held his shoulders tighter, wishing the tall back of the chair didn't separate them in this way.

"I do understand. You used the bond to let my dream live. What did we do in the dream, Vincent?"

He didn't answer, but continued to shake his head in denial.

"I don't remember that dream, Vincent, but I remember many others, from before, so let me guess."

He stiffened beneath her hands, but she went on, ignoring his growing anxiety.

"We kissed, didn't we? We were naked, our bodies pressed tight, touching, stroking, caressing. In my dreams my excitement is overwhelming. I want you so badly my body aches. You kiss me and touch me all over, and it's heavenly. And even better yet, you let me kiss and touch you all over, too." She sighed with pleasure at the recollection of those images, only now realizing that they had been absent for some time, and how she'd missed them. "I know what my emotions are in that dream, Vincent. I know what they would do to you, especially if you had no way to protect yourself from them, to distance and insulate yourself." A second realization flashed through her. "This is why I'm suppressing my dreams, isn't it? To protect you from my emotions."

Suddenly he was still beneath her hands, and his own came up to cover hers.

"Yes, I think so," he said softly, in a voice that still trembled.

She nodded, more to herself than him, certain it was true. It made so much sense now. Good sense, too, a part of her insisted. She sighed, recognizing her own logic, certain that in some way she had been right. But that was irrelevant now. What she had done couldn't be allowed to continue, that was plain. The only question now was how to resolve this problem without further pain to Vincent. She sighed again, realizing that subterfuge, even to protect him, would no longer work. If he hadn't already assured her that he wouldn't ask her to leave him, nor leave her himself, she would never have considered this final option, but having that assurance, she did. Honesty. She would have to tell him the truth, and he would have to listen. She wouldn't think about what came after that, not yet.

"Don't you think I knew how you would react to my emotions, my desires? Why do you think I've kept them from you? You felt my body against yours, my hands and mouth on you, loving you, and you reacted, didn't you?"

He gasped, his panting breaths coming fast and shallow. She felt his heartbeat race beneath her palm. "Of course you did. What man wouldn't if he felt that from the woman he loved?" she queried calmly. "I've had these dreams before, Vincent. Didn't you ever feel them from me then?" She waited patiently, not at all certain that he would answer. When he did, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Yes," he said, his voice tight and strained, "I felt emotions from you like that in your dreams before, but..."

"But they never went too far. I know. Even then I would stop before my emotions got too carried away, only then I did it consciously. I didn't know if you felt those beginning desires, but I was certain you would know it if I let myself go completely. And I wanted to, thousands of times. It was so hard not to, Vincent," she said earnestly, forgetting for a moment that his restraint had been even more disciplined than her own. The thoughts consuming her now were drawing her away from the tunnel surroundings, to someplace inside, where it was only her and him and their bond. "I wanted so much to lose myself with you, to feel you inside me, to have you possess me utterly..."

The words trailed off with a mewling gasp as she fought with those emerging emotions and somewhere outside herself she heard a rumbling growl, deep and low. The sensations she'd experienced upon his arrival to the chamber flooded through her again, and her body responded instinctively. Now she could only be thankful that the back of the chair separated them to protect him from her yearning body, though his groaning response clearly told her that he was very aware of what she felt now. Focus, she reminded herself firmly, pulling away from those tempting images.

"What happened to you this morning..."

He shook his head feverishly, interrupting her with a passionate outburst. "Don't, Catherine! Don't say it. I can't bear it!"

She stopped, reconsidering the intimate words he wasn't yet ready for. With a sigh she released his shoulders and moved away, taking her seat by his side once more. He leaned forward at her absence and buried his face in his hands upon the smooth polished table and she brushed her hand lightly over his golden hair, smoothing the semi-dry tangles with her fingers, wishing she had a brush to do the job correctly. Finally she spoke again. "Don't you think I've wanted to do that for you, Vincent? You didn't use me, believe me. I only wish that I had been awake to be there with you, for you, to hold you close and feel the release course through you, to share that pleasure with you. I want that so much for you. However it happened, I'm glad," she ended simply, meaning it completely, and fervently hoping that he would understand that it was true, all of it.

**********

He shook his head, unable to meet her eyes. The words he spoke a moment later had to cause him severe distress. That he spoke them at all was telling in the extreme. "What I did affected only me, Catherine, not you. It was selfish and thoughtless at best. At worst..." He shook his head again, pain evident in the taut lines of his muscled length, unable to finish that sentence. "You still aren't dreaming, and whatever pleasure I had," he actually choked on those words, though she was amazed he added them at all, "you didn't share it. I never wanted it to be that way, not between us." Tears swam in his eyes, and he raised a hand to rub them away, looking for all the world like a little-boy-lost, in desperate need of comfort.

Catherine couldn't resist, pulling her chair closer to his side and slipping her hand along his back to rub soothingly there. How it was so, she couldn't imagine, but somehow she'd forgotten about his unclothed state beneath the enveloping cloak, and that was now brought forcefully back to mind in an instant. She ignored the sensations that thought inspired, and focused on the matter at hand, difficult as that was. "You didn't do anything," she insisted. "It's not as though this is something you chose. What happened happened through no fault of your own, and certainly not because you sought it out."

He stared down at the table, still shaking his head. She watched tears splatter against the polished wood below and knew he wasn't convinced even before he spoke.

"You can't know if that true, Catherine, because I don't," he whispered, the words full of despair. "You don't know what I've thought, what I've felt. You don't know what I've wanted..."

A sob caught in her throat. That he should castigate himself so completely over these all-too-human emotions made her so sad, and so angry. She couldn't reconcile the two emotions, and frustration was the inevitable result. He saw those desires as clear signs of his inhumanity, when to her, they indicated just the opposite. Were they doomed to be kept apart by a simple matter of semantics? That thought made her angrier still. "Don't do this to yourself, Vincent, please!"

He pulled away from her hand with a jerk, drawing the cloak tighter about himself and meeting her eyes again with resolute determination. "I don't want to talk about it any more, Catherine. This isn't about me," he said firmly. "We need to find a way so that you're no longer suppressing your dreams, that's the only issue."

She sat back abruptly, her mouth snapping shut. She should have known he would deflect anything that touched upon himself in this regard. Usually she would accept that, sensitive to his comfort level, but how could she now, when she knew it was at the heart of the very issue he adamantly insisted they focus upon?

"Vincent..." She found it almost impossible to find the right words, knowing that what she had to say would inevitably cause him pain. "We can't solve my problem without considering the role you play in it." He blinked rapidly in response to her words, and she knew he was taking in what she'd said and trying to determine if there was any rebuttal to it. When he didn't answer, she went on. "You don't think I know what you want?" She actually snorted at the absurdity of that thought, her response catching him up short. "Believe me, Vincent, I know. I could tell you in intimate detail if I thought you would sit still and listen, but I know you're not ready for that, not yet. Why else would I keep my own desires so hidden from you?" His eyes widened even further at that. "Your mistake is in assuming that what you want is so very different than what any other person would want, man or woman, who was desperately in love."

She waited for him to absorb that thought, and could tell by his disbelieving expression that he still thought she couldn't possibly understand. She sighed, wondering if this could help at all. Talking about it proved nothing. She knew now, and believed it completely, that she was the cause of her own dream suppression, but if she did it to protect him - and she believed that she did - then how was she to stop that when it was still blatantly obvious that he still needed that protection? She sighed again.

"Vincent, how can I consciously choose to change this when it's still so clear to me that you need me to keep those thoughts from you? You can't even begin to talk about them with me. How could I let my dreams loose, knowing the intimate detail contained there that you would have to endure, when I know the pain they'll cause you?"

"That's my choice, Catherine," he insisted, breaking in abruptly. "Don't you think I would do anything, bear any pain, to keep you safe and well?"

He asked it so earnestly, but she couldn't contain another derisive snort. "Don't you see what you're saying? Why is it all right for you to bear that pain in sacrifice for me, but not all right for me to do the same for you, to keep this pain to myself, in order to spare you? You have to give me that right, Vincent, if you expect it in return. You have to let me make my choices as well." She swallowed hard. Could he possibly know how hard it had been for her to say that? Their love had never existed on the bartering system, but right now she couldn't tell him the real truth - that she had already gladly given him all - not if she expected to resolve this issue between them. If ever there was an opportunity to make her point and be heard, it was now. "I've made my choices in regards to our relationship, Vincent, but you won't accept them, you won't even hear them. You've denied me the right to those choices. I don't know how to change what my subconscious demands - maybe it's enough that I know what's happening, that we both know. I don't know, but I think there has to be more. You need to listen to me, I have to know you're at least willing to hear this from me, if nothing else. Are you? It's your turn to choose now, Vincent, because I already have."

************

The look on his face had changed over the last few minutes from sorrow and pain, to earnest insistance, into downright incredulity and dismay. It was almost comical, and if she didn't love him so much, and feel his pain so deeply, she might have laughed. As it was, she was able to quell that tiny urge with little difficulty, with the simple reminder of what was at stake here. She steeled herself, waiting for his response, not knowing herself what she was truly asking for, but certain that the sense of expectation she felt now came from their bond, that it was a sign to continue on in the direction they now pursued. Somehow, some way, it would be made clear to them, if only they persevered on this painful course, and didn't turn away. Their dream waited at the other end, and that alone was enough to firm her resolve. She would keep her eyes on the prize at all costs.

"You know I love you, Catherine. Surely you couldn't doubt that?"

She breathed a sigh of relief, not certain that he was going to be able to answer at all, much less in this promising way. "Of course I know that. And you know I love you, don't you?" She waited for his response, unsure of his own certainty in this regard. When he didn't answer right away, when she saw the hesitation in his eyes, she knew she'd been right. "You don't believe me, not really, do you?" she answered for him, pain almost choking the words. She acknowledged the sorrow filling her over that disclosure, but pushed it aside, focusing on what needed to be said. "Tell me, Vincent."

"I do know you love me, Catherine, I do!" he insisted in a rush. "It's just that..."

"What? It's just that what, Vincent. Tell me."

"You've lived a life so different from mine. You've loved before, Stephen, and Tom and Elliott..."

She gasped at the mention of those names, but kept her response as much to herself as possible as he went on.

"I want to give you so much, Catherine, but what I have to give, and what you've learned to expect in your life above, they're so different. I can't give you what they did, that's just not possible. My life is so different, so simple by comparison to yours, and yet more complex than anything you've ever experienced. I'm not the same as they are, you must know that."

She couldn't stop herself then, interrupting him before he could go on. "Do you think I want the same things from you that I did from them? I was a child when I met Stephen - I didn't know what I wanted. All my life things were handed to me, from childhood to adulthood all problems were removed from my path before I even knew they were there. My mother's death was the only thing that couldn't be eased for me, though god knows my father tried hard enough to do that. Things never really changed from me, either at college or afterwards - the way was paved for me, for everything I did. I didn't choose a career, I chose what would please my father. I loved my father, Vincent, and I wanted to please him, but I never considered what that meant to my own life, not until you found me in the park, and I was forced to confront some very difficult issues about my life, about myself. I'm not a child anymore, Vincent, and what was given to me is not necessarily what I would have chosen. A person has to see their life for what it is, clearly, objectively, before they can recognize if it's really what they wanted. I saw that life for the first time when you found me. Oh, I had inklings of it before, enough to make me uncomfortable, but not enough to really make me rethink my existence. Do you think I would go back to that old life if I could? Never, Vincent, never," she answered for him, without pause. She stared at him for a few moments more, then added, "Do you know how it makes me feel to know you doubt my love for you? My commitment to this relationship?"

A gasping breath was released in an explosive rush at those words, and he shook his head, vehemently denying them. It seemed so in contrast to what he had said just minutes before, and when he didn't immediately speak she became even more confused.

"What is it, Vincent? Please tell me."

"I don't, Catherine, I don't," he repeated, almost breathless, the words not quite making sense.

"Don't what?" she asked him, leaning in a little closer.

He took a deep breath. "What I said a few minutes ago. It doesn't mean anything. I don't doubt your love or your commitment. I was thinking about both, earlier today, and there were no doubts in my mind, no doubts, but only amazement that it should be so. But when we begin to talk about this..." He shook his head, pain and fear clear in his eyes. "It frightens me, Catherine. I don't know why I said what I did about those others in your life before - it makes no difference, none at all. I'm so unprepared to deal with us, with our relationship, and everything that that might mean. When you want to talk about this, I'm consumed with anxiety. I said those things, even though I knew they're weren't important..." He shook his head in dismay. "I said them anyway. I know it doesn't make sense, but it's true. Telling you this, now, it's almost physically painful for me." Indeed he was visibly shaken.

Catherine sat back abruptly, for a moment speechless, considering his disclosure. It was clear when she transitioned from surprised confusion to dawning realization. "I do understand, Vincent."

He stared at her, hoping against hope that she would know what still eluded him.

"They're different things, but both are defense mechanisms, both used for the same ends. You fear our future, and do what you can to avoid it, thinking that any future that involves yourself can only result in unhappiness for me. I hide my feelings about that future to protect you, and to save myself the painful realization of what I can't have." She leaned forward again, speaking to him intently, holding his gaze. "But don't you see? It's a vicious cycle we're in. We can't win this way, we can only lose. We love each other so much, and we want the same things - for the other to live a happy fulfilled life. What we do, we do in the belief of that. But that's not what's happening. What we're doing..." A look of incredulity filled her face, as if only now was she seeing the shocking magnitude of what they'd done, all in the name of love. "What we've done has accomplished the opposite of our intentions. Vincent, we're doing our best to ensure that the opposite is true." There was amazement in her voice, but certainty, too.

He drew in another gasping breath, staring down at his trembling hands, clasped together before him. She was afraid it might only make things worse, but finally reached out to cover them once more, with both of her own, trying to soothe him. He didn't speak for a long time, and she waited as long as she could, but finally could wait no longer. "Tell me what you think, Vincent, please."

He turned his gaze up to hers, and his eyes she still saw the anxiety and pain which had been there before, but a tiny nod of his head confirmed his agreement even before he spoke. "You're right, Catherine. I know you love me, and I know what pain you would experience to live without me in your life. I've persisted in trying to convince myself and you that it was otherwise, but I know it's not. I've tried to convince you that you'd be happier without me. Sometimes I've even tried to convince myself that I could live without you." He shook his head, adamantly negating that possibility. We can't go on this way, denying what we are to each other, no matter how difficult the alternative is." He blinked rapidly, then went on in a rush, as if determined to take his own advice, no matter how painful it was. "I love you, Catherine, and I can't live without you," he said, tears filling his eyes.

A tiny sob escaped her at that admission, so simple and unambiguous. She squeezed his hands tight and replied in kind, their eyes locked together; "I love you, Vincent, and I can't live without you."

A quivering tension grew through their bond. She felt it easily, and could only wonder at how strong it was in him, if it was this clear to her. A minute later she thought she had her answer when a rumbling growl escaped his chest, as if it were a necessary outlet for the pressure building within. She'd barely recognized the sound when his hands slipped from beneath hers, grasped her arms near her shoulders and lifted her easily from her chair to deposit her in his lap. His arms enclosed her tight and she moaned softly in relief, burrowing closer to his waiting warmth.

He was so big and strong. She knew others had experienced this aspect of him and responded in terror, seeing in him their own doom, but she saw and felt nothing of that. His strength and size mesmerized her, drawing her to him, a safe haven of security and delight. She turned to press her face against the small opening of his cloak, at the base of his throat, stroking her fingers over the front part of his broad shoulders and upper arms. Beneath the heavy wool she could feel the outline of his taut muscles, biceps and triceps sharply delineated and quivering under her hands as they moved over him. Part of her mind noted with interest that she felt almost no hair there, and wondered what the pattern and texture was like on those portions of his upper body when beneath her cheek it was so springy and lush. She sighed and turned more fully into that tempting delight, nuzzling into the silky texture until her nose rubbed against his hot skin. She couldn't resist, then, and pressed her lips against him in a kiss. Immediately she felt his response, felt his muscled tense even more beneath her hands, felt his thighs quiver beneath her hips. Another groan escaped him, but he didn't push her away or ask her to stop. Instead his arms tightened around her, drawing her closer yet, her name whispered out somewhere above her in a groaning sigh. "Catherine..."

His hands tightened upon her shoulders for a moment, then released them to slide down, palms flat, along the planes of her back. Upon reaching her hips he stopped, his hands slipping about the curve of her waist, thumbs stroking the front edges of her hipbones, fingers teasing lightly along the flaring curve just below her waist in back. A moment later they slid away to meet at the center of her back. One hand pressed against her to hold her still, the other slid slowly upward, fingers exploring the delicate indent of her spine. She shivered at his touch, feeling it so clearly, even through the angora wool of her wrap. When his fingers reached the nape of her neck they slowly massaged the tense muscles there, before sliding further up to cup her head, his hold light but extremely possessive. While he held her there, the pressure of his other hand grew, and she felt herself pulled closer to his waiting body, felt heat radiating off him a moment before she felt his erection, hard and full, against her hip. They both groaned simultaneously at that touch, and she immediately drew in a gasping breath and held it, certain he would put her from him quickly now.

He didn't. Instead he sat perfectly still beneath her, his hands still holding her lightly, but now motionless. She sat still too, afraid to move, afraid that anything she did would mean the end of this magical moment. Beneath her lips she felt the rise and fall of his chest, and even there, at the center, she could hear the beat of his heart, so close to her ear. Against her hip she could feel his erection, pulsing and hot. Even through her clothing she could feel its heat. A shuddering sensation quivered through their bond and she began to shake. Her hands tightened on his shoulders once more, then slid around his neck, beneath the lush fall of his hair. With shaking fingers she stroked into that thick mane, and in a motion that matched his of a moment before, began to massage the tense angle of his neck and shoulder. He moaned softly and she felt golden strands slide teasingly over the backs of her hands as his head fell back, against the high back of the chair. Turning her face slightly, she pressed her lips to the side of his throat. Beneath them she felt a throbbing beat of blood through his artery, and an instant later she felt a similar throbbing there, down low. She froze, once more afraid to move. There, again. She couldn't stop the moan that followed in response, shadowed by the same sound in a lower register. His hands began to move once more, but this time in place, a light kneading action, his nails lightly scoring her flesh with each flex of his fingers. She shivered and clenched her teeth tight, still inordinately afraid she would frighten him with her audible responses, that he would misinterpret them and leave her, or that he would interpret them correctly, and leave her still. And so she sat immobile, all her senses tuned to him, through her hands, her body and their bond, feeling his growing arousal, knowing it through his tensing muscles, throbbing blood, and surging length. He was so big and strong...