Vincent was finding it more and more difficult to concentrate on the book he was reading. A few days ago he’d developed a raging toothache, which instead of diminishing if he ignored it, as he’d hoped, had escalated to the point where it was beginning to affect his work, appetite, concentration, and most especially, his precious hours with Catherine. As the offending tooth throbbed mercilessly in his jaw, Vincent reluctantly came to the conclusion that enough was enough.  With a low growl of exasperation he slammed the book down and rose. Pacing around his chamber, he was forced to admit there was no alternative but to consult Father. Turning abruptly, he marched through the passageways until he reached Father’s chamber.

The old man was sorting through some medical supplies in his cupboard, but looked up with a smile as Vincent descended the stairs.

“Hello, Vincent. What can I do for you? Is this a social visit, in which case we’ll have some tea, or have you come to destroy my present period of tranquillity with some new problem requiring my attention?” 

Vincent emitted a sound that was somewhere between a growl and a sigh, prompting Father to peer over his glasses at his adopted son.

“Vincent, what is it? You look as if you’d like to hit someone.”

“I’m sorry Father. I had hoped the problem would resolve itself but it hasn’t.”  He moved closer to Jacob and gesticulated helplessly with his hands. “I have a toothache which has become so severe I cannot seem to concentrate on anything. Would you take a look at it for me?” 

The old man smiled and gestured to a chair. “Is that all? Sit down then, and let me see.” 

Vincent sat down and glared at Father. “Is that all? I fail to see how you can trivialise the matter when the pain is in my mouth and not yours!” 

Father raised his eyebrows and reached for a tiny torch with a pencil-type beam.

“And perhaps if you had come to me when you first felt it,” he replied, tipping Vincent’s head back and opening his mouth, “I might not have had everyone demanding to know what’s the matter with you. You’ve been like a bear with a sore head the last few days.” 

Vincent shot him an angry look which he hoped would convey what he would like to have said, had he been able to speak. He noticed a twinkle in the old man’s eye and suspected he was enjoying Vincent’s discomfort.

As a child, Father had taken Vincent to the dentist once a year unless he’d required emergency treatment between visits; like the time when Devin had accidentally caused him to trip and break a tooth while playing. The dentist, Malcolm Ryder, had been a Helper for most of his adult life, having been shown great kindness by the Tunnel community once as a youth, and since then had helped them whenever he could. He had always been willing to see Vincent in the evening, and the annual visits had continued until Vincent was twenty, when he decided he would only go when absolutely necessary. He had always had an irrational fear of the drill, and the mere thought of an extraction was enough to bring him out in a cold sweat.

Father, for some reason, appeared to find a perverted amusement in the whole thing, especially since the older Vincent became, the more his apprehension seemed to grow. Now, as he poked and prodded the painful area, causing Vincent to draw in his breath sharply and grasp the chair arms with an iron, white-knuckled grip, he tutted and shook his head in an infuriating manner.

“I’m sorry, Vincent, you’ll have to see Malcolm I’m afraid. You have an abscess under this tooth and…” another prod that almost caused Vincent to leap out of the chair, “…I rather suspect it may have to come out.”

“Can you not treat it for me, Father?” Vincent growled irritably, as the old man withdrew his fingers, but he shook his head.

“Unfortunately, not. I am not a dentist and this will require specialist treatment.  Don’t be such a baby, Vincent; dentistry is practically painless these days.”

“Easy for you to say, Father…when it is I who must endure it.”

Jacob turned his back in an attempt to hide a smile. It never ceased to amaze him that his big, powerful son, who protected the world Below with his life if necessary and feared little, could be reduced almost to a quivering wreck at the prospect of a simple tooth extraction.

“So, do I arrange an appointment for you with Malcolm?” 

Vincent rose and marched back up the steps, turning as he reached the doorway.

“Please do, Father. I would hate to deprive you of the pleasure you will obviously gain from it!”

Shaking his head in faint amusement at Vincent’s ill-humour, Father sat down at his desk to write the note for Kipper to take to Malcolm Ryder.

* * *

Two nights later Vincent knocked at the door of the basement dental surgery.  It was only three blocks from Catherine’s apartment and depending on how he felt after the treatment, he thought he might visit her when he was through. The middle-aged dentist opened the door, smiled, and stepped back to admit Vincent.

“It’s good to see you, Vincent. It must be, what, seven years since you came to me on a professional basis? You’re lucky to be blessed with strong, healthy teeth. Come through.”

“Thank you for seeing me, Malcolm.”

Once he was seated, Malcolm Ryder depressed a lever and tipped the chair back until Vincent was lying almost flat. As he opened his mouth and blinked at the light above his head and the masked face of the dentist looming towards him, Vincent felt an almost uncontrollable urge to leap up and run. Just being back in the brightly lit, pristine whiteness of the surgery, surrounded by the gleaming, hostile-looking equipment, was enough to plunge Vincent back into his childhood memories when Father had waited patiently outside while Malcolm had occasionally drilled and filled a tooth. He remembered the feel of his heart beating wildly and tears stinging his eyes as the needle pierced his gum in order to freeze it, and he was sure that had been the reason for his lifelong dislike of needles.

“Vincent, how long have you been putting up with this? You must be in agony.”  The dentist’s voice jolted him back to his present predicament, but since Malcolm had failed to remove either his fingers of the instrument of torture from Vincent’s mouth, it was impossible to do more than shrug.

“Okay, well you’re here now and we’ll soon have you feeling more comfortable.  Now I know you hate needles, Vincent, so I’m going to drain this abscess as quickly as I can and then give you a whiff of gas while I take this little sucker out. Okay?” Without waiting for Vincent’s assent, Malcolm reached for a thin-bladed sterile implement and set to work.

Vincent yielded to the inevitable and closed his eyes, wishing his heart would cease its vicious pounding and behave normally. He knew his fear was totally irrational, but knowing it and exorcising it were two entirely different things.  After what seemed like an eternity, Malcolm withdrew the various foreign objects from Vincent’s mouth and handed him a glass of antiseptic water to rinse his mouth with.

“That’s the worst part over.” He smiled as Vincent lay back again. “Most people insist on an injection for treatment of that sort.” He brought a mask towards Vincent and placed it over his face. “Okay now, just breathe normally, relax, and we’ll soon have this out and you’ll wonder why you didn’t come to me sooner.”

Vincent heard a faint ‘whooshing’ sound as the gas was switched on. One minute he was trying unsuccessfully to blot out the painfully harsh light above his eyes and breathe normally; he seemed to have forgotten was ‘normal’ was;  the next moment the light felt warm, and when he opened his eyes he saw it was the sun…a brilliant orange orb radiating in a cloudless blue sky. Looking around, he realised he was on a beach of the softest white sand. Sparkling blue water was only yards away, and people were laughing and shrieking as they ran and dived and surfed into its shimmering depth. He noticed with a mixture of horror and amusement that he was wearing only a pair of brightly coloured Bermuda swimming shorts and that his mane and body hair were damp from swimming.   How can this be, he whispered.

“What did you say, Vincent?” That voice…suddenly Vincent realised that Catherine was lying beside him on the towel. Looking down, his eyes took in the tiny bikini she was wearing. It was white with lilac spots and the legs were cut high, almost to her waist. The strapless top was ruched across her breasts with a tantalising keyhole between them. Her skin, like his own, was glistening with tiny droplets of water.  She sat up and looked at him, a smile on her unusually golden skin.

“I thought you were going to do my back,” she said. When he didn’t answer, she leaned across him and picked up the suntan lotion. Unscrewing the cap, she pressed the bottle into his hand and kissed him. “I’ll do you afterwards,” she said, running a hand suggestively over his chest before turning to sit with her back to him. 

Vincent poured cream into his hand and tentatively touched it to her shoulder.  She tipped her head forward and pulled her hair out of the way, an unspoken invitation to him to rub the lotion into her neck. Slowly, he moved his hand along her shoulders, massaging the cream into her skin. He poured out some more and rubbed it against his other hand, becoming bolder now, noticing the faint tremble that ran through her body at his touch. Slowly and sensuously he stroked the cream up and down her arms and back, bringing his fingers up over her shoulders again and sliding them almost teasingly over the collar-bones and down almost to the swell of her breasts. 

For some inexplicable reason, he felt none of his usual reticence; he knew what he was doing was bringing her pleasure; that she was having trouble stopping herself arching back against him and drawing his hands down still further.  Never had he felt so confident and at ease with her. He felt no fear for himself;  that he was Above and exposed on a public beach, although he did wonder vaguely why no one was taking any notice of him. Somehow, nothing mattered except that Catherine was there with him, loving him…desiring him.

* * *

Catherine had abandoned the law book she had brought home in an attempt to find a case to parallel the one currently causing her major headaches. Instead, she had switched on the TV and now lay watching the screen from her relaxed position on the couch. Her mind was active and she knew there was no point in going to bed. She looked at the clock; 9:30 pm. She wondered if Vincent was going to show tonight. She hadn’t seen him for three days. The last time he’d been a little cranky. He’d realised it of course, and apologised, stressing that it was nothing whatever to do with her, but even so it had hurt. He was rarely abrupt with her and Catherine smiled to herself when she remembered how she’d fought to squeeze back foolish tears. No man had ever upset her merely by speaking sharply. In the past, with boyfriends or lovers, she’d matched any displays of temper with equal ferocity. Her green eyes could glitter with anger when provoked and she had seldom, if ever, lost sleep worrying that a current lover was losing interest.

But that had been in another lifetime…that was before Vincent. She had never loved a man the way she loved Vincent, and although she knew the feeling was mutual, it still surprised her to realise how vulnerable she was with him. He could send her heart soaring or plummeting with just a word or a look from those deliciously blue eyes.

The movie on TV was a war film, and Catherine was having trouble concentrating as armoured tanks roamed the desert firing their canons and blowing up those of the enemy. Soldiers were yelling and screaming and collapsing with mortal wounds every few seconds, and Catherine could not, for the life of her, imagine why she was beginning to experience some extremely pleasant and erotic sensations.

Closing her eyes, and muting the sound on the TV, she yielded to the feelings creeping over and through her like some invisible lover. It was almost as though the beloved clawed hands were stroking her in places she had yearned to be touched almost since meeting Vincent, for there was no doubt in her mind from whom these thoughts emanated. At first Catherine simply relaxed and allowed herself to be enveloped by the feelings, until they escalated to the point where they had become so strong as to be physically disturbing and uncomfortable.  Breathless with emotion and with an overwhelming urge to see him, Catherine rose and shook her head. Running into the bedroom, she pulled on her jacket, grabbed some cash and her keys, and locked the apartment behind her.

Scrambling down the ladder beneath the basement of the building, she wondered what on earth she was going to say to him. She didn’t want to set their relationship back by voicing her feelings, but on the other hand she was eager to make him understand once and for all that she wanted him in the way he was imagining. When no one answered her tapping on the pipe, she reached in and pulled on the lever behind the iron gate. Minutes later she was in Vincent’s empty chamber. She called out to him, surprised that he was nowhere in sight.  She had expected to find him sleeping, or at least, relaxed to the point where his thoughts had run riot. Puzzled, she made her way to Father’s chamber. She found the old man sipping tea and studying some maps of the underground world.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, Father.” 

He looked up and smiled. “It’s always good to see you, Catherine. Come and join me in a cup of tea.” 

She hesitated a moment, her overworked emotions still demanding to see Vincent rather than engage in polite conversation with Father. “I ah, I really wanted to see Vincent, but he’s not in his chamber. Do you know where he is?”

“Yes my dear. He’s at the dentist.”

“The dentist?”

“Well, yes. Does the idea surprise you?”  

Catherine shrugged her shoulders and chuckled. “I guess it does, although I’m not sure why. Where has he gone? Is he safe?” Father looked at her patiently and she immediately felt foolish.  As if Father would ever send Vincent somewhere he didn’t consider safe. “Sorry, silly question. Could I go and meet him? I mean, would that be okay?”

“I’m sure Vincent would be very happy to see you, my dear. I’ll give you underground directions since Vincent will obviously come back that way.  Here…” Swiftly he scribbled on a sheet of paper and tapped out a message on the nearest pipe. “Young Eric will guide you.” 

Catherine took the paper. “Thank you. Has Vincent been gone long?”

“Long enough. He hates having to undergo dental treatment, you know?  It really frightens him. I’ve never been able to understand it.” 

Catherine smiled. “Don’t worry, Father. I don’t think the experience this time has been all bad.” The old man looked at her, puzzled, but Catherine had no intention of elaborating. With a grin, she bent to kiss the lined cheek before turning to run up the stairs, eager to be on her way to meet Vincent. Eric met her a few moments later and studied the directions.

“No problem. It’s only a few blocks from where you live, Cathy,” he pronounced.

The entrance to the world Above was beneath a manhole cover in a back street around the corner from the dental surgery, and since she didn’t meet Vincent en-route, Catherine assumed, correctly that he was still inside. Not wanting to alarm him by knocking, she waited impatiently outside until about fifteen minutes later, the door opened and a man appeared in the doorway. He looked all around and then beckoned to someone behind him in the hallway. The ‘someone’ was Vincent. The two shook hands and then Vincent moved, a little unsteadily, Catherine thought, towards the manhole cover…and her. She stepped out in front of him, a surge of love and longing spreading through her as they touched.

“Hello, Vincent.”

“Catherine!” he breathed. “What are you doing here?” Slipping her arm through his, she squeezed it tightly, the need to be close to him growing stronger with every second. “I’ll explain later,” she replied with a smile. “Or maybe you can explain to me.” 

He looked distinctly puzzled.

“Are you okay, Vincent?”

“I am not ill. Just a little disoriented because of the gas.”

“Gas! No one has gas these days! What sort of a dentist is that man, Vincent!”

“One who understands my dislike of needles and how much I detest dental treatment of any kind.” He shrugged, embarrassed. “An irrational fear I know, and one I am not proud of.” 

Catherine hugged him tightly. “You wouldn’t be hu–normal if you weren’t afraid of something, Vincent,” she reassured him, cursing herself for what she had been about to say. Fortunately he chose not to pick up on it and seemed pleased to see her.

“Will you come back with me for a while?” she asked. “If you’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yes. If you wish. I had planned to come to you tonight.”

* * *

A sharp frost sparkled on the ground and for once, Catherine had no difficulty in persuading Vincent to come inside. Much to her surprise he even accepted a small whisky and soda. She turned on the fire and sat down beside him on the rug. When he looked at her, she noticed his eyes were not quite as clear as usual, no doubt the effects of the dentist’s gas, she decided. Smoothing her hand over his forehead, she looked at him in concern.

“Are you quite sure you feel okay?” 

He gave her one of his half-smiles which melted her insides. “I am a little dizzy,” he admitted, “a combination, I suspect, of the cold night air and the long climb up here so soon after awaking from the gas treatment.  But there is no need for concern, Catherine. It is not an unpleasant feeling. I imagine it must be a little like being drunk.” 

Catherine smiled and held his empty glass aloft. “You’re not used to this either.”

He looked sheepish and she leaned forward to brush her lips against his. “Well, you just sit here quietly and relax for a few minutes while I take a shower. I’ll be right back and we can carry on.” Scrambling to her feet, she smiled down at him, enjoying his bewildered expression.

“Carry on from where, Catherine?”

“Where we left off…talking,” she grinned, “what else?”

Less than ten minutes later Vincent opened his eyes and saw her standing over him. She was wearing a snow white towelling robe which she untied to reveal a nightgown of white satin dotted with tiny lilac flowers. Vincent felt a sudden heat suffuse his entire body as she slowly knelt before him and let the robe fall to the floor.

“Catherine, why are you…”

“Please, Vincent, I need your help,” she purred.

“What do you mean? What are you doing, Catherine?” he said, turning his head away in confusion. Sitting very close to him, she slipped her left hand between his padded grey vest and the soft cotton of his shirt, and touched the back of her hand lightly to his chest, excited by the way it rose and fell with his quickening breaths.

“I just want you to put some of this on for me,” she said gently, pressing a bottle of perfumed body lotion into his hand. 

He glanced down at it. “Why do you wish me to do it?”

“Because it would give both of us pleasure. And it’s more practical than sun cream at this time of the year.” As the vivid blue eyes clarified and met hers, she knew he understood. He didn’t have to speak. They both knew they had shared Vincent’s gas-induced dream.

Slowly, he unscrewed the top and squeezed some lotion onto her shoulder, trailing it down her arm. With movements that gradually became more confident, he ran his right hand up and down her arm, massaging in the lotion, his eyes never once breaking contact with hers. As his fingers slipped beneath the thin shoulder strap, it slipped down and she gasped as his warm fingers began to draw circles over her neck.

“Oh Vincent,” she breathed, looking at him through half-closed eyes.

Her hand was still on his chest, and as she moved it a few inches to cover his heart, it dawned on her that she had suddenly become the more vulnerable of the two. That she was now the one in danger of losing control. True, the thumping beneath her fingers was faster than usual, but not as fierce as her own, which threatened to blot out all other sound. 

Suddenly, Vincent removed her hand and pressed its palm tenderly to his lips.  Then, to her astonishment, while his right hand continued to massage her shoulder and neck, Vincent used the other to unlace his padded vest and yank his shirt from the waistband of his pants. He then replaced her hand between the top two buttons of his shirt in silent invitation.

His unexpected boldness stimulated her beyond anything she had ever experienced, and she obliged him eagerly, slipping her hands inside his shirt and savouring the delicious sensation of warm skin and silky fur under her exploring fingers. The hunter had become the prey, and every nerve in Catherine’s body tingled with delighted anticipation. As their arms locked around each other and his lips came down on hers, Catherine’s last conscious thought was an overwhelming need to tell him what she was feeling.

“I love you, Vincent,” she gasped, “I love you so much it’s making me crazy.”

“And I love you, Catherine,” he whispered. “For everything you’ve given me…for making me feel like this. For now…at this moment…there is nothing that sets me apart from other men.”

As he lowered his mouth to hers, Catherine felt as if she was drowning, dying, but it didn’t matter because Vincent was holding her. Nothing else existed. At last, there was just him and how he made her feel. If she were really to die at this moment, then she couldn’t think of a more wonderful place to draw her last breath, than in the haven of Vincent’s arms.