A SECOND CHANCE

by JoAnn Baca ~ Part 1

and Jo Fredericks ~ Part 2 (adult content)

PART 1

With thanks to Cindy Rae for the germ of an idea offered in a discussion on BBTV.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the metal lever. She had already pulled open the barred gate. One hard downward shove and the barrier door would roll open, exposing, unimpeded, the exit to the world she had come to know … the unimagined haven that existed Below.

She carried little with her. A small satchel over one shoulder contained a few pieces of clothing, and draped over one arm was a heavy quilt.

Indecision warred within her. Lucy’s hand hovered, lifted away, then descended upon the cold metal. She thought back on all that had happened over the past … had it only been a month?

That frigid night in early January was burned into her memory. Pickings had been slim on the streets, as even her few regular johns had preferred the warmth of their lonely apartments to trolling for the kind of gratification they could purchase within the chilly interiors of their vehicles.

As she had stumbled on half-frozen feet, clad in heels totally unsuited to the weather, an arm had reached out from the shadows to steady her. Her heart had trip-hammered, and she had clutched her bosom where the few dollars she had earned were in safe-keeping. Then … that voice …

“Don’t be frightened, Lucy. It’s Vincent. Do you remember me?”

Ah. The apparition she had just about convinced herself to dismiss was real. In the nearly two years since that night, she had chalked up her memory of that encounter to many things – a wine-induced fog, a perception altered by self-medication, a fantastical dream. But down deep, she knew she could never have dreamed that voice.

“Let me help you,” he murmured, and he took her arm to guide her the last few steps to her apartment door.

“Where’d you come from?” she asked, not looking at him, fumbling her key from inside one of the thin gloves she wore.

He took the key from her shivering fingers and smoothly inserted it into the lock. While he did this, she stared at his gloved hands, remembering what they looked like without the cladding – improbably furred and thickly, sharply nailed.

They entered her tiny crowded place, which was barely warmer than the world outside. The landlord had turned off her heat in an attempt to spur her to catch up on her arrears on the rent; offering her services in exchange was no longer enough for the greedy little man.

Vincent pushed the door closed as she turned on a table lamp, and it was then that she noticed he was carrying something bulky in his other arm.

“I came from … home … with a gift for you, for Winterfest.  In thanks.” He offered her what he had brought: a large, heavy quilt.

Lucy stared at it in surprise. This wasn’t something rescued from the trash or to be found at a cheap discount store. It was beautifully, intricately stitched and made up of dozens of scraps of suede and wool. It would be a lifesaver … perhaps literally … on a night such as this. But she hesitated to reach for it, a small part of her mind warning her that “gifts” usually came with price tags attached.

As if sensing her thoughts, Vincent set the quilt on a threadbare armchair and added, “Now that I know you’re safely at home, I will leave. Be well, Lucy.”

He had turned and his hand was on the doorknob before she recovered from her surprise and quickly said, “Don’t go! I … I could make coffee. I have instant.”

As smoothly as he had turned away, he swung back to her. One tilt of his head indicated both an appreciation for and acceptance of her offer. He sat on the broken-down sofa that she knew, from his first time in her apartment, could take his weight.

Lucy busied herself in the tiny kitchenette, heating water and rinsing out two coffee-stained mugs. Still a bit nervous, she kept up a patter as she worked, portioning out the small amount of instant coffee crystals left in the jar into the mugs. “I never expected to see you again. I’m glad you got away from those creeps who were after you. I heard some of them … well, they aren’t going to bother anybody again, and I say good riddance to them.”

She carried the coffees in, handed Vincent his, and sat with hers near the chair draped with the quilt. “No milk, sorry.” Her smile was sad, apologetic. “The fridge doesn’t work so well.” She blew on the hot liquid as she gazed in admiration at the handiwork. Her free hand slid over the materials, fingers stroking the suede pieces, rubbing the nap of the wool. “So beautiful,” she murmured, thrilled by the generous gift.

“A group of friends from my home created it for you. It took them many months to collect just the right fabrics for what they envisioned and even more time to craft it. But they all wished to do something special for you, knowing how your kindness saved my life.”

Surprise lit her features. “Friends … like you?”

He snorted a soft laugh and shook his head. He had thrown back the cowl of his cape, and once more she stared in wonder at the glorious abandon of reddish-blond waves which cascaded past his shoulders. The light cast by the table lamp wasn’t bright, but it brought out highlights and glints in that mane of hair that were mesmerizing.

She realized he was speaking and forced herself to focus on his words.

“ … and we take care of each other as best we can.” Vincent studied her face for a moment then and, apparently realizing she had not been paying attention, finished simply, “But there are no others like me.”

“Well, this is real nice of them,” Lucy stated. “Nicest gift I ever got. And made … just for me?”

He nodded. “Especially. With gratitude … and love.”

Lucy ducked her head, frankly amazed she could still blush.

Vincent sipped at his coffee, the weakness of it hinting at how little she had of it, then put the nearly full mug down on the table holding the lamp. “I must go. This part of town … it has few places for me to safely … return home.”

“Will you come back? Visit again?” Lucy was unaccountably sad to see this particular man leave.

“If you wish.” He pulled the cowl up over his head and slipped silently from her apartment.

Lucy drank his leftover coffee, savoring the fading warmth of it, as she continued to admire the quilt.

* * *

A few nights later, Vincent met her at her doorway – how did he always seem to know when she was near home? – and asked if she was able to talk for a little while. In one hand he lifted a battered but serviceable thermos, and in the other, a cloth tote bag that emitted the delicious aroma of blueberries. She hastened to nod, and soon they were sharing tea and homemade scones.

“You’re a good baker,” Lucy mumbled around a big bite of her second scone.

Vincent, who had not taken a scone and was nursing a half a mug of tea, smiled. “Not me, although I can cook when necessary. Our William did the honors, and he asked me to share some with you.”

Lucy swallowed the last of the scone and began to pick at the crumbs on her plate with the moistened pad of one index finger, gathering every last bit to savor. “I get that you live with other people. Where? Or should you not tell me?”

Impossibly blue eyes met her hazel ones. “It’s a secret.” When Lucy’s brow began to crease with disappointment, he continued, “It’s a secret … I would like to share with you.”

Lucy realized he would be placing a great deal of trust in her. She straightened in her chair, set her now-empty plate aside, and nodded. “I’ll keep your trust.”

As if waiting to hear those exact words, Vincent began, “We live below the city streets. There are no maps … ”

* * *

That night, she had bundled up and been led to a place she couldn’t have dreamed up if she had tried. Meeting the ladies who had made her quilt – Mary, Sarah, Rebecca, Olivia … there were others, but her memory failed her – and the cook who had baked her scones was amazing enough, but that was just the start of the adventure. By the time the old man Vincent called Father sat with her and offered her a chance at a new life with all of them, she was ready to sign up.

Within two days, she had taken what few belongings she wished to out of her apartment and moved them into what they called a chamber. Her chamber was near one of the quilters, Rebecca, who became her unofficial guide to her new home, pointing out the lavatories, the common chambers, and answering any questions she had. But she didn’t really “click” with Rebecca, who was shy and seemed slightly uneasy in her presence. So Lucy asked for Rebecca’s help only when she really needed it and otherwise resolved to do for herself as much as possible.

It was all so overwhelming, this new chance she had been given … to be warm, to be well fed, to finally break the habitual use of painkillers to numb herself. Her life no longer felt dreary and dead-end. Now she had something to look forward to: creating a new definition of herself with the help of kind people.

* * *

The small-boned man wearing a stethoscope and carrying thin metal sticks approached from the opposite end of the tunnel passageway. Intent on listening to something on the large pipe that traversed the length of the corridor at shoulder height, he didn’t spare her a glance. She was unsure of the protocol. Leave him be? Say hello? Just nod if he happened to glance up?

Concerned about interrupting his concentration, Lucy decided to walk by without speaking. But just as she reached his side, one wiry arm shot out and strong fingers grabbed her hand. Without preamble, the man said, “Listen to this,” and tugged her toward the pipe.

Surprised, she followed his lead, bending to put her ear to the cold metal. At first, she heard nothing. Then … the faintest of taps. One … two … then one again. She looked up at the middle-aged man beside her. “I heard tapping: one … two … one – but barely.”

He nodded. “Good. Just wanted a second opinion.” He began to rush past her at a brisk pace before checking himself a few steps away, turning, and announcing, “Pascal. Nice to have you here. Thanks for helping Vincent.” Then, without waiting for her to formulate a response, he trotted off, disappearing around a bend in the passageway.

Lucy frowned then slowly smiled. What a strange guy, she thought. She continued her interrupted journey to the Dining Chamber, proud that she could find her way to it on her own. Just … one … more … turn …

The Dining Chamber did not appear to be where she expected to find it. Instead, she found herself outside a chamber she had not seen before. The aroma of wood shavings wafted from its open doorway and sounds from inside revealed its resident was “in.”

Lucy’s respect for personal space warred with her growling stomach. She could back away and continue wandering. She imagined she would run into someone else soon enough. Deciding not to disturb whoever was working inside, she began to retrace her steps away from the arched entrance.

Suddenly a man’s voice called out, “Someone there? C’mon in. I’m just finishing this shelf.”

The invitation was not as intriguing as what the man was doing – building shelves inside his bedroom? – so Lucy entered with curiosity. A quick right turn brought her into a large chamber which held a simple cot in a corner. The rest of the space was being used as a workroom. It was alive with electric light, and there were motes of wood dust floating in the air. A thin, brown-haired man was hunched over a long plank of wood, sanding it by hand. Similar-sized planks stood on end beside his ample workbench.

“A bookshelf?” Lucy was moved to guess.

The man turned sharply at the unfamiliar voice. “Who’re you?” Then he straightened, and the lines of alarm on his face softened as he recalled, “Oh, yeah. New resident. Lucy, right?”

She nodded, and he stepped toward her, right hand outstretched. “Cullen. I’m the woodworker down here.”

“Yes, I’m Lucy.” They shook hands. “I’m not sure exactly what I am ‘down here’ yet,” she confessed.

“We all fit in eventually … if we stay,” he assured her, although his last words sent a tiny shiver down her spine.

“Right now it’s all a little …” She waved her hands, and he found the word she was searching for.

“Overwhelming? I get that.” He swept one arm toward a worn armchair, inviting her to sit as he continued, “When they found me, I was a wreck. I had just lost everything – temporary job, crappy apartment, jalopy of a car, and the best woman I ever knew. I wasn’t good for much for a long time. But the people here were patient, kind … and eventually I began to pull my weight. Don’t expect miracles. Be easy on yourself.”

Lucy smiled uncertainly at his words. In the city, she expected little from people; she tried to be nice but was usually repaid with rudeness and meanness and, on occasion, verbal abuse. This constant niceness from everyone Below was going to take her time to trust, time to get used to.

In the sudden silence, her stomach rumbled loudly. She bent her head in embarrassment. “I thought I knew the way to the Dining Chamber, but found you instead.”

Cullen smirked. “Wondered how I rated a visit!” He brushed wood dust off the front of his tunic. “C’mon, I’m getting ‘peckish’ myself, as Father would say.” He held out a fingerless-gloved hand to her and she raised her hand to take it, liking his strong grip. “Been ages since I’ve had a pretty lady on my arm.” He swept a flourish with his free arm and she took his meaning. Together they exited the chamber.

* * *

Cullen didn’t leave her side all through lunch, filling her tray for her, introducing her around, shooing some youngsters from a table so they could sit together. He gossiped lightly about the Tunnel dwellers around them. “That’s Marsha – she makes better pancakes than William, but we can’t ever tell him that. The man with the hooded jacket’s Ross; he’s been here about two years. He’s sweet on Rebecca but won’t tell her. Mouse – that blond guy who hop-walks – he’s a strange one, yet smart as anything in his own way. Might talk funny, but don’t underestimate him …” By the end of lunch, Lucy felt she had a better picture of those around her, of life Below … and of the man sitting beside her.

* * *

“Vincent tells me you have some experience in medicine?”

The older woman with the gentle voice – Mary – had approached her after dinner, just as Cullen had excused himself for what he called sentry duty. He had sought out her company for dinner and repeated his attentive behavior … and his gossiping … throughout, and she had enjoyed both immensely. When was the last time a man had made her smile … made her laugh out loud, even? When he had left her, she had felt suddenly and uncomfortably lonely in the large crowd of people all chatting together like the old friends they were. She had risen to leave when Mary had spoken, startling her.

“Well, yeah … sort of. I worked in a hospital for a couple of years as a nurse’s aide, but never could afford to go to nursing school. But I read lots of medical books the EMTs suggested, and I asked the nurses to show me things, so …”

Mary had quizzed her on her skills and experience anyway and seemed pleased with what she heard. She asked Lucy to come to the Hospital Chamber the next morning to be shown the facilities and equipment, in case she decided to help the small medical staff Below.

* * *

As Lucy was inventorying surgical tools the next day, Vincent stopped by to see her. “Are you settling in well?”

The smooth rumbling voice echoed deep in her stomach, causing flutters. Cullen had very firmly impressed upon her Vincent’s devotion to a woman named Catherine, and hers to him. Cullen could likely tell she was infatuated with the unusually featured man, considering she had probably asked him as many questions about Vincent as about everyone else Below combined. His timely warning would prevent her from making a fool of herself over Vincent, for which she was profoundly grateful. She did not want to start her new life on the wrong foot, having everyone laugh at or pity her. Still, she sighed inwardly as she contemplated Vincent’s breathtaking physique, his gorgeous head of hair … his large hands.

Somehow, she managed to marshal her words enough to reply, “Yes.” It was an automatic response, one she was sure he wanted to hear … even if it wasn’t exactly true.

“I noticed Cullen sitting with you at lunch.” He smiled, eyes filled with humor.

“He’s been real nice,” she said, then hastily added, “Everyone’s been nice.”

Vincent inclined his head. “Of course.”

Interested in his reaction, Lucy asked, “H-how’s … Catherine?”

Slanted eyebrows raised in surprise were the only evidence Vincent was even mildly disconcerted by the abrupt change in subject. “She’s well, thank you.”

Lucy noted the faraway look that came into his eyes after he answered her. “I have a … a connection to her. A Bond,” he revealed. “I have a sense of her, no matter where she is. Right now …  His eyelids closed in a kind of rapture. “She is … happy.”

Lucy wondered at his statement. “Where is she?”

“Above. If I focus intently, I can pinpoint her location, but it usually requires a spike of strong emotion from her. I assume from the time of day that she’s at work … and it’s going well.”

Lucy laughed self-consciously. “I’m not sure I’d be comfortable with someone peeping into my head like that.” To warn her off, all Cullen would have had to do was tell her about this “bond” thing; she definitely would have lost interest if getting with Vincent involved giving up so much privacy.

“Catherine is … everything,” he murmured, still apparently caught up in the web spun by their Bond. “Without her …” He shuddered, as if a cold wind had suddenly sprung up. Lucy felt a strange mixture of compassion and confusion while watching him.

A hand descending on her shoulder startled her, until a familiar voice said, “Movin’ in on my girl, Vincent? Careful, or I’ll tell Catherine.”

Vincent smiled. “I promise, we’re just friends, Cullen.”

Lucy bristled. She liked Cullen, sure, but where did he get off making assumptions like that … and after just a couple of days? She rose, shrugging Cullen’s hand off her shoulder in the process. “I’ve got a date with Pascal to learn pipe code,” she announced pointedly and made a rapid exit, leaving Cullen surprised and somewhat embarrassed.

Lucy avoided Cullen for the rest of the day, preferring to take her evening meal to the Hospital Chamber where she could be alone and undisturbed. When she saw him the next day at breakfast, he merely nodded at her in greeting as he conversed with a portly man sitting across the table from him. He apparently had gotten her unspoken message loud and clear.

She felt a pang of guilt. Men she knew on the streets were never kind without an ulterior motive. Cullen had been more than kind to her. Of course, this wasn’t “the streets.” Perhaps she shouldn’t have been so abrupt with him. In retrospect, she recognized that he had really only been kidding around with Vincent. It wasn’t like he had made any moves on her in private.

Sighing inwardly, Lucy realized she had blown it with the first friend she had made in her new community – the only person she had met so far besides Vincent who she felt comfortable with.

“Penny for your thoughts?” The rumbling velvet voice was unmistakable.

Vincent sat beside her with his breakfast tray and she forced a smile of greeting onto her face. She should have known that somebody attuned to other people’s feelings like Vincent would not be fooled.

“It will get easier, Lucy. Give it … and us … time.”

It felt like he was reading her mind. She confessed. “I think I hurt Cullen’s feelings yesterday. I guess I’m just not used to a man like him.”

Vincent’s unique lips twitched as if he were suppressing a smile. “A man like Cullen can take some getting used to.”

She didn’t mean to complain about anything. She truly was grateful for this chance and didn’t want Vincent to think she was finding fault with anyone, so she changed the subject. “The pipe tapping lesson was really interesting yesterday.” In truth, she had felt overwhelmed. Pascal had gone over everything so fast, she had only understood a tiny portion of what he had shown her. She had been too worried about taking up his time to ask him to repeat anything, so she still was at a loss as to what all that tapping meant.

Vincent didn’t reply at first. He concentrated on buttering his toast before he said, “Nobody expects you to learn it all at once. It takes most newcomers several weeks to get familiar with the basics and months to become fluent in pipe code.”

Hearing that made Lucy feel a little better … but only a little. She knew she was not a fast learner when people just showed her things; she usually needed something written down that she could study over and over to really understand anything complicated. She kept that worry to herself as she said, “Good to know. I’ll keep at it.” She took a bite of muffin to disguise the slight trembling of her chin. She was beginning to feel overwhelmed by the myriad differences between this world and the one she had left.

Vincent had promised it would get easier. She hoped that was true.

* * *

Tears threatened to reveal her frustration as she watched the work she had completed in the Hospital Chamber being re-done by Mary. Lucy had been tasked with setting up two surgical trays, but apparently her memory of proper sterile procedures was faulty, and all her other careful attention to detail was for nothing; the trays couldn’t be used. Mary now was rushing to complete the trays herself for Father’s surgery, and he was grumpy about the delay.

Father had brushed off her apologies, but she had found his “That’s quite all right, my dear. It happens” unconvincing. It was not all right, not at all, and she had disappointed him. It likely would be some time before she would be trusted to do anything but the most basic work in the Hospital Chamber now.

Mary took the newly completed trays behind the screen where Father waited with his patient, leaving Lucy to stare glumly around the set-up area. She mustered herself to set things to rights in the small space before taking off her sterile gloves and her gown and leaving. They would hardly need her now, at least, not until it was time to clean up after the surgery.

Sighing deeply, Lucy left the Hospital Chamber, deciding to wander over to the nearby chandlery to kill some time while waiting for the surgery to be over. She peeked inside, watching Rebecca as she dipped candles, so focused on her chore that she didn’t notice Lucy at all. Rebecca was humming as she worked. Lucy wondered at that. She had never had a job that gave her the least reason to hum a tune to herself while she did it. Not wanting to interrupt Rebecca’s concentration, Lucy crept away on tiptoe.

The pipes were quiet this afternoon, so there wasn’t an opportunity to practice her barely acquired basic understanding of pipe code – if, indeed, she had acquired it. Every time she thought she had gotten something figured out, she lost the train of it, or subsequent tapping made it obvious she had not interpreted the first part correctly, so she was afraid her guesswork was just reinforcing her incorrect understanding of the code. At this rate, she would not be fluent in a few months – try, maybe, a few years.

Those tears of frustration she had been able to suppress earlier would not be denied now. Lucy stepped blindly into the nearest chamber to hide from the rest of the community and let them flow. She was thankful it was empty so she wouldn’t have to explain herself to a stranger, or apologize for having burst in without requesting entry and making yet another stupid mistake in the long line of them she was piling up as she attempted to fit in.

* * *

“Where’s that young woman?” The surgery had had complications, and Father was in no mood to have another problem crop up. “She’s supposed to be here so we can instruct her on post-operative care.”

Mary fussed over Father, helping him with his gown and mask. “You go on,” she urged him. “I’ll stay and clean up.”

“That’s another thing.” Father was fuming now. “You shouldn’t be doing that, she should! If she wants to become proficient in how we do things, she needs to show a greater commitment to the work, in addition to more attention to detail.”

“I know,” Mary said, trying to soothe him. “Give her time. She’s new to our ways.”

Lucy rushed in as Mary finished speaking. “Sorry! I got lost finding my way back.” She took over cleaning up from Mary.

Father, however, was not in a forgiving mood. “You shouldn’t have wandered off in the first place. There’s plenty to do here while waiting for surgery to be completed.” He took a deep breath to calm his irritation. “I’m sorry, but if you can’t devote yourself to this work, perhaps you should consider another way to contribute your skills Below.”

Lucy, stunned and hurt, grabbed a mop and began to wash the floor, not able to look either Mary or Father in the eye. “I’ll finish out my shift first,” she replied sullenly.

Mary patted her on the shoulder but didn’t argue with her. Lucy knew that without the older woman to advocate for her, her time working in the Hospital Chamber was over.

* * *

“She can’t cook.” William was adamant.

“Lucy needs to find a place where she feels useful,” Vincent said, using the most reasonable tone of voice he could to mask his growing frustration with trying to find a role for Lucy in the community.

“She can’t cook,” William repeated. He did not want to give Lucy a second chance in the kitchen. “She spoiled a whole batch of roasted vegetables last time. I can’t have someone like that in my kitchen. I won’t.”

Vincent sighed. He couldn’t really argue with the chef. Fresh vegetables were not often on the menu, and to have to throw them away because they had been allowed to burn was literally taking food out of the mouths of the community. He nodded and patted William on the shoulder before leaving the kitchen.

Father had indicated that Lucy was not a good fit in the Hospital Chamber, William refused her as an apprentice cook, Rebecca had advised that Lucy was fumble-fingered and hopeless at candle-making, Sarah informed him that Lucy had no discernable sewing skills, and Mary felt she was unable to handle nursery duty. He was running out of options. Lucy was not qualified to educate the youngsters, she could not play an instrument, she had no woodworking skills, she couldn’t wield a pickaxe …

He was in a quandary. Usually, he could at least assign a new resident to sentry duty once they had mastered the basics of pipe code if they had no other skills to offer. But he knew that Lucy was not coming along well on that score. At this point, the only options open to her were chores that were considered punishment for the younger children, or unpleasant duties which everyone took a turn doing: washing dishes, cleaning the bathrooms, disposing of trash, or doing the laundry.  None of that was the kind of work that was permanently assigned to anyone Below, but he was being forced to consider them as at least short-term options.

Lucy, he knew, was growing frustrated and despondent. She wasn’t learning to navigate her way through the Hub very well either – she still often got lost. She continued to find it difficult to learn pipe code. Coupled with the difficulty she was having in making friends, he was afraid she was becoming too isolated, not becoming part of the community.

He didn’t know what to do to help her.

* * *

Just as Lucy had decided to open the remaining barrier leading back to her own world – a cruel one, but one she at least understood and could find a place within – the barrier door slid open on its own, startling her. No, not on its own. A woman about her own age now stood before her, surprise lighting her features. Lucy realized the woman had been expecting the barred gate to be in place, and one of her arms was already outstretched to reach for it.

Recovering first, the woman smiled uncertainly and said, “Hello.”

Lucy nodded at her, momentarily frozen in place as she wondered how to negotiate her departure now that this visitor was in the way.

The woman took in Lucy’s burden, and Lucy could see that she correctly surmised that she was leaving the Tunnels … most likely permanently. Well, it wasn’t like she cared that she had been caught. Everyone Below would know soon enough that she had fled the community in secret.

“You’re … Lucy?” the woman said after an uncomfortable moment of silence between them.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Lucy tilted her head up to show she was not afraid of whatever this person had to say.

The woman was dressed in casual but expensive clothes, from her beige cashmere turtleneck to her brown wool slacks to her designer suede jacket to her slightly scuffed Frye boots. She looked like she belonged in the pages of Vogue, not in an access-way to Below. She put out a hand to Lucy. “I’m Catherine Chandler.”

Lucy’s eyes grew wide. So, this is Vincent’s Catherine. She frankly could not imagine this woman and Vincent ever finding each other in the wide world Above. Reluctantly, Lucy’s right hand met Catherine’s, and they shook.

“I’m so glad to finally meet you. I’ve wanted to thank you so much for your kindness to Vincent. That night was horrible. If you hadn’t helped him …” Catherine’s face registered real grief at the unmentioned possibility of Vincent’s death.

Intrigued despite herself, Lucy replied, “He scared the heck out of me at first. But he’s really an amazing guy.”

Catherine smiled. “He is!”

Her enthusiasm was infectious, making Lucy smile despite her troubles.

With no other preamble, Catherine said quietly, “Vincent has told me it’s been a difficult transition for you, living Below.” Her gaze fell to Lucy’s bag, then came back to her face.

Stunned, Lucy contemplated pushing past this Catherine person and escaping from everything that was difficult, because Vincent was exactly right. But she couldn’t bring herself to be that rude to Catherine, if only because Vincent loved her. And something about her face – how truly interested she seemed to be to hear what Lucy had to say – made Lucy suddenly fall apart inside, let her walls down, and begin to sob.

Her reaction obviously surprised the other woman, but Catherine quickly closed the barrier, swung the gate shut, and took Lucy in her arms. Lucy dropped what she was carrying, even her precious quilt, onto the rough ground of the tunnel, and clung to Catherine as if she were a lifeline. She was so embarrassed, but she couldn’t stop bawling. Catherine just held her tight and let her weep, not trying to ask her anything or even say anything soothing. It was almost like Catherine had been in a similar circumstance at some point in her life, with no options and no hope, which was silly to imagine, considering she was rich and a lawyer and had every advantage. But Lucy was grateful for the tacit understanding, for the human contact, and for the sympathy.

When Lucy regained her composure, she pulled back from Catherine’s embrace. Catherine indicated the tunnel floor and unceremoniously sat in the dust beside the tumble of Lucy’s abandoned bag and quilt. Lucy sat, too, her shoulders slumped, as she searched her pockets for a tissue. She was surprised when Catherine reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out an embroidered handkerchief. “Please,” she said, offering it.

Lucy wiped her face and eyes and blew her nose. She felt bad about ruining the crisp whiteness of the handkerchief, but Catherine didn’t seem to mind. “Tell me,” was all she said.

So, surprising herself yet again, Lucy did. She told Catherine everything from being awkward with Cullen to not being able to learn the pipe code to failing at every work assignment Vincent had found for her, to how lonely she felt, and how upset Vincent must be with her for not adapting and making the most of this opportunity for a new life. She spilled it all out in a rapid monologue, pausing only to breathe, but not for Catherine to interject a word, although Catherine didn’t seem disposed to talk, only to listen. Lucy finally wound down and finished by saying, “So I’m leaving now. I feel so bad about everything. I couldn’t face Vincent, couldn’t stand to see him disappointed.”

Catherine shook her head. “I know Vincent well enough to know he could never be disappointed in you. But … Lucy … living Below isn’t for everyone. I know. I tried once. I thought I’d failed Vincent when I realized it wasn’t possible for me – at least, not right then. But living Below isn’t the only option.”

Lucy frowned. “What do you mean?” She couldn’t fathom Catherine not fitting in wherever she wanted to. To learn that she had not been able to live Below herself made Lucy breathe a little easier.

“Have you heard them speak of Helpers? People like me who live Above?”

“I … I think so. I don’t think I understand what that is though.” Lucy had not had a lot of conversations with community members about anything other than getting settled Below.  The term “Helper” was one she had heard, but not focused on.

“Helpers come in many forms.” Catherine counted on her fingers as she enumerated them. “There are those who meet someone from Below, or know someone who ends up living Below, and they decide to contribute food or goods or time and skills to the community. There are those who were once helped by the community Below in their lives Above and give back in thanks to the community here. There are those who lived Below for a time, but moved back Above and maintain a connection to the community, providing assistance as they can.”

“I didn’t know all that,” Lucy said, amazed.  “But … I can’t be a Helper. I have nothing, not even a place to stay right now.”

Catherine smiled. “Perhaps you’ll decide to be a Helper in the future. But I’m telling you about Helpers right now because I think we might find a solution to your dilemma through one of them.”

“How?” Lucy desperately wanted to believe there was hope … but could there truly be, when she had already burned through so many bridges?

“Perhaps a Helper might have a bed to offer you, temporarily, while you look for work in the city – something with a steady paycheck. You could stay until you get on your feet.”

Lucy looked skeptically at Catherine. “Someone who doesn’t even know me would do that for me?”

“It’s possible. Let me find out, OK? Perhaps … perhaps you might return to the community until we find a spot for you with a Helper? Or, if you’d rather not, you could come stay with me for a few days until other arrangements can be made.”

Lucy considered the options. Frankly, to even have options was a luxury she hadn’t imagined just a few minutes ago, and it was overwhelming. How could she make such a significant choice in a moment? “What do you think I should do?” she asked.

“Whatever feels right. Just follow your heart, Lucy.” Catherine stood up, brushing off the back of her slacks as she did so. “I’ll follow your lead.”

“OK. Well … maybe I should go back Below?” Lucy rose herself, then bent to pick up her satchel and shake off the quilt. “I already have a room … a chamber … there, so I wouldn’t have to put you out while you check with Helpers for me. And I can explain myself and apologize … since I pretty much ran out on everyone just now.”

Catherine nodded. Lucy added, “And thank you, Catherine, for listening … for understanding … for everything.”

“Of course.” Catherine hugged Lucy. “Come on, I’ll go with you, and we can tell them together.”

* * *

“I should have thought of that,” Vincent said, as he and Catherine sat sharing a glass of wine hours later. “But we were so focused on her fitting in Below …”

“Perhaps it took someone who had tried and failed to live Below to understand, Vincent.” The slight tremor in Catherine’s voice hinted at the regret and shame she still felt over failing to keep her promise to Vincent that she was ready to give up her life Above.

Vincent turned to her, took the wineglass from her hand and set it down. He cupped her face between his palms and urged her gaze to meet his. “You came Below in a time of grief. You had made no plan, had not thought it through. I knew that you would only stay with us long enough to begin to heal.” He bent to kiss her forehead, a gesture of comfort.  “You counseled Lucy so well. Please be as forgiving of yourself.” He tilted his head to kiss her nose, eliciting the expected smile from her.

“In my deepest heart, I know one thing, Catherine: we found a way to be together, in a way that works for us. You moving Below might happen one day; it might not. But we are truly together now … and for always.”

His lips sought hers, and the kiss they shared was a promise, a declaration, an affirmation. It shared, too, their hunger, their ardor, their need for each other … and whether they were Above, Below, or somewhere in between, that would never change.

* * *

“Carmen lives in Brooklyn, and her daughter recently moved to Michigan to attend college.” Catherine had a notebook open on her lap as she chatted with Lucy several days later. She consulted her notes and added, “She’s able to offer you a room for a few months, until her daughter comes home for the summer.”

“Brooklyn. OK.” Lucy didn’t know anyone in Brooklyn … but maybe that was a good thing. Old habits would be harder to fall into there than in her old neighborhood. And since folks in Brooklyn didn’t know about her past, maybe she’d have an easier time getting work.

“Also, the Liu family in Chinatown has a bed they can offer. Mrs. Liu’s grandmother recently died, and she had been sharing a room with their two young children. The girls sleep in bunkbeds, and there’s a twin bed in the room for you, if you want it. They aren’t in a rush for the space, so you could stay there longer than at Carmen’s if you need to. But the options for work in Chinatown might not be as great as in Brooklyn, as shopkeepers there tend to hire only family or close friends.”

“And I’m not Chinese,” Lucy added, smiling.

“Well … there’s that,” Catherine admitted, smiling in turn. “But Chinatown is just one part of New York, and there are subways going in and out all the time,” she reminded Lucy. “Anyway, I’m still checking with others, but those two seem to be the most immediate possibilities.” Catherine closed her notebook. “I’ve already contacted the Helpers who I thought were likeliest to have space for you right now, so you might want to seriously consider these options while I continue checking.”

Lucy was feeling guilty that Catherine, busy as she was, was spending time trying to find her a place to share so she could leave Below, when she already had a lovely, cozy chamber Below all to herself.  Seeming to sense her feelings, Catherine reached out and squeezed one of Lucy’s hands. “There’s no harm in asking. It doesn’t mean you must decide right now … or at all, if you decide to stay.”

“I know, but … I feel bad. Mostly, I feel stupid. I mean, even if I go back to the city, I’ll still be a burden on someone to feed me while I look for work.  And it’s not like I have a great resume to offer. How do I even explain several years of unemployment while I … you know …” Lucy looked down at her hands, the weight of her situation bearing down on her suddenly.

“I’ll help you work on your resume. But you might set your sights on something simple to start with, just to get your feet under you. Since you don’t need to earn enough to rent a place just yet, perhaps you could …” Catherine waved her hands as if casting around for an idea before trying to lighten the mood with “… be a bagger at Gristede’s …”

“Or learn to ride a bike and be a messenger like Bennie?” Lucy finished Catherine’s sentence for her, posing a ridiculous option to reflect her lack of useful experience.

The women shared a rueful laugh. Catherine said, “Well, at least you’re open to possibilities!” That set Lucy off for real, and this time the laughter felt good. She settled down after that and began to list, with Catherine’s help, the places she could start looking for work.

* * *

“A grocery bagger?” Vincent was surprised. “Isn’t that the kind of job a high schooler might take?” He had put aside his journal when she entered the chamber to relate her latest efforts on Lucy’s behalf.

“Yes,” Catherine admitted.  She collapsed onto the couch, weary from a long day.

Vincent moved to sit beside her as she tugged off her boots. “I’d mentioned it a few weeks ago to get a smile out of her … but perhaps she needs to set her sights at that level right now. Lucy has no education to speak of and no recent employment … at least, nothing she can list as a legitimate job. I’ve done what I could to help with her resume, but there’s only so much padding I can do. So if she fudges a bit and says she is a homemaker trying to get back into the workforce, she could maybe convince some kind-hearted store manager to give her a shot. Nothing else has worked so far.”

“I see. Well, I admire her determination. She has been looking for a job for weeks now, going Above every day, but the disappointment doesn’t seem to have affected her determination yet.” He put an arm around Catherine and urged her to lean against him.

Curling up beside him and tucking herself beneath his arm, Catherine sighed happily.  She was right where she wanted to be. And what she didn’t want to do anymore at the moment – even though she felt selfish for thinking it – was to talk about Lucy. She had no need to go back Above tonight, and long hours of an evening to be spent alone with the man she loved beckoned. Nuzzling under his chin, she planted a series a tiny kisses along his jawline. “Shall we leave Lucy outside the chamber for the rest of tonight?” she murmured.

She got no argument from Vincent.

* * *

Bone-tired from walking the streets – this time in search of gainful employment – Lucy trudged back to her chamber in the Hub. After considering her options for moving in with Helpers, she had decided not to inconvenience anyone Above, not for the time being. If she could get a job, then she wouldn’t feel so absolutely dependent on anybody who might be willing to offer her a bed; at least she would be able to help pay for her food or contribute to their rent. Until then, her chamber Below was comfortable, and she was making do about not understanding pipe code and not fitting in with the community. By keeping to herself, it wasn’t so bad.

As she was thinking about how much she wanted to move away from the Tunnels and how guilty that made her feel, Lucy turned a corner and collided with Mouse, who had been rushing headlong down the passageway. The force of their collision knocked the unwary Lucy onto her backside, and the hard ground made for a rough landing. Mouse’s quickly shouted “Sorry!” as he rushed by didn’t help her feel any better.

Dust raised from her fall settled onto her looking-for-work clothes, and her bottom was now as sore as her leg muscles. Already exhausted and frustrated by another failed day looking for a job, Lucy sat where she had fallen and began to cry.  Long, wrenching sobs tore from her as she succumbed to her misery. Absorbed in her despair, she didn’t at first notice that someone had come up beside her. She only noticed when that someone sat beside her in the dust and put an arm around her. “Come on over here,” the “someone” murmured. “I’ve got a Lucy-sized shoulder just waitin’ for you.”

Without giving a care who was offering her comfort, Lucy turned into that waiting shoulder and cried hard. The “someone” just held her, every once in a while tugging her shoulder tightly in a one-armed hug, but otherwise doing nothing else and saying not a word.

Lucy had held so much in for weeks that her sadness took a long while to cry out. The patient “someone” didn’t seem to care that his tunic was getting soaked with tears, or that her nose was running, or that she had begun hiccupping because she was crying so hard. The shoulder remained firmly, comfortably available, the embracing arm remained reassuringly around her.

It took her some time to calm herself, but when she finally had, she began to wonder who the “someone” was. It didn’t feel like Vincent; the “someone’s” shoulder was not broad enough, the arm encircling her not brawny enough. Then she realized she was inhaling the aroma of sawn wood, and she knew.

She pushed away from Cullen, embarrassed beyond measure, and began to wipe her eyes. A very wrinkled but clean linen handkerchief was thrust into her hands, and she gratefully used it to wipe her cheeks and then her nose. But Lucy could not raise her head and face the man. She felt humiliated that he had seen her like this. It was just more evidence of how unsuited she was to living in this community beneath the city.

Cullen rose to his feet beside her, and suddenly a hand was under one of her elbows, urging her to stand, providing the stability upon which she could rely to rise up. When she had, he asked, “You okay now?”

She still couldn’t look at him, so she just nodded, her face lowered, her eyes downcast. She heard him walk away, but she couldn’t raise her head until she was sure he had left the passageway.

* * *

“Cullen? You in?” Lucy called at the entrance to the woodworker’s chamber the next morning. She had planned this visit for when he was usually at breakfast, hoping he might be out so she could avoid facing him and to complete her chore without an awkward encounter.

“Yup. Come on in.”

It seemed she was doomed to embarrassment.

Hesitantly, she entered. As her eyes adjusted to the bright light in his chamber, she saw him bent over a plank of wood, planing it, his back to her. He didn’t look up at her or greet her.

She stood uncertainly for a moment, then weakly waved his folded handkerchief. “I … I washed this for you.”

“Thanks. You can put it anywhere,” he replied, still absorbed in his work.

“Okay.” She set it down on a small table near the entrance, smoothing the wrinkles with her hands. She dawdled a bit, uncertain how to make an exit without seeming too eager to leave, so when it appeared he wouldn’t be saying anything more, she remarked, “Okay then … well … thank you … you know, for yesterday. Bye.”

He didn’t respond. Lucy felt like she was intruding on someone with a real job who was part of a community she could not find a way to join. It wasn’t a new feeling, yet this further proof saddened her more than she expected. She turned to leave, tears beginning to prick the corners of her eyes.

Just as she raised a foot to walk out, a voice behind her said, “Going on a job hunt again today?”

Surprise stopped the tears from falling. She turned quickly back to find Cullen had stopped his work and was facing her. She nodded. “’The only way out is through,’” she said. “That’s what my old man used to say, anyway. He was pretty smart.”

“Or over, or under, or around,” Cullen replied, smirking. “Your old man didn’t tell you that, too?”

Lucy surprised herself by laughing. “Nope. Guess he wasn’t so smart after all!”

Cullen leaned against his work table. “There’s lots of ways to get things done, Lucy. Don’t get discouraged if a couple don’t work out.” He stood straight in preparation for returning to his work. “I know it’s been tough for you, and we down here don’t suit you. But you’ll find your way back Above soon and be happy again, I know it.”

Before he could pick up his tools again, Lucy remarked, “I wasn’t happy up there, not for a long time. So there’s no ‘again’ involved. I … I just don’t fit in here, that’s all.”

“What makes you say that?”

He seemed so genuinely surprised at what seemed obvious to her, it made her stare at him with her mouth slightly agape.  When she found her voice, she replied, “I screwed up with you when you were trying to be my friend. I can’t cook or sew or play an instrument or take care of kids or teach or find my way around anywhere but two or three places. I can’t even figure out how that damned pipe tapping thing works.” She paused in her litany before finishing, “It’s me that doesn’t ‘suit’ anybody down here.”

To her surprise, Cullen began chuckle. It turned into a chortle, and soon it developed into a belly-laugh. He was laughing so hard, tears squeezed out of his closed eyes. Lucy was astonished. Was her pain so funny that he couldn’t help himself in her presence? What happened to the kind man who had held her while she cried yesterday?

Turning crimson with anger, Lucy snapped, “I’m glad my situation is so funny. Ha ha ha.” Then she turned and scurried out of the chamber.

“Wait! Lucy!” Cullen rushed out of his chamber and grabbed her arm before she had gotten too far down the passageway. “I wasn’t laughing at you.”

“Certainly seemed like it,” she huffed. She crossed her arms and glared at him.

“No, no, please,” he begged, traces of a grin still on his face. “I’m only laughing because every single one of us has felt that way, those of us who come down as adults, I mean. We have our own ways, our expectations, and it’s tough to learn new things when you’re older.  It takes a while … sometimes a long while … to adjust to things. And some of us aren’t as good at adjusting as others. Like me. Took me ages. I think I planned to return Up Top four or five times before I finally settled in. Sometimes, still, I get antsy, think about how much better it might be if I went back up. And I’ve done some things down here that … well, I’m surprised they still let me live here, frankly. More often than I like to admit, I still feel like I’m on the outside lookin’ in.”

“You? But … you’re so important to this place!” She was astonished he felt as he did.

“You think so?” He smiled sarcastically. “News to me. I do all I can to try to fit in. But if I’m bein’ honest, I know I rub lots of folks Below the wrong way. I speak my mind too much. I’m impatient. I want things that … well, that folks down here don’t understand, I think. But I’m not alone. Half the people here are misfits, couldn’t make it Above for one reason or another. You suppose they all adjusted easily to this place? So you saying you don’t suit us just made me laugh. Which ‘us’ do you think you don’t suit?”

Lucy stammered, “I … I don’t suit you, for one.”

He frowned. “Who told you that?”

“Nobody had to, it’s obvious.” She had tried to keep the disappointment out of her voice, but knew she hadn’t succeeded.

If Cullen caught the underlying emotion, he didn’t give a sign. “Lady, you got a lot to learn about men if you think that.”

She laughed sardonically. “If you only knew …”

“About your previous ‘job’?” he replied. “It’s no secret. But that don’t mean anything other than you know what men want, not what they think.”

“So … what do you think, Cullen?” She was being rash and she knew it. Perhaps this would permanently ruin any chance of a potential friendship with the man, but she couldn’t let his taunting pass unchallenged.

A long moment passed when she thought he might not take the bait. Then he spoke.  “I’d rather show you than tell you,” he replied, his voice suddenly soft, vulnerable.

“What?” Lucy was confused by the sudden change in tone. Were they fighting or weren’t they?

Cullen approached her tentatively. Lucy stood still, uncertain what was happening. Was he going to hit her? Well, she wouldn’t back down, and she’d give as good as she got, if so.

When Cullen was mere inches away, he bent his head to hers and placed his lips lightly on her own. Lucy was so startled, she didn’t kiss him back. When he pulled away, she could see in his eyes that he was afraid he had done the wrong thing – an unwelcome thing – and his face darkened. “’M sorry,” he mumbled, starting to turn away.

Lucy touched his arm. “No, wait. I … I just …  It’s not what I expected.” She wasn’t quite sure how to handle him, not after the conversation they had been having had suddenly veered in a radical new direction. Not an unwelcome one, though, she was surprised to realize. “If you … I mean … I wouldn’t mind …” She didn’t know how to ask for what she wanted, didn’t want to seem needy, didn’t want to give him that much power over her. But she thought she might want to kiss him.

Cullen cocked his head toward her, a quizzical look on his face. “Want me to try that again? See what happens?” he offered. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Smiling because he had just echoed her own thoughts, she nodded.

This time they both knew what was happening, and the kiss they shared was sweeter and longer. Lucy reflected on his closed lips – not wanting to be pushy, she figured, so … no tongue. She liked that he was tentative about things. Most men she had encountered were pretty demanding, not caring what she wanted at all. But then, most men paid for her time, and that meant they didn’t have to care what she wanted.

“That was nice,” she murmured when they parted.

“Gee … thanks. I was goin’ for ’nice’.” Cullen rolled his eyes, but Lucy could tell he was just joking to make things less awkward between them

“’Nice’ is very … nice,” she said, stumbling over her words, wanting him to understand she wasn’t being critical. “Nice” was pretty darned refreshing to her. She could do with more “nice” in her life.

“Okay, then.” Cullen raised one arm and pointed his thumb back in the direction of his chamber. “Got to get back to it. See you at dinner?”

“See you then.”

He sketched a jaunty salute to her and turned on his heel. He sashayed his hips very obviously as he returned to his chamber, knowing she was watching him, and when he got to the entrance, he turned and waggled his eyebrows at her before ducking inside. She laughed and turned away, already counting the minutes until dinnertime.

* * *

“Have you spoken to her yet?” Father was certain that he was the wrong person to try to counsel Lucy, since he – with his impatient and dismissive attitude toward her work in the Hospital Chamber, now regretted – was likely one of the main causes for her failure to feel at home Below. As usual, when he felt he was not the one to handle a situation, he turned to Vincent to do so.

“No. Catherine is going to talk with her again. She has developed a rapport with Lucy as someone else from outside the community who struggled to fit in.”

Father frowned at the description. “Catherine struggled to fit in?”

Vincent favored his elder with a piercing glare. “Let us not pretend you made it easy for her. She, more than most, can understand Lucy’s experience.”

Abashed, his parent mumbled, “Yes, well … all right, we’ll leave it in Catherine’s capable hands.”

As Vincent turned to leave, Father called after him, “Perhaps I should apologize to her for my earlier attitude?”

Over his shoulder, so Father could not see his grin, Vincent replied, “Apologize to whom? Lucy? Or Catherine?”

He left his father spluttering.

* * *

Catherine had made a special point of getting to the Dining Chamber early for dinner … and of arriving alone. She wanted to catch Lucy so they could chat over their meal. Catherine had some tentative leads for jobs that Lucy might apply for but, more than that, she wanted to provide a consistent sense of support to the new resident, to ease her remaining time Below. At heart, though, she was sad; she felt that Lucy had the potential to integrate into the community and live a rich life there. Still, if it was what Lucy wanted …

Several community members waved at Catherine as she entered, offering her seats at their table. She shook her head “no” with an apologetic smile as she found a small table in a corner which was unoccupied. She sat down with a book to wait for Lucy to arrive.

Sometime later, Lucy’s voice drew her from her immersion in her novel, but it was Lucy’s laughter that had done it, not her conversation. Looking up, she saw that Cullen was with Lucy, the two having apparently just shared a joke. He waved at Catherine when he noticed her looking his way, which caused Lucy to turn toward her. Catherine waved at her, then indicated the table. Lucy spoke a few quiet words to Cullen before coming over.

“You look happier than last time I saw you,” Catherine began, testing the waters before addressing the main reason she was in the Dining Chamber.

Lucy smiled. “I am.” She looked over her shoulder at Cullen, who was searching for a place for them to eat. Catherine thought it odd, since there were a number of communal tables where seats were available. Then, realizing what he was looking for, Catherine said to Lucy, “Would you two like to take this table? I was just leaving.”

Watching Lucy’s eyes light up confirmed for Catherine that she should shelve the conversation she had rehearsed; it most likely was unnecessary now. Lucy seemed to have decided to give Below a little more time.

“Cullen,” Catherine called out, “take this table, if you’d like.”

He came over to where Lucy was standing. “You sure, Catherine? Wouldn’t you like to sit here with Vincent?”

“Well, he’s not here and you are, so I think it makes sense to cede the table to you,” she explained with an impish smile. She had caught Cullen’s mouthing of “Thank you” and his thumbs-up gesture from behind Lucy right after he had asked the question.

Cullen pulled out a chair for Lucy as Catherine closed her book and rose from the table. Just before leaving, she whispered to Lucy, “If you ever want to talk …”

Lucy turned her face up to Catherine and murmured, “I’m giving this place a second chance.”

* * *

Vincent closed the door to their chamber and joined Catherine, who was folding down the comforter on their bed. Together they removed the bolster and turned back the sheets.

As they worked, Vincent said, “Father has decided he was too hasty in determining Lucy’s fitness to work in the Hospital Chamber. She has many of the qualifications he needs, and he has agreed to be more patient as she accustoms herself to the way he likes things done.”

Catherine was a bit surprised that Father had changed his mind. Perhaps second chances had become all the rage Below while she wasn’t looking? Whatever the reason, she was glad for it ­– for herself and for Lucy.

She plumped their pillows. “I’m happy to hear it. The job prospects Above are slim for her, at least for those that pay enough to live there. She would have had to work two jobs and maybe work part-time at a third to handle rent for a decent apartment and the basics on her own. I know she has the ability to do that if she needs to, but … ” She sighed in relief. “I’m happy she doesn’t have to try.”

“Things may still not work out for her,” warned Vincent, blowing out all but one of the candles in the chamber. “If this relationship with Cullen doesn’t last …”

Catherine removed her robe, tossing it across the foot of their bed. “I think that having a real sense of usefulness here, working in the Hospital Chamber, will make it easier for her. She just needed one thing to work out, and I think the job will make all the difference for her.”

“I hope so, as well.” Vincent sighed. His robe joined hers as he readied for bed.

Despite the cool ambient air, neither of them wore nightclothes.

“Don’t worry so much. I have a good feeling about her. She’ll stay.” Catherine wrapped her arms around the man she loved, their bodies meshing perfectly as they pressed close to each other. “I subscribe to the ‘second chance’ theory.”

“Which is …?” Vincent began to draw his lips across Catherine’s forehead, the slope of her nose, and across one cheek. He knew exactly how distracting it was, and she smiled in delight … but she was determined to finish her thought.

“If we are very lucky, life gives us a second chance for happiness, despite the hand we were dealt to start with. Father got it. So did Charles. So did many who now live Below. Lucy is experiencing that right now. And we two are ourselves recipients of the most wonderful second chance of all – and now we have our own happy life.”

A husky whisper in her ear carried his question. “And are you happy, Catherine?”

“The night is young, Vincent,” she replied, pushing him gently onto the bed behind him. “Let me show you how happy I am right now. And later … I’ll have a second chance to show you even more …”

PART 2

by Jo Fredericks

(ADULT CONTENT)

Candlelight suffused the lovers with a golden glow. As Catherine gazed down at Vincent, she reflected on how his skin shone like burnished gold in the flickering light and how his eyes glimmered like sparking sapphires. Despite her wealth in the world Above, her true riches … all that mattered … were within that chamber, in the form of the man she loved.

All those long months of denial were firmly in their past, yet Catherine could not help but recall the frustration of abbreviated hugs and yearning glances that were all they had shared during that time. It had seemed the barriers of a lifetime of denial, of fear, were insurmountable – until Vincent’s near-fatal illness had dissolved those barriers in an instant.

In the aftermath of that moment, memories were lost … then, after weeks of struggle, found again. And happily, in the wake of that turbulence, certain knowledge overcame any lingering fears. Yet the memory of those struggles made them savor every moment of their intimacy as a gift, a second chance for a happy life.

Catherine wasted no further time in contemplation. It was time to unwrap that gift once more …

Her lips claimed his with a kiss that was deep, languorous. Each explored a mouth so different from their own, yet familiar and beloved. As she tasted him again and again, Catherine felt Vincent’s warm hands stroke her bare sides with the tenderness of a profound awe. How these first moments always felt so new, so remarkable, was a mystery – one neither of them cared to resolve.

While she rained kisses across his cheeks and brow, Vincent’s fingers undid the loose braid in her hair, urging it to cascade freely through his hands. He threaded his long, talon-tipped fingers gently through the length of those strands, playing with tendrils, brushing the hair from her face, then cupping her cheeks and bringing her mouth back to his. Vincent began to suck lightly on Catherine’s full lower lip, rubbing the tip of his tongue slowly across it. She gasped with pleasure at the feeling, letting herself be carried along in the wave of hunger she felt flowing through their Bond – both his and hers … a deep, abiding hunger that they would spend all night satisfying.

Catherine’s long honey-colored hair trailed across Vincent’s shoulders and down his chest as she bent to press adoring kisses along the length of his neck. He stretched his head back to bare his throat to the tender onslaught, his arms wrapping around her at shoulders and waist, hugging her close so she could bury her face against the side of his neck, enveloped in his embrace. When she did, they paused.

Hearts beating fast, breath beginning to labor, for a brief space of time they just lay quietly, relishing the anticipation of their lovemaking. This instant of delay was delicious, not to be rushed. Catherine relaxed fully, allowing the flame of her desire to melt everything within her. What would come next would take her breath away, she knew, and, oh, how she wanted it, wanted him. Yet this moment was precious, too; it was an acknowledgement not just of their eagerness, of their willingness to be one, but of the hard-won journey they had made together, with courage and with care, to get to this time in their lives. They simply allowed themselves a moment to fully savor the warmth of bare flesh, of heightened sensitivities, of mutual desire, hearts beating as one.

Catherine stretched out until she laid full length upon Vincent, molding to him, feeling the hard length of his penis pressing against her stomach, aching for him to be inside her. Vincent, she knew, had been ready almost from the moment their lips first met, but somehow he had held himself in check, never impatient, always awaiting the full flowering of her own arousal. She smiled to herself, knowing he never had long to wait – her fervent need for him, her own body’s readiness, created a storm ready to surge.

The rapid pulse of blood at the base of Vincent’s neck revealed to Catherine that, although Vincent was patient, his body was not. She lifted her head, gazing into his beloved face, and kept eye contact as she rose to straddle him. He groaned at the feeling of her hips shifting, her center stroking his as she moved. Back and forth she rocked, pressing into him, their mutual passion flaring in response, drawing a deep shudder from the man whose patience was about to be rewarded.

When he could contain his need no longer, his large, strong hands lifted her at the waist just enough to allow her to guide him to her core. They both gasped at that first penetration – he, as always, surprised that her small body could accommodate his wide girth … she, as ever, amazed at how gentle he could be, knowing his urgency, as she opened to him. Her body yielded to the slow pressure of his entry, and she gloried in the sensation of her body accepting his length, her deep desire creating the silky moisture he needed to complete their connection utterly.

For a long moment they paused, he fully sheathed within her, both of them nearly overwhelmed by the sensual intensity of their joining. Catherine threw her head back, eyes closed, her breath coming in short gasps, so near her climax already that it took an effort of will to delay it. Vincent, she knew, was struggling to hold himself still, the primal craving to rock urgently against her, within her, an almost overpowering, irresistible force. Soon they gave in to the demands of their desires, beginning to move in slow undulations, the incremental movements only tantalizing them further, until Catherine’s legs were shaking with the force of her need for him. Vincent, sensing the gradual loss of her control, held her steady above him as he slowly withdrew until only the tip of his shaft was within her … then languidly immersed himself in her again. Once more he repeated the slow withdrawal and intimate penetration then, with each further undulation, he increased the tempo and the vigor of his movements.

The long, sure strokes teased and stimulated Catherine until she thought she would explode, and only by concentrating on Vincent’s pleasure was she able to contain the siren’s lure of her own completion. For she wanted to prolong the moment, to revel in this freedom, this abandon that she shared with the man she loved, to give him everything he had been denied, had denied himself … to give him all.

Catherine rode the waves of his sweet incursions, meeting his thrusts, urging him deeper, her hands clutching his shoulders to steady herself. She felt Vincent shift beneath her, his upper body rising until he was sitting up and able to more easily reach every part of her upper torso. The passion of his kisses then nearly undid her, his tongue intertwining with hers, claiming her, demanding she give him what she had no desire to refuse. He moved lower, kissing her neck, then the soft curve of her shoulders, until his mouth reached her bare breasts. She leaned back against his forearms, knowing he would hold her up, giving him what they both longed for. The hot, liquid kisses he bestowed on her taut nipples and the flesh of her breasts tantalized her, drawing her deeper into the sensual web he had spun around her.

When he had thoroughly loved each breast, he lifted his head and caught Catherine’s gaze. They read each other’s thoughts and knew the moment had come – they could hold back no more. The demands of the flesh could no longer be denied.

They began rocking together, every sense on overload, driving each other wilder. Moaning in unison, they clung to each other, urging each other on. With one more searing kiss, the universe exploded around them, cascading ripples of pleasure shuddering through their bodies. The power of their mutual release robbed them of speech, of sense of place … of everything but the sublime joy they had found in each other.

Aftershocks quivered through Catherine, and she leaned her forehead against Vincent’s as the tremors slowly subsided. Finally, still panting, she lifted her head and gazed, heavy-lidded, at the man who had just loved her so thoroughly. Her flesh was rosy and glistening with sweat, and she felt loose-limbed, nearly boneless. She tumbled from atop her beloved, his arms capturing her and easing her beside him.

Vincent turned to her and laid his head on her breast, rubbing his face against the delicate flesh.

She knew that his body was already craving hers again.

She smiled languidly at the thought of the hours of lovemaking ahead of them. In the beginning, Vincent had seemed ashamed that he craved her so often, that his need for her physically was so insistent, so unquenchable. It took Catherine many long, delicious evenings of pleasure to convince him that she welcomed every moment, every need, every desire of his. Now, finally, he knew that his welcome was assured, that Catherine’s yearning for him matched his for her. No words were necessary, no assurances had to be offered now.

Vincent shifted to raise himself up on one elbow. His free hand grazed lightly across and around each of her breasts, then kneaded each in turn, his thumb lingering lovingly on each nipple. Catherine wriggled with the pleasure of his touch, impatient for what she knew she didn’t have to ask for.  Warm, wet kisses followed his thumbs, and his hot breath as he blew across her bare skin caused goosebumps to rise. He sighed deeply, once more craving the taste of her, and he drew first one, then the other rosy tip deep into his mouth. Catherine was squirming now, the pleasure he was giving her mounting quickly into a burgeoning desire. But she willed herself into stillness, giving him all the time he wanted to love her this way.

When at last he withdrew from her breasts, she turned on her side and slithered down the bed, urging him onto his back as she did so. As he lay there, completely open to her, she gazed her fill at the physical work of art that he was: the coiled strength in the corded musculature of his shoulders and upper arms, work-hardened muscles that could never be totally disguised under layers of clothing; the chiseled, powerful muscles of his thighs, always straining the confines of his trousers; the deadly beauty of his claw-tipped hands that were amazingly gentle in lovemaking; the tracing of fur-like hair that covered his body, heavier in some places, nearly absent in others. His abdomen was defined by taut, ribbed layers of muscle rippling as he breathed heavily in anticipation of where her hands and mouth would touch him.

She began stroking his broad chest, his flanks, the tops of his thighs, eliciting shivers of delight from him. She teased him with her open palms, with fingertips and grazing nails, admiring his restraint, for she knew well that he was straining to keep still, the shivering of his flesh where she touched him the only thing he could not control. But that control was shattered when her hand began stroking his penis. He arched up into her palm, a gasp of surprise escaping his unique lips.

He was still wet and slick from being inside her, and she eased her hand up and down his shaft firmly, exerting the slightest amount of pressure, wringing moans that were almost growls from deep in his throat. That sound always thrilled her to the core, and she knew herself guilty of teasing him until she forced that growl to emerge. Soon after, she took him into her mouth, tasting herself on him, and swirled her tongue around the broad head of his penis. There was no way she could hold all of him in her mouth … or her hand, for that matter … but he didn’t seem to mind. She relished the opportunity to focus solely on his pleasure for a short while, before the sensations would become too much for him, and he would need to be inside her again to quench the fire she was deliberately stoking within him.

Tonight, he surprised her, though. He didn’t seek to couple immediately, as he usually did when she loved him with her mouth and hands. Instead, she found herself lifted onto her back, and he placed himself low between her legs, his mouth seeking her center. She knew he craved the taste of the mingled nectar of their lovemaking – in some odd way it was confirmation for him that what had happened between them was no dream, not if every sense was engaged … seeing the evidence, inhaling the intoxicating aroma of it, touching and tasting at the same time, wringing the soft moans of pleasure from her that his mouth incited. And oh, how she loved the feel of his tongue as he lapped against her tender flesh, focusing on the nub that was the seat of so much sensation for her.

Her thighs quivered and her breath came in short gasps, rapture suffusing her from the inside out. Burying her fingers in the mass of tousled hair that hid his face from her view, she held him tightly to her core, rubbing against his mouth, silently begging for his tongue to enter her – that long, agile tongue of his. He obliged her, one strong knuckle replacing his tongue to continue teasing her nub.

A moment of that was all it took for fireworks to explode within her. She arched into him, moaning his name over and over, and he stayed where he was, coaxing every last spark of ecstasy to surge through her. And when she whimpered of her need for him to be inside her … now … he rose to his knees, his shaft steely with his own need, and turned her so that she faced the pillow before, one strong arm under her, he lifted her to her hands and knees in front of him.

Catherine opened herself to him, and as he eased inside her for the second time that night, once more they sighed in rapture. With his hands on her hips, keeping her perfectly positioned to ensure her the most intense pleasure, Vincent began to move within her, even as he bent to kiss the creamy skin of her buttocks and the dip of her lower back. Soon his strokes became deeper, more powerful, and Catherine felt herself open more fully to accept all of him, glorying in the feeling of sheathing him fully, large as he was. For he was hers, and she wanted every magnificent inch of him.

She was so attuned to his lovemaking that she felt the quickening of his orgasm just before he spasmed inside her and shuddered from the exquisite release. He laid his upper torso over Catherine’s back, panting heavily, his hands moving from her hips to her breasts, teasing and massaging them. He stayed draped over her, his shaft still deep within her, rocking ever so gently. When he could feel her body tensing, needing release, one hand slid down to her clitoris, and he teased her there while his other hand remained at her breasts. Catherine pressed back against him, rubbing her backside wantonly against him as he continued to caress her within and without. Nearly incoherent with the pleasure of it, she gasped out his name like a mantra, over and over, and faster and faster, while his fingers kept up the rhythm she set. Moments later, another fiery orgasm rippled through her, the shockwaves igniting Vincent’s need once more.

And so they continued long into the night and the early hours of the next morning, giving and receiving pleasure, loving each other with such intensity, such hunger, each moment a treasure, each time as if their first, until exhaustion claimed them.

Their limbs were interlaced in sleep; they would not relinquish their mutual treasure even to Morpheus. They had seized their second chance for happiness and would never let it slip away.  For this was how they were always meant to be – two halves of one being, one spirit, deeply intertwined in every way, their bodies mere metaphors for their souls’ inextricable Bond.