Faint breaks in the inky sky heralded a new day dawning as Vincent left the world Above behind and slipped noiselessly into the nearest tunnel entrance. Another half an hour and it would have been too dangerous for him to return Below. Too dangerous for his physical safety to return, and too dangerous for his emotional stability to stay.

He breathed deeply, endeavouring to calm his ragged emotions, half closing his eyes as he walked. He didn’t need the power of sight to guide him to his chamber. The now silent passages and tunnels were as familiar to him as his own body…and as Catherine’s innermost feelings.

When he arrived in his chamber, the ancient clock showed a quarter of four. Vincent removed his cloak and padded vest before laying down on the bed. It was hardly worth undressing further since he was due to lead a work party to the lower levels in just over two hours.  Feeling uncomfortably warm, however, Vincent opened his shirt, welcoming the cool air on his bare skin. The need to ease the tension in his overheated body was becoming a daily occurrence now, and had nothing whatever to do with the temperature outside. There had, in fact, been a trace of frost on the car windshields parked in the street outside Catherine’s building tonight.

Vincent was well aware of the reason for his discomfort. It was the same reason his head was pounding, and an infinitely more private part of his anatomy begged for release from a pressure which was rapidly becoming intolerable. He lifted an arm and rested it across his eyes to eclipse the amber glow of candlelight from the passage beyond, and tried to dismiss the torment in his body, but the harder he tried, the more his thoughts returned to Catherine. Images of her naked and astride him, begging him to satisfy the desire which continually surprised him but which he knew she felt, plagued his tortured mind and he growled softly, forcing his head further back on the pillow and opening his mouth slightly to ease his rapid breathing in the forlorn hope that this time he’d be able to channel his thoughts in a different direction before they escalated out of control.

Vincent was no stranger to acute sexual frustration. As an adolescent beginning the transition from boy to man, he’d suffered dreadfully; mortified when he began to experience ‘wet dreams’, believing he’d done something terrible;  yet he was unable to confide in anyone. It wasn’t until he’d overhead Devin and some wise-cracking friends one day during a swim at the Mirror Pool, that Vincent finally understood he hadn’t been singled out for some bizarre and distressing kind of ritual after all, and that what was happening to him was no different than what every other boy his age experienced.  It didn’t make him feel a whole lot better when Devin told him what to do about it, but for a while he accepted the solution.

The problem gradually reasserted itself, however, as his friends gradually began to find release with girls, usually in the world Above since Father strongly disapproved of sex between the younger members of the tunnel community unless there was an intent to marry. Vincent found, as with so many other things in his life, that he was the only one unable to find fulfilment in the usual way since Father had explained in a manner which caused both of them acute embarrassment, that this was highly unlikely in view of Vincent’s ‘differences’.  The risk involved to both parties weighed heavily against the temporary physical pleasure such action provided. The conversation, though well-intentioned, not only sparked Vincent’s insecurities about himself, but forced him to confront his sexuality and a way of dealing with it, since as far as he was concerned, if he couldn’t find release by making reciprocal love with a woman, then he had no desire to achieve it by any other method. It was at this point that Vincent decided that if the right to love and be loved was to be denied him, then perhaps he had no right to feel the urges which preceded such an act…and he began to suffer as a result of this belief.

As far back as the night with Devin, which had resulted in his brother being scarred for life, Vincent had been aware of his unusual strength and the need for iron self-control.  To him, this was merely something else which needed to be suppressed.  And he had been relatively successful, relying on his ability to control his body and his feelings and drawing on his tremendous willpower not to allow painful situations to surface any more often than was absolutely necessary.

Naturally there had been times during the years when he had been forced to resort to the teenage palliative, but these occasions had been followed by such agonising feelings of shame and degradation, that generally Vincent had opted for strength of will and the occasional cold shower when all else failed.

Then Catherine had entered his life…he had fallen deeply in love…and suddenly everything had turned topsy turvy.

For a long time Vincent had pushed aside all thoughts of a sexual relationship with her.  The prospect of her actually reciprocating his love and wanting to share her body with him had seemed as much of a fantasy as his dreams were even now.  But that was exactly what had happened, and now, every time they met, Vincent was finding it harder and harder to resist her attempts to make love with him.  It was as though all the years of battling to keep his sexuality submerged, fell away the moment he felt her desire for him.  Even the lightest touch of her hand on him had become exquisite torture.  And whenever she rubbed his chest or back through his clothes, as she often did, he became aroused so quickly and powerfully that it was physically painful.

He knew she tried, on some level, to control herself;  that she understood how uncomfortable it made him, but she wanted him so desperately that sometimes the onslaught of her emotions took his breath away.  He didn’t understand why she felt that way about him when, in Vincent’s opinion, she could have had any man in the world, but he knew it to be true…felt it…and she told him so almost every time they met.  But he was so terribly afraid to let himself love her that way.  He feared the Beast would take over and hurt her…maybe even kill her, when he lost himself in passion.  And that would destroy Vincent more decisively and swiftly than any weapon.

Their love for each other was now so intense that Vincent was beginning to feel torn between the need to see her;  to be with her…and the intolerably volatile situation it seemed to create every time, merely by their physical proximity.

* * *

Vincent drew his left knee up, hoping a slightly different position would ease his discomfort, but it was a futile gesture.  He clutched at the mattress and began to turn his head back and forth on the pillow, distraught at being unable to discipline his thoughts now as he once had.  As his swollen organ continued throb agonisingly, increasing the pressure in the lower part of his body to an unbearable level, Vincent stifled a roar; his hand inching towards the zipper on his pants.  Tears of angry frustration squeezed from his eyes and, when a sharp pain suddenly pierced his groin, Vincent knew he could stand no more.  Torn between his need for immediate release and the same of degrading Catherine’s image with such an action, he leapt from the bed, tearing at his clothes and rushed blindly into his adjoining bathchamber where, turning on the crude shower, he leaned against the cold rock wall;  chest heaving as he gasped for breath and prayed that the water pounding with such force against his fevered body, would provide relief before he was forced to use his own hand to perform the task.  He almost made it.

Minutes later, Vincent climbed a little unsteadily out of the ancient claw-footed iron bath and dried himself, burying his face for several seconds in the comforting softness of the huge towel, and for the fourth time in two weeks, mentally berated himself for allowing the situation to get out of control.  Back in his main chamber he pulled a clean, heavy cotton night-shirt over his head and crawled wearily into bed.  His adrenaline-charged heart was still pumping unnaturally fast, but at least Vincent knew now he’d be able to sleep…until the headache which had begun earlier, escalated into a full blown migraine and woke him with a sadistic promise to linger well into the next day.  Perhaps if he lay very still and made his mind a blank.

* * *

The pale blue silk sheets beckoned seductively, but Catherine’s mood was one of frustration and sadness. Earlier, Vincent had allowed her to draw him into the living room, apparently more comfortable now to cross what she knew he considered to be the threshold to her world. They had spent five hours together; five beautiful, precious, wonderful hours. At 3 am Catherine had slipped her arms around him and, unable to stop herself, whispered into his neck the words that had, once again, sent him scurrying home like a terrified deer. Why the hell had she done it? She knew how it distressed him to hear her talk like that. Vincent, please;  you know how much I love you. I know deep inside you want to as much as I do…please love me, Vincent… please? You damn fool Chandler.

It had happened four times now in the past two weeks. They would be close; closer than ever before. They would cuddle up together on the couch and he would allow her to touch him; his face, his neck and, with the insulating protection of three layers of clothing, his chest and shoulders…to hold him tightly as he did her. She knew it amazed him that she wanted to touch him; that he enjoyed it when she did and they had, actually, made progress. He was occasionally instigating the kisses now. But it was ever since that first kiss, which had robbed their lungs of air and left them trembling in each other’s arms, that Vincent had re-erected the previous barrier between them. True it was now a little lower and less rigid, but it still existed. He allowed her to penetrate it a fraction, and then it was as if someone had suddenly walked in on them, so swift was his withdrawal from the moment of intimacy. And tonight he had withdrawn not only from the embrace but completely…returned Below to compose himself again.

Catherine undressed and climbed miserably into bed. If only she hadn’t allowed herself to get so carried away. Like a fool, she had draped herself across his lap on the couch while they talked and read to each other. When her eyes grew sleepy from reading, she had put the book aside and snuggled deeper into Vincent’s arms. With her nose against his throat, inhaling the scent of his hair and skin, she was suffused in his unique sensuality;  a sensuality intensified by his proximity and she had begun to probe inside the edges of his quilted vest as they talked, searching for an opening in his shirt. She’d wanted so much to feel the warm skin of his pectoral muscles through the golden hair that covered them. Almost immediately she had felt him stiffen and swell beneath her; his breathing pattern changed and she felt his heartbeat accelerate under her hand, and a small spark of hope had ignited within her. Was it possible that tonight he would…

As her fingertip gently probed the silky fur and located the firm nipple concealed within, he had risen so abruptly that if he hadn’t caught her in one powerful arm, she would have fallen. Then, with a muttered apology, he had departed, leaving Catherine feeling rejected, frustrated, and angry at both of them.

As a tear fell unchecked onto the blue silk, Catherine stroked the pillow under her cheek as if it were his beloved face. If only he weren’t so damn sexy. Just looking at him made her heart race and the rest of her body react in ways that men in the past had needed to work at for hours.

“Oh, Vincent, what are we going to do?” she murmured, the material of the pillow, now moistened to a darker shade of blue by her tears and reminding her, in her sorrow, of Vincent’s eyes.

* * *

Vincent drained his cup and pushed his breakfast plate away. He’d brought a cup of coffee and a muffin from the kitchen to eat in the quiet of his chamber before beginning work. He didn’t feel much like eating, but it would be many hours before lunch and he knew the task ahead that day and for several weeks to come would be arduous and uncomfortable. He would need all his considerable strength.

Father appeared in the doorway, a bundle of maps under one arm. “You forgot these last evening, Vincent, so I decided to rise early and bring them to you myself.  Actually,” he explained, “it was just an excuse to share a cup of coffee with you as you’ll be away all day, but I see you’ve already finished.”

“I am sorry, Father. We need to begin early on this job or the remodelling will take months rather than weeks. It is not a task that any of us relish. Perhaps we can share supper instead.” Vincent pushed back his chair and stood up, the sudden movement producing another vicious stabbing pain behind his eyes, and he automatically touched the crease between his eyebrows. It was too much to hope that Father wouldn’t notice.

“Vincent? What is it? Surely not another migraine?”

Vincent rubbed a hand impatiently over his forehead. “No, just a slight headache,” he lied. “It is my own fault. I am afraid I lost track of time last night and had very little sleep.”

“You were with Catherine?”

“Yes.”

Father sighed and placed a hand on his son’s arm. “Sit down, Vincent.”

“No, there is no time. I must go.”

“Sit down, Vincent.”

Vincent shot a glance at the old man, feeling almost like a child again under that fierce, loving ever-parental glare. With a sigh of resignation he dropped back into the chair.

“The others will be waiting.”

“Then they will just have to wait until I tell them you’ll join them later. You can’t go breaking rock and manhandling piles of rubble if you’re not feeling well.”

Vincent flashed Jacob an irritated glare. “It is only a headache, Father. Nothing for you to concern yourself with. It will pass.”

“It will pass a lot quicker if you rest for a little while. Here…”  He plunged a hand into the mysterious depths of his robe and produced two pills which he offered to Vincent.

“You know as well as I do, Father, that taking painkillers is not a good idea…for me.”

“Then what do you suggest? They’re herbal salts, Vincent, they won’t hurt you, I’m sure. Here, take them.”  He held out his hand and Vincent grudgingly accepted the tablets, swallowing them quickly with a toss of his head as the old man waited patiently. “This is the third…no, fourth time in the last fortnight that you’ve had a migraine. You’re a bad liar, Vincent. What do you think is causing them? They haven’t troubled you like this for years.”

“Since my adolescence…and Lisa,” Vincent murmured, more to himself than his father, as sudden unwelcome memories surfaced.

“My thoughts exactly. And have you drawn any parallels between that time in your life and what is happening now?”

“No.  None.”

“Really? I would have said the situation then bore certain similarities to what has become an integral part of your life now.”

“If you mean Catherine, then say so!” Vincent’s reply was harsher than he had intended, and when Father jumped, his remorse was immediate. “I apologise, Father. I should not have spoken to you that way.”

“I understand, Vincent. But I am worried about you. I know something is wrong.”

“It is nothing for you to concern yourself with, Father. I just…please, can we let the matter rest?”

The old man sighed and patted Vincent’s shoulder affectionately. “If you insist. As long as you do the same. Lie down for an hour…half an hour,” he amended, as Vincent began to protest. “Give those tablets time to work. You’ll get far more work done in the long run.”

Vincent gave a faint smile of submission and inclined his head, acknowledging the wisdom of his parent’s words.

* * *

By the following morning Catherine was considerably more cheerful. She had forgiven Vincent for leaving and was even now looking forward impatiently to the evening.  She wasn’t completely sure if he’d come, but if he did, she would be ready for him.  She wouldn’t mess up this time. With a much lighter heart she went to work, only to find Joe in a foul mood and looking for someone to take it out on.

“Hey, nice of you to show up, Radcliffe.  I was starting to think you’d maybe decided to take the day off.”

Catherine glanced at her watch; she was barely three minutes late. Men!  She began to wonder if the entire male population had taken a vote to make her life a misery.  Throwing her briefcase on the desk, she turned her sweetest smile on her superior.

“Good morning, Joe. Isn’t it a beautiful day? Give me five minutes and I’ll bring you coffee and you can fill me in on the Travis case. That was what you were working on last night when I left, wasn’t it?” As the words left her mouth she realised her mistake.

“Yeah.” He folded his arms across his chest and adopted an aggressive stance. “And let me tell you, I could’a used a little help from my best Assistant D.A. on this one, but where were you? At home, that’s where!”

With a tremendous effort, Catherine retained her sweet disposition. “I didn’t leave until 6.45 Joe. I do have a private life, you know.”

“Yeah, and don’t we know it! Every day now, you come in here looking like you haven’t been to bed all night…or should I say, haven’t slept all night!”

The patient, sunny smile disappeared and was replaced by fire in the emerald eyes, but Joe hadn’t finished.  “I don’t know where this guy takes you, Radcliffe, but he must be a selfish son of a bitch to keep you out half the night when you have to work the next morning. What is he anyway…one of these intellectual types with so much money he figures the world owes him a living?” Joe adopted a knowing expression and wagged his index finger at her. “I’ll tell you, kiddo, I’ve met guys like that before. They talk real nice; read all the right books; listen to all that heavy music, but when it comes right down to it…I’m talking real life here…” He tapped his temple knowingly. “They’re as streetsmart as if they’d spent their whole lives underground. Jerks, all of them.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear any of that, Joe, because you’re obviously not yourself today,” Catherine replied in a tightly controlled voice. “But if you’re telling me that my private life is affecting my work, then…”

“Save it. You can bet your ass I’ll let you know when it does.” And on that note, he turned on his heel and marched angrily into his office, slamming the door and making everyone in the room jump and exchange raised eyebrows.

Noticing all eyes were riveted uncomfortably upon her, Catherine struggled for an appropriate response. “Don’t worry about it…it’s the time of the month,” she quipped, forcing her lips into a tight smile.

* * *

The water from the shower was hot and invigorating after a long, tiring day at work.  Catherine stood still for a full three minutes, just allowing the pounding jet spray to find all the aches and pains and gently soothe them away. Only once did she imagine the relief came from Vincent’s hands, and as soon as she realised the direction her thoughts had taken, she shook her head and  concentrated instead on making him feel relaxed and comfortable when he arrived, and not as if he were being drawn into her bed like a fly to a spider’s web. She did understand his feelings. Sure, she was frustrated by them, but she loved him desperately and she’d rather have him this way, any way, than not at all. And Catherine suspected that if she pushed him too hard, he might just turn tail and run for good next time.

Stepping out of the shower, she dried herself on a huge, fluffy towel and then returned to the bedroom to blow-dry her hair. Her toilet routine complete, she yanked open the closet doors to peer at her clothes. What on earth would be appropriate tonight? She didn’t want to frighten Vincent by wearing something blatantly sexy. Maybe the gray sweatsuit. On the other hand, she didn’t want to put him off completely…she looked like a schoolgirl going to aerobic classes in that outfit. Suddenly she spotted a soft, clingy purple dress she hadn’t worn in a while. It was quite short and figure hugging, but with a demure, frilled high neck and matching cuffs. Perfect.

Catherine brushed her hair, added a trace of lavender eyeshadow and pinky-mauve lipstick and separated her lashes with a few strokes of brown mascara. A light spray of Vincent’s favourite perfume completed the effect, and as she passed the mirror she was pleased with the end result. Appealingly attractive and extremely feminine, but certainly not provocative.

Catherine sat down to wait for him and idly flipped through the TV Guide. Not really studying the complex list of channels, she was surprised and delighted when her eyes alighted on the entry showing that the classic old British movie Brief Encounter was showing at 9.30pm. She smiled. How many times had she wept into her hanky and, occasionally, the comforting arms of a man, while watching that? Never Vincent’s though. She wondered if he’d ever seen it. Probably not. It was only on a rare occasion that Vincent went to the home of a Helper on a social basis. She decided to ask him if he’d like to watch it with her. It would make a change from listening to music and reading to each other. Maybe he would feel more relaxed if they were both focusing their attention on something other than each other.

The tap on the French doors came at exactly 9.15, and Catherine’s heart performed its usual somersault of excitement and delight. She sprang up to unlock the doors and they stood, staring at each other, the mental and physical currents flowing between them with a force that was almost tangible.

“Catherine.”

“Oh, Vincent.”  She launched herself into his arms and felt him shudder as he buried his face in her hair. He held her so tightly she could barely breathe, and, moving her arms from his neck to his waist, she squeezed him with all her strength, needing to feel the hard, warm power of him against as much of her as possible.

“Can you ever forgive me, Catherine?” His voice was hoarse with pent-up emotion, and she pulled back to read the expression on his face.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Vincent.  t was my fault and I’m sorry. I just love you so much it’s hard for me sometimes to accept that your fears are very real to you. We both have to learn patience…me to wait until you’re ready to take our relationship to its logical conclusion, and you to understand that I want you so badly it hurts.” She pushed a small fist against the center of her chest. “Sometimes it’s an actual, physical pain!”

Vincent sucked in a lungful of air and raised tormented eyes to the star-studded sky above them. “Oh, I believe that, Catherine…I do. Do you imagine it is easier for me?  Do you not understand how much I want you…that way…too?”  He looked down into her eyes and she saw they were glistening with barely repressed tears.

“You do?”

He took her hands and pressed them to his heart. “I feel your…desire…for me, Catherine. It torments my every waking moment…and my dreams, too. And it is my greatest fear that if I cannot…or will not give you…what you desire so strongly, that you will tire of me and our restricted relationship and search for someone who will give you…everything you need.”

His voice shook slightly, and under her palms, Catherine could feel his heart thumping against his ribs as if it were about to burst from his chest. She stroked him lovingly, trying to soothe his torment, noting with faint irritation that over his shirt he was wearing a high-necked suede tunic with no visible fastenings, and secured tightly around his middle with a wide, heavy belt. He was obviously taking no chances tonight. Knowing he would sense even the vaguest emotion in his present state, she banished such thoughts from her mind and reached up to tenderly kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, Vincent, don’t you know that no one else could give me what I need. I love you…only you. There will never be anyone else for me now  I live only for you…I yearn to lie beside you, to feel you inside me, but…”

“Please, Catherine!” Vincent’s expression was one of unbearable anguish and he shook his head from side to side.

“But, Vincent…even if you never get past these fears — and I believe that together, with patience, we will conquer them – I would rather live for the rest of my life with what we have now, than lose you. Do you believe me?”

Vincent stared down at her, his expression betraying the wonder at the depth of her love. Suddenly he crushed her to him, unable to speak, and they held each other for long moments, each savouring the love emanating from the other.

Eventually, when she was reasonably sure her voice would remain steady, Catherine stepped back and reached up to touch his cheek. “And now, Vincent, what do you say we go inside and watch a wonderful old movie on TV? A real weepie. I warn you, you’ll need a box of Kleenex!”

He tilted his head slightly and smiled his gentle, half-smile. “Do you think we need more tears in our lives, Catherine?”

“Oh, but these are good tears.”

“You mean there is a happy ending?”

“Well…not exactly. But it’s an incredible movie, I promise.” She took his hands and made to draw him inside. “Please Vincent?”

“If that is what you wish.” He allowed her to pull him into the room, and while she closed the drapes he removed his cloak.

“Sit down, Vincent,” she instructed. “I’ll just be a minute;  I’ve got some wine cooling.  Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be right back.”

When she returned, Catherine was carrying a tray containing a bottle of Chardonnay, two tall glasses and a bowl of dry-roasted peanuts. She handed the corkscrew to Vincent, who made short work of opening the bottle and filling both glasses. Linking her arm through his, Catherine stared into his crystal-blue eyes. “To us, Vincent.  Health and happiness now and always.”

“Always. You look very beautiful tonight, Catherine.”

“So do you.  I love you.”

“And I you.  You…make my heart sing.”

Catherine smiled. “Like the song.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You make my heart sing, is part of a song.”

“Really?”

“Mm hmm.  It goes…” Catherine pouted and adopted the movements of a sultry pop singer as she sang,‘Wild thing…you make my heart sing. You make e-v-e-r-y-thing…

g-r-o-o-v-y.’ Humming a few bars of music, she continued, ‘Wild thing I…think I love you…but I wanna know for sure.’ Catherine pretended to strum a guitar and hummed again before putting both hands on Vincent’s shoulders and purring sensually into his ear, ‘I love you.’

Vincent’s eyes widened in amazement and he perched on the edge of the couch, obviously not knowing quite what to make of this unusual musical display. He had heard her sing once before; a gentle lullaby when a terrible plague had ravaged the tunnels and they had lost Ellie; and he had occasionally caught her by surprise humming softly as she sat on the balcony waiting for him on a summer’s evening.  This, however, was something very different, and revealed a whole new side of Catherine.

She laughed delightedly at his startled expression, and hugged him. He looked so adorably innocent and not a bit like the wild thing they both knew he could be at times.

“That was…enchanting, Catherine,” he stammered.

“Good. Because the words describe exactly how I feel about you. Now, how about this movie? Are you ready?” He nodded and leaned back on the couch with his glass.  Catherine aimed the remote at the TV set and selected the correct channel just in time to see Celia Johnson hurrying into the station buffet for the fateful meeting with Trevor Howard, when he would remove the speck of dust from her eye and embark on a relationship destined to bring them both joy and pain in equal measure.

Curled up beside Vincent, but not too closely, she sneaked occasional glances at him.  His expression was unfathomable as he worked his way quietly through the dry-roasted peanuts. She refilled their glasses once, but when she raised the bottle again, he covered his glass with his hand.

“I think not, Catherine…thank you.”

“What’s the matter?  You’re not driving tonight, are you?”

He chuckled softly.

“Does scaling eighteen floors of a tower block count?” Catherine giggled and kissed his downy nose.

“I guess it probably does. You’re right. I want you clear-headed when you leave.”

“Perhaps I will just have half a glass. You know how alcohol affects me. I am unused to it.”

“Yes, I know that, Vincent. I remember Father’s birthday party. Honestly…one drink and you’re anybody’s!”

He reached out an arm and pulled her across his lap. “And why should I not dance with one of the loveliest girls in the room?”

Catherine snuggled happily into his neck. “I don’t care how many girls you dance with…as long as when they’re in your arms their feet are as far from the floor as Samantha’s were!”

Since Vincent seemed totally relaxed now, Catherine stayed where she was for the rest of the movie, pressed close to his chest, and, as the credits began to roll, she grabbed a tissue and sniffed tearfully into his shoulder. “Oh, I know it’s silly, but it’s so sad.  Hold me, Vincent.”

He obliged, tightening his arm about her. “An impossible love.  Something that was never meant to be,” he said thoughtfully.

“But they loved each other!”

“And what of her husband? Can even such a love be right when it brings pain to others?”

Catherine dried her eyes and locked them with Vincent’s. “All I know is, I wouldn’t have given you up for anything.”

“Even if you had been married when we met?”

“Yes. Even then  I would have had no choice…Vincent, I would have been married to the wrong man. You are my one true love…you’re already my husband in my heart.”

“Oh, Catherine.”

Vincent bent his head and touched his lips to hers, softly at first.  Then, when her hands tangled in his hair and she twisted in his arms, crushing her breasts into his chest, he increased the pressure of his mouth and his arms, caressing her through the purple dress until she felt as though she was floating in a sea of velvet covered pine needles, soft but faintly painful in its increasing stimulation. It was the most exciting sensation Catherine had ever experienced.

Suddenly, Vincent drew back, panting. “No, Catherine!” he gasped. “This must not be…you ask too much of me. I must go.”

“Not again, Vincent, please! Please stay with me;  I love you…it’ll be all right, I promise!”

He released her and sprang to his feet, his eyes glittering with frustration and anger as he glared down at her. “You cannot promise me, Catherine…I cannot make that promise even to myself!”

“I’m sorry. It was my fault…again. I never meant to do it, Vincent, I just…you just make me feel so…”

He held out his hands and pulled her gently to her feet, his voice gentle again. “I know how you feel, Catherine, believe me. But I am the one to blame. It is I who should apologise to you. It seems I cannot even kiss you now without…”

He dropped his head in shame and, leaning closely into him as they stood together Catherine suddenly understood. She yearned to touch him, to stroke the part that he felt had betrayed and shamed him, but she knew that would be the worst possible thing she could do. Already he had retreated a step, as if the contact with her body while physically aroused, burned him. Reaching up, she touched his cheek and placed the lightest of kisses on his mouth. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Yes.  If you wish.”

“Of course I wish!” Catherine dropped her hand on to his chest and rubbed gently… affectionately, hoping to soothe him. He allowed this for a moment and then, taking her hands in his, kissed them quickly and was gone…frustrated and tense yet again, Catherine knew.

* * *

Vincent scrambled down the last few feet of the elevator shaft and emerged into the darkness outside, mingling with the shadows of the alley. As he made his way swiftly and silently, he fought to get himself under control and waited for the frustration and ever-present struggle within to manifest itself in the now familiar throbbing behind his eyes. It did not fail him, but before he had time to reflect on the wisdom of promising to see Catherine the next evening, a scream nearby made him spin around.  It sounded as if it had come from the next street.  Keeping to the cover of the tall buildings, Vincent ran towards the sound. As he turned the corner he saw two figures wrestling with a woman they had knocked to the ground.

With a stifled roar, Vincent pounced on one of the men and, with the flexing of a wrist, lifted him off his feet. The look of horror on the pale, sweating face almost made Vincent turn and run. He was so sick of seeing that expression. It was always the same and, for those few seconds, it almost made him want to die. As the dual personalities that made Vincent the man he was battled inside him, a groan and the sound of sobbing brought him back to the matter at hand.  At that instant the other man jumped on his back and kicked at Vincent’s legs. As he growled his anger and swatted the man away, the perpetrator jumped with both feet in the air and grabbed a huge handful of Vincent’s hair, yanking his head back cruelly.

The red mist began to swirl before Vincent’s eyes, exacerbated by the pain across his throat as the man continued to swing on his hair. In his right hand, the first man was babbling and striking out ineffectually with his arms. In one motion, Vincent hurled him across the road where he landed amongst some trash cans, and after a second or two, lay still. Reaching around his body, Vincent snatched at the other man.

Realising he was now the only target, he released Vincent’s hair and screamed his terror to the night. Vincent brought his arm down once and his victim dropped like a stone. There  was no blood and he was still breathing, for which Vincent was thankful, and it gave him time to tend to the injured woman. Dropping to one knee, he spoke gently.

“Are you badly hurt? Come…let me help you. Do not be afraid.” A pretty, tear-stained face lifted to look at her rescuer, but Vincent pulled his hood closer across his face.  “No, do not look at me. You may be further frightened by my appearance. Can you stand?”

Gingerly she tried to get up, with Vincent’s strong arm around her waist. “Th-thank you,” she gasped. “They…they wanted money, and when I told them I only had ten dollars, they seemed to go crazy. I t-told them they could have the credit cards in my purse and that’s when you came along. You saved my life. Who are you?”

“My name is Vincent. Would you tell me your name?” At that moment she fainted and Vincent caught her, lifting her into his arms. He glanced around anxiously, realising he’d have to get out of sight quickly, and there was only one option open to him. He could hardly abandon the unconscious woman on the sidewalk. He would have to take her with him.

Vincent’s swiftly moving figure glided through the streets towards the park and safety.  He had one bad moment when, turning a corner, he spotted a group of youths clustered around the outside of a seedy diner, but he managed to double back and take a different route before they saw him.

By the time he reached the park the woman was coming to. Vincent ran across the grass and down toward the drainage culvert, his speed causing the concealing hood to fall from his head. Long tresses of honey-coloured hair streamed out behind him as he dived into the tunnel entrance and he heard a gasp from the woman in his arms.

“Wh-what are you?” she cried, her voice small and full of apprehension.

“I am…what you see,” Vincent replied. “I can only ask you to trust me. This is my home. My father is a doctor and he will take care of you. Please, I beg you, do not be afraid of me.” He stretched out an arm to move the lever at the iron gateway and slipped through with his burden, closing it behind him.

Father met them at the entrance to the hospital chamber, having been alerted by the sentry on duty that Vincent was on his way with a stranger. “Who is this, Vincent?” he rasped, “and why have you brought her here?  Time and time again I have asked you not to bring strangers into our world, but you continue to flout our rules!”

“She is hurt, Father. I could not leave her alone up there to fall prey again to those who attacked her.” It seemed to both Vincent and Father that this conversation had taken place many times in the last few years. Vincent’s compassion simply would not allow him to leave someone alone and vulnerable in the world Above. Jacob looked at the young woman, who regarded him anxiously.

“I’m sorry if Vincent has broken your rules by bringing me here,” she whispered. “If this place is secret, I won’t tell anyone, I promise. I believe those men would have killed me, or at least hurt me very badly if Vincent hadn’t come along. He’s been so gentle and kind.”

The old man tapped his stick on the floor in exasperation, but when he raised his eyes to his son, Vincent saw the anger had evaporated as he knew it would. “Yes.  He would be. His kindness is boundless and will doubtless be his undoing one of these days.”  He touched Vincent’s arm with affection, clearly relieved to have him safely home again. “Come along then, let’s see what the trouble is.”

They went into the hospital chamber and were soon joined by Mary to offer her comfort to the young woman who had received such cruel treatment Above. Vincent set down his burden gently on the bed and straightened, lifting a hand to his neck.

As usual, Father missed nothing that had to do with his beloved son. “Are you all right, Vincent?  Were you also hurt in this altercation tonight?”

“No, Father, it is nothing.” Vincent waved a hand dismissively.

“Please allow me to be the judge of that.” As his parent raised a hand to investigate, Vincent gently disentangled himself from Jacob’s ministrations. “Please, Father. I am not the one who needs your help. This is your patient.”

“Hmmm.  I’ve heard that before. Very well, we’ll talk about it later.”

To Vincent’s relief, Father returned his attention to the young woman, and after a thorough examination, pronounced that she had sustained only superficial cuts and bruises and would be fit to return home after a couple of days rest. She told them that her name was Jennifer and that she had been trying to hail a taxi when she had been attacked. Her date had called for one from the restaurant where they were dining when he’d been called away urgently, but it hadn’t arrived, and she’d decided, foolishly, she now admitted…to walk to the next block and try to hail a cab from there.

Father launched into a lecture on the inadvisability of such a decision until interrupted by Mary, who suggested, diplomatically, that she was sure Jennifer had learned her lesson and now needed to sleep.

The following morning Vincent received a message that Jennifer wished to speak with him if he had a moment. He was about to join the others in the work party, but, as always, was unable to refuse a request for his attention.

“Oh, Vincent! Come in, please.”

He entered the guest chamber and pulled up a chair beside the bed. “I am happy to see you looking so well, Jennifer.”

To Vincent’s surprise, she reached out and took his hand. “I just wanted to thank you… apologise if I was rude to you when I…”

“When you first saw me. Do not concern yourself, Jennifer…I am used to it. In fact, I have had much worse reactions than yours. Can I assume you are not frightened of me now?”

“Oh, Vincent.” She smiled. “I never was afraid of you. How could I be? You probably saved my life. I was just…startled for a moment. I have never seen anyone like you before.”

He laughed softly and bowed his head. “With luck, Jennifer, you never will again. I believe I am one of a kind. Now, you should rest and I must go to work.” He rose and made to leave, but she held on to his hand.

“I will see you again before I go?”

“Of course. I will see you at dinner tonight.”

“Good. Thank you, Vincent.”

* * *

Catherine looked up to see Joe standing in front of her desk, his arms wrapped around a brown bag, and a sheepish look on his face.

“What’ve you got in there?” she asked.

“Coffee. And jelly donuts…two for you and two for me.”

“Two!” Catherine cried. “Is this some diabolical plot to make me look like an elephant?”

Joe grinned. “You don’t have to worry about your figure, Radcliffe. No, it’s just my way of apologising for acting like a jerk yesterday. I jumped all over you and you didn’t deserve it.”

Catherine smiled, her affection for Joe, despite his sometimes brusque attitude, surfacing to close the mental gap between them again. “Apology accepted. And you were right… I was late.”

“Yeah, right. Three minutes. C’mon Cathy, I don’t apologise too often; make the most of it, okay?”

Catherine beamed and accepted the two donuts, placing them on a sheet of paper from her drawer. “Okay. And thanks, Joe.”

He jerked his head towards his private office. “I’m taking your coffee in there Okay?”

Puzzled, but happy to accommodate him, Catherine nodded and stood up.“Sure, Joe.”

“Shut the door and take the weight off.”

Obediently, Catherine closed the door and sat down in the chair opposite Joe’s desk.

“What is it, Joe? You already apologised.”

Her boss leaned back in his chair and stretched a rubber band across his fingers as he swung his chair back and forth. “I’m worried about you, kiddo.”

“Worried about me? Why? I’m fine.”

“Yeah, so you keep telling me. Look Cathy, I know I was outta line yesterday with some of the things I said…”

“Some of the things you said?” Catherine couldn’t resist teasing Joe when he seemed uncomfortable about something.

“Okay, okay…ALL the things I said. But it just worries me that you look so tired all the time. You do have a man in your life, don’t you?”

“Yes, Joe.”

“And he’s ah, special. You love him, right?”

“Yes, Joe.”

“Uh huh, I figured as much. But can’t you see, Cathy, that if he really cared about you, he’d never let you stay up half the night when you have to work every day. I’m right about that.”

Catherine smiled sadly and shook her head. “No, Joe, you’re not.”

“How’d you figure that?”

“He doesn’t…he can’t get around in the daytime as much as he’d like to, so the time we spend together has to be at night.”

“What’s the problem? He got two heads or something!”  Joe laughed at his own joke, then stopped abruptly when Catherine dropped her head, pushing her hair back behind one ear and touching the scar which was still faintly visible.

“Please, Joe, can we drop it? I really need to get on the Travis case. We go to Court next week.”

Joe let out a sigh that said he knew he wasn’t going to get any further. “Okay.  Message received and understood. I’m just concerned for you, Cathy. I hope this guy loves you.”

She smiled the secret smile she always did when she thought about Vincent. “He does, Joe. I promise.”

Catherine stood up and opened the door, then paused and turned back to her boss.  Prompted by his remark, she had been imagining two manes of long, fair hair to tickle her face and thread through her fingers; two exotically sensual mouths to kiss;  and two sets of crystal blue eyes that made her insides dissolve just thinking about them.

“Oh, and in case you’re still wondering…he doesn’t have two heads. But if he did, I’d just love him twice as much…if that was possible.” With that, she swept out of the office, imagining the look of astonishment on Joe’s dear, familiar face.

* * *

When Vincent returned from work that evening, he was exhausted and filthy. The other men had gone ahead to fight over the bathing chambers and he was profoundly thankful that he was one of the privileged few to have his own private accommodation for washing. Many years earlier Father had decreed that his son’s acute embarrassment at his unusually hirsute, yet beautifully proportioned body, entitled him to a greater degree of privacy previously only enjoyed by himself, Mary, and a few of the more senior members of the community. At first, to Vincent’s dismay, this demonstration of ‘favouritism’ was resented by some of the older children, but it was short-lived, especially when Father reminded them of the limitations and restrictions Vincent would have to endure for the rest of his life.

Vincent ran himself a tub of hot water and undressed, lowering his weary body into the water slowly, relishing its comforting, healing warmth. He leaned his head back against the rolled edge and loaded the sponge with water, leisurely squeezing it over his chest and shoulders. It was a luxury Vincent seldom permitted himself these days, since the ‘Heath Robinson’ shower devised by Mouse, was so much quicker. Tonight, however, since D.A. John Moreno had particularly requested Catherine’s presence at an official function, he had all the time in the world to relax before joining the rest of his family for their evening meal.

For the last six months they had seen each other almost every night, and as much as Vincent would miss seeing her, he admitted to himself that a full night’s sleep and the absence of a sexual confrontation, could only be beneficial to both of them.

After the meal, Vincent returned to his chamber to pick up a book he had borrowed from Father and which he intended to return to his library. As he turned to leave, Jennifer passed by the doorway and stopped.

“Vincent! I was hoping I’d see you. Seeing as how I’ve been provided with everything I need to make tea and coffee in my room…almost like a Holiday Inn…how about letting me make one for you and I?”

“I would enjoy that.  Thank you.”

She juggled with delicate china and a terracotta coffee jar which had been manufactured right there in the tunnels by someone many years before, and soon had a cup of coffee poured for both of them. She added cream at his nod, and shyly handed one to Vincent, gesturing for him to sit down next to her.

“I wanted to talk to you, Vincent,” she explained, “to thank you properly for helping me, and…well, frankly, just talk to you. I’ve been hearing so much about you today.  You’re quite something, you know, according to every single person I’ve spoken with…quite a hero actually.”

Her smile warmed Vincent’s heart and he blushed, dropping his eyes briefly. “Samantha,” he surmised. “I know I should not have favourites among the children, but she is such a wonderful little girl. I am afraid she does occupy a special place in my heart and she knows it.  I believe she does think of me as some sort of hero, but then…she rarely goes Above,” he added in an amused explanation.

But Jennifer shook her head. “Oh, it wasn’t just Samantha…although she obviously adores you. No, I’ve been talking with a great many people today, Vincent; learning about you; how you came to live down here and…how you are unable to live in the outside world. Does it make you very unhappy?”

Vincent thought for a moment before replying. “No. I have lived here all my life knowing I would never be able to leave. It is my home. I confess I have often experienced feelings of…suffocation…frustration even, as I grew older, but not any more. At least, not for the same reasons…not for myself.”

Jennifer bent her head to look into Vincent’s lowered eyes. “Do you have a lady down here, Vincent?”

“Not down here.”

“Oh…you mean you have someone…up there…in the city?”

“Yes.”

“Is she…are you…I mean, do you love her?”

Vincent took a deep breath before answering; all his emotions for Catherine surfacing suddenly and threatening to spill over. “With all that I am. She has opened up another world for me. I feel as if my life truly began from the moment I met her.”

“And she loves you too?”

“Yes. Is that difficult for you to believe?”

Jennifer immediately reached out and touched his hand for a moment, her smile as warm as Vincent imagined the sun would feel on his face. “Oh no, Vincent. I think you would be the easiest person in the world to love. But you seem sad. Has she upset you…your lady friend? Have the two of you had a fight?”

He dropped his head, shaking it in denial, and the golden mane redistributed itself around his shoulders. “She needs…more…from our relationship than I feel able to give.”

“You mean; forgive me for being blunt, Vincent, but diplomacy was never my strong suit…she wants commitment from you, but you’re not completely certain you’re ready to give it.”

He looked up quickly, anxious to dispel any possible misunderstanding. “No! She is my life…I would die for her. My commitment to her is total and forever.”

Jennifer stroked his hand gently and he saw tears shining in her eyes. “Oh, Vincent, what a lucky lady she is. You are a very special man, and I know she must be special too, to have won your love. Vincent, I go back home tomorrow. I’ve enjoyed being here and meeting everyone…especially you. I hope we’re friends now because I’d really like to come back and visit, you know?”

He covered her hand with his own. “I would consider it an honour to count you among my friends, Jennifer. Please…come and visit whenever you wish.”

“I’ll hold you to that and come down Friday evening for an hour or so if that’s okay. I don’t want to lose…any of you now that I’ve found you all. And don’t worry, Vincent.  I won’t say a word to anyone about your world. Here…” She reached over to the bedside table and picked up a scrap of paper. “This is my address and phone number. I want you to know that if ever you’re in trouble and need some place to go…or if you just want to talk…I’ll be here for you. Any time…day or night, okay?”

He didn’t know why, but somehow Vincent knew he could trust this woman;  confide in her if necessary, although it was a little too soon right now. In any case, he would prefer to resolve his ‘problem’ with Catherine alone if he could. Still, it was comforting to know that there was a Topsider he could trust and talk to if he felt the need. A woman, who would no doubt understand Catherine’s needs. Vincent knew he could always go to Mary for advice and support, although since she loved him as if he were her own child, she would probably always find it difficult to remain unbiased.  But Jennifer was a young woman, about Catherine’s age. She had probably experienced all the turmoil, uncertainty, love and…hunger that raged through Catherine now.

As Vincent nodded his thanks and stood up to leave, to his surprise, Jennifer placed a restraining hand on his arm and reached up to place a kiss on his cheek. It wasn’t a kiss masking unbridled lust or love; but it wasn’t entirely sisterly either. And while Vincent was unused to such feelings, he was aware that this woman did not find him unattractive. And he couldn’t help a faint flutter of pleasure touch his heart. But the overwhelming feelings that projected from her, were affection and friendship. She truly liked him and would do anything she could to help him, and for this, Vincent felt blessed.

That night, for the first time in over two weeks, he went to his bed without seeing Catherine…and without even a trace of a headache.

* * *

Catherine awoke feeling refreshed but vaguely empty, as if part of her was missing.  Last night had been the first time for ages that she hadn’t seen Vincent. Even on the odd occasion that she’d gone out to the theatre or for a meal with a friend, she had known that he’d be waiting for her on the balcony when she returned home. A large, dark figure blending into the shadows of the terrace just waiting for the doors to open and for her to run into the circle of his arms;  to press against the powerful solidity of him…and yearn for more. But not last night. Last night Joe had escorted Catherine to her door and waited while she went inside before returning to the waiting taxi.

She had still peeped out onto the terrace just in case. Then, smiling sadly at her apparent dependence on Vincent now…something she had never intended or even wanted…she had returned inside and prepared for bed.

Joe appeared before her in the middle of the morning, a pair of theatre tickets in his hand. “Someone just gave me these.  Second row stalls.  I can’t stand musicals… thought you might be able to make use of them.” Catherine took them. It was a show which had premiered in London to tremendous critical acclaim and run for three years before recently opening in New York. It wasn’t something she’d have killed for, but the prospect of such good seats, and without the hassle of booking, was tempting. She looked up at Joe, touched by his thoughtfulness.

“Why thank you, Joe.  But are you sure you won’t…”

He waved her protest aside. “No. Too heavy for me. Use them or give them away, although I bet it’s the kind of thing your boyfriend would enjoy. Hey, you did good last night, Radcliffe. Moreno said the Mayor was…let me see, how’d he put it…oh yeah, you’re a ‘delightful young lady’ and he was ‘quite taken with you’.

“Really?” Catherine grinned. “Maybe he wouldn’t have been quite so impressed if he’d known I was barefoot all through dinner.”

Joe lifted an enquiring eyebrow.

“New shoes,” she explained. “They were killing me, so as soon as we sat down I took them off and pushed them under my chair. Not very sophisticated but definitely more comfortable.”

Joe shook his head, grinning. “I gotta hand it to you, kiddo. When appearances count, you’re right up there, but those guys don’t know you like I do.”

“Thank goodness!” she laughed.

Suddenly the phone rang and Catherine excused herself, as Joe headed back to his office, shaking his head in amused affection.

“Yes?  Catherine Chandler.”

“Hi, Cathy.”

“Jen!  It’s good to hear your voice.”

“You, too. I had a call from Nancy. She’s invited us to go and stay the weekend after next, to celebrate Paul’s birthday. She was going to call you herself, but I said we were supposed to be doing lunch this week so I’d pass on the message. What d’you say?  Shall we go? I’ll bet you could use the break.”

“You win that bet. But a whole weekend away from the city? I don’t know, Jen. Can we talk about it over lunch?”

“Sure. I’m free today or Thursday.”

Catherine opened her desk diary and ran a finger down the page. “Today’s good for me.  How does one o’clock at Bonicci’s sound?”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you there. Ciao.”

“Bye, Jen.”

The prospect of seeing her friend cheered Catherine considerably, and she dragged the top file from the stack Joe had dumped on her desk earlier, preparing to tackle it with renewed enthusiasm.

Bonicci’s trattoria was a favourite haunt of Catherine and Jenny Aronsen, and the two women had shared everything there through the years; gossip, decision-making,  laughter, and even a few tears over platefuls of pasta and a bottle of wine. Today was no exception, and Catherine gesticulated with her fork as she recalled an evening with Tom Gunther some years ago at a function similar to the one the previous evening with the Mayor.

Jenny giggled and sipped her wine. “I guess even Tom had his moments. Although I can’t say I was sorry when you guys quit seeing each other. He’d never have made you happy, Cathy.”

“I know that now. Sometimes it scares me to think I might have married him if I hadn’t…” Catherine’s thoughts inevitably drifted back to the night she met Vincent, and the reason for it.

“If you hadn’t been attacked,” Jenny prompted gently, and Catherine nodded.

“Yes. My whole life changed that night, in so many ways.”

Lightly, she fingered the scar just in front of her left ear; the only visible reminder to her friends of what she’d endured at the hands of the men Vincent had later dealt with so effectively…the first time she’d seen what he was actually capable of when roused to that terrifying fury. She hated to see it; not so much for herself — although it was terrifying – but for what it did to him. Each time it happened it destroyed a little more of him and made it that much more difficult for him to accept that the greater part of him was the gentle, educated, compassionate man she knew him to be.

She knew also that lately their deepening need to consummate their love, was placing intolerable stress on him, fearful as he was, of losing control in a situation evoking intense emotion inside him. Catherine knew that if they were ever to have a chance of their happy life together, she had to help him through it; gently guide and encourage him; relieve the pressure she unintentionally imposed on him every time they met. But it wasn’t easy. She loved him so very much…desired him so strongly in an almost primeval, animalistic way. No other man had ever come close to making her feel the way Vincent did. And of course if Vincent were an ordinary man, the problem wouldn’t have existed. They would simply have made glorious love at every opportunity, and all their friends would have rejoiced when they married or set up home together.

But Vincent was a most extraordinary man, and as he himself had pointed out, together they were something that had never been.  Catherine knew they were treading an increasingly fine line now. She knew she was pushing Vincent almost beyond the point of endurance, and had begun to suspect that if anything could possibly drive them apart, and Vincent over the edge, it was their overwhelming desire for each other which he refused to satisfy. Years of repression and self-doubt held him back, and it was likely that their whole future together now depended on Catherine’s ability to handle Vincent’s emotional and physical state correctly, with infinite patience and love. Love wasn’t the problem. She had known for a long time now that Vincent was the only man for her. He sparked every emotion and fulfilled every need…with one notable exception…and Catherine was confident that as long as her patience equaled her love, they would, one day soon, take that final step in their relationship, thereby relieving Vincent of the worries of a lifetime.

“So, are you or aren’t you?”

Catherine realised Jenny had been talking all the time she’d been thinking about Vincent and was now waiting for an answer.

“I’m sorry, Jen. Am I or aren’t I what?”

Her friend laid down her fork and sat back in her chair. “Coming to Westport. You’re not, are you? It’s him again, isn’t it? You were thinking about him again just now.  Your face went all kind of wistful…like sad and happy at the same time, and I know you’re thinking about him.”

Catherine’s smile was one of embarrassed apology. “Jen, I’m sorry, really I am. I’d love to see Nancy and Paul and the kids, but…I can’t leave him, Jen…don’t want to leave him. Not even just for a weekend. Our time together is limited…so precious.”   She raised her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head helplessly. “Believe me, I know how I must sound. I don’t expect you to understand…only to accept. Can you do that for me, Jen?”

Jenny reached across the table and squeezed Catherine’s hand, a sudden lump forming in her throat for reasons she couldn’t quite explain. “Of course I can accept. And don’t underestimate me; I’m still learning to understand, but I’ll get there. I know I envy what you have, Cathy. Your love just radiates from you. He must be one hell of a special guy.”

“Mmm hmm. He is. And…just to make it up to you…” Catherine dived into her purse and pulled out the tickets Joe had given her.  “Here. Show starts at nine. Take one of those hunky Yankees players who are always calling to take you out. Okay?”

“Sounds great!” Jenny took the tickets and examined them. Suddenly she frowned.  “Oh, wouldn’t you know it? I’m really sorry, Cathy. These are for this Friday and I can’t make it. I already have a date.

“Can’t you break it? Take him along even.”

Jenny laughed. “Ah, no I’m afraid not. Sorry, Cathy. I really appreciate it, but I kind of made a promise and I, well…”

“Hey, you don’t have to explain to me. A promise is a promise. In any case, it’s no big deal. I didn’t pay for them. Don’t worry about it. Come on, let’s finish the wine before we have to get back to work.”

The two women embraced outside the restaurant and promised to meet again the following week so that Catherine could give Jenny a birthday present for Paul to take with her when she went to Westport. Catherine returned to the office feeling especially light-hearted after seeing her closest friend. Jenny was good for her. Even during her toughest times, Jenny’s effervescent personality was like a breath of fresh air, lifting some of the gloom. They had helped each other out with men and heartaches…usually the two were related…so many times over the years. The sad irony was, however, that now Catherine desperately needed someone to talk to, it was out of the question.  There wasn’t a soul in the world Above in whom she could confide about Vincent…not even Jenny.  She was, as always now, alone.

When the tap on the doors came that night, Catherine flung them open and stood, mesmerised for a moment, just looking at him. His cloak was open and she saw he was wearing a forest green suede tunic over a soft cotton gray shirt. The little brown pouch containing his rose lay against his chest as usual. He looked so magnificent and otherworldly, that for a crazy moment she wondered if maybe she had imagined him.  That her brain, recalling her childhood dreams of finding a knight in shining armour;  a fairytale prince with whom she would share an all-consuming love…had gone into overdrive and conjured up Vincent and his world below the city. Suddenly a soft breeze ruffled his hair and her spiralling thoughts returned to earth to be anchored by his very real presence.

“Catherine?” he said hesitantly, and her name was barely out of his mouth before she hurled herself at him and hugged him so fiercely she heard him gasp. His arms closed around her protectively, lovingly.

“Oh, Vincent, I’m so happy to see you! I missed you so much last night. I’ve been thinking about you all day. I just…I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind.”

His hands moved over her back, holding her to his body tighter than he usually dared these days. “Catherine, I have felt those thoughts. Felt your love and…confusion all day. Know that I come to you willingly, joyously and that I, too, have been unable to concentrate on little else all day, but thoughts of you.”

Catherine leaned back in his arms to gaze into his face. “Kiss me, Vincent. Please kiss me. I need to feel you close…closer…to know we belong to each other completely.  Please, Vincent.”

Slowly he bent his head and Catherine stood on tiptoe reaching greedily for him. As his lips came down on hers, she breathed into his mouth, a stifled moan escaping from her throat. She twisted her hands in his hair, kissing him harder and harder, all but devouring him with the excitement and thrill of knowing he was hers alone. The only sound in Catherine’s ears was her own heartbeat, and it was only with the sudden realisation that all her earlier promises had evaporated the moment she saw Vincent, that she managed to restrain herself from tearing at his clothes in a frenzy.  With a superhuman effort she dragged herself away, hating herself when she saw the tortured expression on his face.

“Vincent, I’m sorry!” she gasped. “Really I am, but this is what happens when I don’t see you even just for a day.”  Taking his hand, she drew him into the living room.  “Come on, sit down. I promise I’ll behave. I’ll even sit on the other couch if it will make you feel better. Okay?”

Vincent gave a small smile and stepped into the room. “You are not to blame for the way I feel about you, Catherine,” he replied. “The problem is mine and I have to learn to deal with it.”

“The ‘problem’, as you see it, my love, is ours. And we will help each other deal with it. I don’t want to cause you any more tension and unhappiness than I can possibly help.”

She took his cloak and watched as he sat down on the couch facing the French doors, her eyes travelling and lingering over every inch of him, from the lengthy, pale hair flowing sensuously over his shoulders, to the powerfully muscled legs as he shifted his weight on the cushions and stretched out one brown leather-booted foot.

“Catherine,” he cautioned, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes, and Catherine realised he knew exactly what she was feeling. Blushing furiously, she turned away to lay his cloak on her bed, and then strode purposefully into the kitchen to pour them each a glass of wine. What the hell was wrong with her? She’d spent half the day lecturing herself on the importance of keeping the pressure off him and making sure he stayed relaxed and happy, and here she was, behaving like a bitch on heat.  This has to stop right now, Chandler, she admonished herself.  Vincent’s the important one here, so just damn well control yourself!

Returning to him, she handed him his drink and sat demurely in the couch opposite, pressing the glass against her burning cheek and wishing firstly that he didn’t look so goddamn sexy and secondly that he’d quit fixing her with those beautiful blue eyes because it was becoming more than flesh and blood could stand.

“Catherine, this is ridiculous. Won’t you please come and sit over here with me?”

“Do you really want me to?  I mean, I thought…”

“Having you so far away is infinitely more distressing to me than having you near.”   He tilted his head and her insides liquefied again. “Please, Catherine…I need you close enough to touch. There is something coldly unreal about this distance between us.”

He held out his hand and she stood up, taking his fingers and pressing her lips to their furry backs. Determined not to weaken again, but apprehensive about sitting where she could feast her eyes on him, she sat on the floor between his legs, and, needing the physical contact between them as much as he did, leaned her head against Vincent’s right knee. Hearing him sigh contentedly, she sipped her wine.

“So, tell me what you’ve been doing since we parted,” she said lightly.

“Would it surprise you to learn that I have made a new friend?” Vincent replied. “One who I believe has already developed a great affection for our world and wishes to become a Helper.”

Catherine twisted slightly to enable her to look up at him. “Of course it doesn’t surprise me, Vincent. Who is he and how did you meet him?”

“To begin with, it is not a ‘him’.”

“Really?”  Green eyes widened to match her warmly teasing smile. “Should I be jealous?”

He dropped his eyes in typically shy and endearing fashion. “I hardly think so, Catherine. But something…connected between us.  I truly believe she understands me.  In the short time we have been acquainted, she has shown me friendship and… affection.”

To her shame, Catherine’s smile faded just a little, but she squeezed his leg, encouraging him to continue. “Who is she, Vincent?”

“Her name is Jennifer, and I met her when I left you the night before last. As I made my way home, I heard a scream. When I ran to investigate, two men had knocked her down because they were angry at finding how little money she carried.” His eyebrows furrowed, remembering, and he shook his head in confusion.  “What kind of a world do we live in, Catherine…where men beat a woman because they cannot steal from her?”

“Sometimes frustration breeds violence, Vincent. People have their homes violated because the intruders find no cash to steal.”

“You surely do not find that an acceptable excuse for violence?”

“Of course not! I’m just saying it happens. More often than any of us involved in law enforcement would like to admit.”

“It would not happen in my world.”

Catherine repositioned herself a little in order to look at him properly. “It already did, Vincent.” He tilted his head enquiringly.  “Do you remember when Devin brought Charles to the tunnels?  He became frustrated and smashed up Mouse’s chamber… injured Mouse and Father, too. And what about the time Mouse found all that buried treasure? Cullen became a different person. Greed is a powerful and poisonous motivation.”

Vincent shook his head. “That was different. Charles was afraid. His actions did not stem from a desire to steal or hurt anyone. The circumstances were very different and the outcome…unfortunate. But I take your point about Cullen.”

Catherine stroked the brown cord covering his legs, and her voice was gentle and loving when she replied. “All I’m saying is that frustration led to violence in each case.  There are different reasons for frustration, Vincent…none of them good. They merely build tension and pressure inside people until the result of that tension is unpredictable.”

He leaned forward and lifted a strand of her hair, rubbing it between his thumb and forefinger. “Are we still talking about Charles and Cullen?”

“No. We’re talking about the love you and I feel for each other and which we need to express physically before it destroys us.”

His face was very close, and Catherine could feel his breath, warm and fresh on her cheek. Without taking his eyes from hers, he replaced both their glasses on the table.   With a forefinger he lifted her chin, while his other hand slid under her hair until his palm rested against the back of her neck. Tenderly, he drew her face towards his own.

“I love you, Vincent,” she whispered.

“Catherine.”

It was almost a growl as he suddenly kissed her with more passion than he’d ever previously allowed himself. His fingers slowly and gently caressed her throat and his tongue snaked around her mouth as his breathing became deeper and more erratic.  Aching for every part of him, Catherine nibbled his lower lip gently and climbed up to sit on his lap. With her arms locked around his neck and his moving possessively over her back, she daringly lifted one leg over him so that his hips were trapped between her knees. Instantly Catherine felt the pressure of his arousal against the part of her that welcomed it as the most natural thing in the world, and, heady with desire, she relished the sensation of his hands sliding under her scoop-neck sweater. A shiver of excitement ran through her as the tips of his claws pushed beneath the clasp of her bra and released it with surprising ease.

Catherine could hardly believe what was happening, and with a hunger she’d satisfied only in her dreams until this moment, she threw back her head and clutched his golden one to her throat, panting as he trailed kisses over every inch of her neck. The need to touch him consumed Catherine like a thirsty traveller in the desert, and she ran her hands down the length of his hair, pushing him gently backwards until her fingers found the neck of his tunic. Trying to restrain her excitement so as not to overwhelm Vincent and allow his stimulation to keep pace with her own, she began to unhook the fastenings which held the soft green suede closed until all that was keeping her investigative hands from his body was the thin cotton of his shirt.

As her fingers released the first button, she dropped her eyes and saw the curling amber chest hair which sprang tantalisingly from the garment. The dampness she felt in the darkest and most feminine part of her body escalated when Vincent’s hands slid slowly around under her arms to caress her sides, his thumbs stroking over the outer swell of her breasts.

She looked at his face, needing to see what he was feeling. His eyes had deepened to a midnight blue, and he was flushed and panting. At exactly the same moment as Catherine parted the edges of his shirt and her palms began to roam hungrily over the golden, furred muscles of his chest, she felt Vincent’s hands steal around the front and hesitate at her breasts, his thumbs brushing tentatively over nipples that ached for his full attention as she writhed desperately on his lap. With a brazen yearning, she suddenly arched her body and thrust herself into his waiting hands. She heard him gasp and, for a moment, time seemed to stand still.

For Catherine, the feel, finally, of her breasts being supported and caressed by Vincent’s hands, actually made her head swim. Glancing down at him as her hands continued their assault on his chest, she knew by the way his head lay back against the couch, his eyes half closed, that he felt the same way. She suddenly realised that she was the woman to provide Vincent with his first real adult sexual encounter and the knowledge filled her with reverence and a sense of enormous privilege.

Suddenly, as she dared to slide one hand slowly down his chest, over his stomach and slip four fingers inside his waistband; her thumb poised in anticipation on the button, Vincent gasped and went rigid. Sitting bolt upright, he made a sound in his throat that could have been an anguished groan or a growl of anger, but was definitely a “NO!”  Almost roughly sweeping her aside, he sprang to his feet and, hands on hips, began pacing around the room in obvious anxiety. Utterly bereft, Catherine felt hot tears sting her eyes.

“Please, Vincent! Don’t do this to us. Please come back; it’ll be okay, I promise. I’ll make it okay. I LOVE you…please, come back to me!”

Vincent paused in his pacing to glare down at her. He opened his mouth to speak, but it was as if he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs even to breathe. He threw back his head and raised his forearms, clenching his fists as he did so. Catherine jumped up and held him close, stroking his back soothingly.

“It’s okay…it’s okay. I’m sorry. I thought you were ready, but I should never have rushed you like that. Forgive me, please,” she whispered into his chest, startled to hear the way his heart thundered against her ear. Bringing her right hand forward, she laid it over the sound, stroking and combing the soft fur covering with her fingers in an effort to calm him, whispering gentle words to him as she did so. Ignoring her own frustration, she feared only for Vincent now. He was trembling violently and she still hadn’t felt him breathe. Moving a hand to his left arm, she felt, even through the fabric of his shirt, how his veins stood out sharply against his skin, betraying the pressure of maintaining those tightly balled fists. Just for an instant she experienced a twinge of apprehension;  not quite fear, but whatever it was, it was enough to bring Vincent out of his present state. Exhaling painfully, he grabbed her shoulders and looked down into her eyes.

“What is it, Catherine?  Are you afraid of me?”

“No, Vincent, never! But I am a little afraid for you! You’re so…so…well, look at you.  You’re like a volcano ready to erupt just because we…oh, Vincent, please don’t torture yourself like this.” She reached out for him again, but Vincent retreated a step and turned away, as if her touch burned his skin.

“Don’t touch me, Catherine,” he rasped. “Don’t you know what you do to me when you touch me…the way you do?”

“Yes, of course I do!” Catherine protested. “Exactly the same thing you do to me! We love each other! It’s the most natural thing in the world to want to touch each other’s bodies. You’re beautiful, Vincent, and I want to love you the way you were always meant to be loved.”

He whirled around then. “I was never meant to be loved that way! I am not…I have no right.”

“And who, in God’s name, told you that? Father?”

Vincent turned away again, obviously regretting what he would undoubtedly consider to be an unforgivable breach of loyalty. “Yes…no! He merely wanted to make me understand that I am different, Catherine! It is not safe for you to love me…that way.  You do not understand the possible consequences!”

Catherine was torn now, between frustration, love, and anger at both Vincent and Father…especially at Father. “Rubbish!”

“Father knows me a little better than you, Catherine. He has cared for me all my life.”

“He doesn’t know you the way I do…and I know you wouldn’t hurt me…ever!”

Vincent turned to face her again, and her heart broke to see the anguish, frustration, and rage in his eyes. He shook his head vigorously and his hair took a moment to settle again over his shoulders. “You cannot know that, Catherine. You don’t know what I feel at times like that!” He pressed a hand to his chest. “In here, deep inside me where the two halves of my nature lie. One remains dormant until times such as this.  Then… when you put your hands on me, I feel a hunger so powerful…stirring, growing within me and I know it will take control if I do not stop you!”

“But surely it’s a good feeling, Vincent? Almost every man and woman in the world knows that stirring! You enjoy me touching you, I know you do. It’s the excitement that you feel building…not rage.”

“Not at first, no. The feel of your hands on my body…that way is…something I never thought to experience. But then the hunger begins…burning through me until I know it will take control and I will…lose myself.” His blue eyes threatened tears as he pleaded with her to understand. “It terrifies me, Catherine.”

“Oh, Vincent.”

Catherine desperately wanted to hold him, comfort him somehow. He was in such pain and for no good reason, of that she was sure. He was confusing the fury he sometimes felt, with passion…assuming it would have the same result. And why should he think any different? Because of Father’s over-protective warnings to him as a young man, he had never had the opportunity to differentiate between those feelings.

Roughly, he pulled the edges of his shirt together and attempted to button it, but his fingers shook so much it was impossible. A low growling rumbled in his chest, and Catherine felt his anguish cut through her like a switchblade. Vincent’s natural pride and dignity were on a knife edge and she knew that she had to be very careful with everything she said and did from now on.

“Please, Vincent, will you let me help you?” She stood in front of him and waited until he had taken a deep breath and dropped his hands to his sides.

“Thank you.” His voice was stilted and rasping. She knew what his acquiescence had cost him.

As she re-buttoned his shirt as quickly as possible, he stood rigidly before her, not as a child being dressed, but as an extraordinary, tormented man who had been pushed almost beyond the point of endurance. In desperation, Catherine wracked her brains to think of some way to persuade him to stay. She was afraid of what might happen to him if he left in his present state. Maybe if she said she was sick; but her mind recoiled at the lie, and she knew any attempt at such a ploy was futile.

He stuffed his shirt back into his cord pants before allowing her to fasten his tunic, and, glancing downwards, realisation suddenly hit Catherine like a speeding bullet.   Vincent was terrified he would hurt her if they made love, but it was not for that reason alone he was so desperate to leave now. In the close-fitting pants, his state of arousal was as glaringly obvious as his emotional distress. He was actually suffering the physical pain of intense frustration, and needed to remedy the situation…alone. How could she have been so blind to something so obvious? Hating herself for her insensitivity and lack of perception, she eventually found her voice and prayed she could find the right words to help him.

“Vincent, it’s a long way back home. W-wouldn’t you like to use the bathroom before you go?”

He shot her an expression of controlled anger, his face pale and tense. “No!”

“The wine we drank…I just thought it might make you…more comfortable.”

“No! I must leave now! My cloak…may I have it please?”

Catherine’s heart plummeted and she turned towards the bedroom. When she held it out to him, he swung it over his shoulders and crossed the room. At the French doors he paused.

“Once again, I apologise, Catherine. The blame for this evening rests entirely with me, so do not distress yourself on my account.”

“Vincent, I’m so worried about you…”

“There is no need.”

“The hell there isn’t. W-will I see you tomorrow?”

He hesitated and Catherine stopped breathing. Please God, don’t let this be the end.  I’ll do anything in the world for him, only please don’t let him finish it.

“Vincent?” Her voice wavered.

He looked away and put a hand up to cover his eyes. “Catherine, I believe it would be better for us both if…”

“NO! Don’t say it…please don’t say it, Vincent! I love you too much…please don’t leave me!”

Catherine was begging and she knew it. She, who had never begged a man in her life, was begging Vincent now. Pride meant nothing when you were in danger of losing your life. He dropped his hand and turned to look at her. Her heart twisted. He looked as bad as she felt; wretched and utterly drained…only she knew it went far deeper than that for him.

“I was merely going to suggest we give ourselves a little time, Catherine,” he explained. “Surely you cannot believe that I could stop loving you? None of this is your fault. It is because I love you so deeply that this has happened.” Closing his eyes, he took a long breath and appeared to gather his strength before continuing. “When I was distressed over Michael’s feelings for you, do you remember telling me that I should never be afraid to want something, even just for myself?”

Unable now to see him clearly through the tears, or even to force a reply around the constriction in her throat, Catherine nodded.

“Then please, my love, know that I need to be alone for a while. I…do not believe I can take any more of…this, just now.”

Is this what it feels like when you know you’re dying?

“Oh God, Vincent!”

He pulled her head to his chest and stroked her hair.  His heartbeat was almost deafening and Catherine clung to him fearfully. “Please do not upset yourself, Catherine. I will return to you…I give you my word. How could I not? I love you more than my life. I just need to…be alone with my thoughts.”

She looked up at him again and saw…really saw, this time, just how great the toll was on Vincent during these incidents, and how selfish she was being. He looked ill. His face was pale and sweating and he still seemed to be having trouble getting his breath.  Catherine was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. Was this how he felt each time she took him to that point where he backed off in terror? How could she do that to him? He shouldn’t be going anywhere. He should be resting…in her bed. For no other reason than that she wanted desperately to heal his battered emotions with gentle, loving companionship. But nothing on earth would persuade him to stay now. She couldn’t even ask him again. She was the cause of his present condition and he needed to get away from her. Being with her would only exacerbate the situation and the knowledge made her sick with misery.

With a superhuman effort, Catherine tried to pull herself together for his sake.  Reaching up, she touched his forehead and kissed his cheek. “Take all the time you need, Vincent. I’ll be here for you whenever you’re ready. And if you want me to come to you, just let me know. I love you with all my heart and I always will…whatever you decide.”

“Know that I do not take this step easily, Catherine…my love.”  He bent to press his lips briefly to her forehead, and then disappeared through the French doors.

“Be well, Vincent,” Catherine called softly; her voice breaking, but he was gone and her words were lost on the night breeze.

She wandered around the apartment, going from room to room in an almost semi-conscious daze. It was as if her insides had been dissolved in acid. He needed her so desperately; they needed to heal each other…but in this major battle with his dual personality, Catherine was the one person to whom Vincent was unable to turn, and to know this almost destroyed her.

Eventually, she collapsed, exhausted, across her bed, breaking her heart for all they could have;  all they could be to each other; and for all they might lose if Vincent was unable to emerge victorious from the war being waged against his inner demons.

* * *

Vincent made his way down to street level and looked about him. His mind was in raging turmoil. The combination of sexual frustration and emotional trauma had caused an unbearable escalation of tension inside him, and the claustrophobia he sometimes experienced Below, now felt like suffocation. Needing some way to relieve the pressure, he began to run, filling his lungs with welcome cold evening air. He raced through streets and alleyways, heedless of the fact his hood had fallen down onto his shoulders, and occasionally passers-by turned to stare.

After twenty minutes of hard running, he began to realise the danger he was in, exposing himself recklessly so early in the evening. Pausing to look around, he noticed he was in a different part of the city to that which he usually frequented, and for a moment was unsure of the nearest tunnel access. He knew the area vaguely, but in his present state of mind, the buildings looked unfamiliar and far from welcoming. A crash from behind made him whirl around, fangs bared and heart bouncing painfully against his ribs, but it was only a cat investigating the contents of a trash can and causing the lid to slither to the ground. Vincent knew he’d have to get a hold on himself if he was to return home safely.  He stepped back to lean against the brick wall, forcing himself to take deep, calming breaths while he took stock of his situation.

Glancing to the left, he saw an apartment block. There was something about the name of it…Hudson Towers. Why did it seem familiar? Suddenly Vincent remembered and, thrusting his hand into the pocket of his pants, pulled out a slip of paper.

This is my address and phone number. I want you to know that if ever you’re in trouble and need some place to go…or if you just want to talk…I’ll be here for you. Any time…day or night, okay?

She had seemed so sincere, so genuinely concerned with his happiness. It was still comparatively early, not even ten thirty.

Vincent made his way quickly across the road, melting into the shadows at every opportunity. He looked up, his eyes seeking the third floor and scanning the windows;  some had lights burning behind closed drapes, others were in darkness. There was no way to be sure which one was Jennifer’s apartment without checking the list of tenants in the lobby. He certainly didn’t want to use a payphone.

Vincent flattened himself against a side wall as a cab drew up and a couple got out.  The man paid the driver and then escorted the woman inside the building. Just as Vincent was about to move forward, a woman turned the corner from an adjacent parking lot and walked right past him up the steps to the building. Vincent couldn’t believe it. It was her. She was carrying a brown paper Safeway bag and her keys jingled as she twirled them in her hand.

“Jennifer?” he called softly.

She stopped dead, her expression one of a born and bred New Yorker, not panicked exactly, but instantly wary. “Who’s there?”

Since there was no one else in sight, and fearful of sending Jennifer screaming inside to call the police, Vincent stepped cautiously out of the bushes. “Don’t be afraid, Jennifer…it’s me…Vincent.”

She whirled around, smiling. “Vincent?”

“I didn’t mean to scare you…I…”

“Vincent, I’m so glad to see you! What are you doing here?” She hurried towards him and touched his forearm affectionately.

“I-I was in the neighbourhood and…”

Jennifer’s face broke into an amused grin. “Really, Vincent, I would have thought someone with your literary education could have come up with something a little more original than that!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind. I assume you’re coming up?”

He bowed his head. “If it is not too late. If you do not mind.”

Jennifer squeezed his arm and jerked her head upwards. “Mind? I should say not. I guess you can’t use the elevator.  Can you get to my balcony…third from the right?”

Vincent nodded and Jennifer turned and ran up the steps and into the building.

As Vincent easily negotiated the journey to the third floor, it occurred to him that his forays Above would be a little less hazardous, especially in bad weather, if Catherine’s apartment was on a lower floor. He paced nervously up and down the terrace waiting for Jennifer.  In his overwrought state, it was a strange sensation visiting another young woman’s apartment, and he hoped Catherine would not sense his sudden, inexplicable need to pour out his heart to his new friend. If so, she would probably be understandably hurt. How could he possibly explain to her satisfaction that for the sake of his sanity, it had been imperative to put some distance between them; that during this particularly difficult time in his life, she was bringing him more pain than joy…more than he felt able to handle right now.

After a few moments, the doors opened and Jennifer held out her hand. “Come inside, Vincent, and…welcome. Don’t be nervous,” she added as he glanced warily back and forth to the terrace.

“I’m sorry. I rarely enter unfamiliar residential buildings. I confess it does make me…apprehensive.”

“I understand. But don’t worry. The street door’s bolted and I’ll leave these unlocked.  You’re perfectly safe here with me. Now, give me your cloak and make yourself comfortable.”

As Vincent removed his cloak and raised his head to look at her, Jennifer saw him properly for the first time in the light and she gasped, her expression instantly concerned. “Vincent, what’s happened…you look terrible. Have you been in an accident?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“What then? Are you sick?”

“No, I’m just…I felt the need to talk…if you have the time?”

Jennifer dumped her things on the table and shrugged off her jacket. Taking his cloak, she laid it across a chair where he could see it. Noticing the way he kept shielding his eyes from the glare of the main light, she switched it off and instead turned on a much softer table lamp. “Is that better?”

“Thank you. I am unused to bright lights.”

Jennifer took his arm and led him to an arm chair. “Sit down, Vincent. You really don’t look very well, you know. What’s wrong?”

Vincent slumped into the chair and laid his head back gratefully. “I am fine really…a slight headache…nothing more.”

He was a master of the understatement.  The pounding behind his eyes, which he had learned now to recognise as a side effect of sexual frustration, had intensified with his headlong flight through the city streets, to the point where his whole body seemed to be pulsating with the mounting pressure inside him. Jennifer laid a cold hand on his brow and Vincent groaned softly. The effect was so wonderfully soothing that for once, Vincent didn’t experience his usual vague sense of unease at a gesture of intimacy.

She scrutinised his change of expression. “I think it’s a lot worse than that, Vincent.  Oh, don’t try to lie to me,” she continued as he opened his mouth to protest. “Your hands are clenched so tight on my chair I shouldn’t be surprised if I need to have it re-stuffed!”

Vincent glanced down. Sure enough, his white-knuckle death grip on the arms of the chair had already resulted in his claws splitting the material to reveal the wadding inside. Mortified, he attempted to rise, but found Jennifer’s hands pressing down on his shoulders with surprising strength.

“Oh, no you don’t. I was kidding, Vincent. I couldn’t give a damn about the chair; it’s as old as I am. It’s you I’m concerned about, and what’s happened to get you into this state.”

Sitting down on the arm of the chair and talking calmly to him all the time, she began, casually, to knead his shoulders, applying pressure to sensitive areas with her thumbs.

“You’re absolutely rigid…so taut that if you were a branch you’d have snapped by now.  You don’t mind me doing this?”

He realised he didn’t.  It felt wonderfully comforting. “No.  It is very…soothing.”

“Good. Because I’m not hitting on you, Vincent. I just want to help you. I used to do this for my last boyfriend. He was an airline pilot,  always full of stress. Lean forward a little more. That’s right  I’m no hustler either; I learned the proper technique you know. Now, is that beginning to feel better?”

“Mmm.” Vincent expelled a long breath. He hadn’t realised how much he had needed the healing touch of another human being; someone other than Catherine, who would not evoke the dangerous feelings he had come to dread.  Catherine sometimes massaged his back if it was aching after a particularly exhausting day in the tunnels, and he had even been persuaded to do the same for her recently, but the simple, intimate pleasure of those times was always marred by apprehension…the problem of how to deal with those other feelings which never failed to surface when they touched each other. Jennifer’s straightforward, caring approach was like balm to Vincent’s tormented mind and body. Even when she lifted his hair and manipulated his neck, there was no feeling of unease or embarrassment, and consequently, when she was done, and had straightened his hair around his shoulders again, he felt a little better.

“Thank you. You are very kind.”

“Just looking after you the same way you did me,” she replied, patting his back affectionately. “You look like you could use some TLC, Vincent. Now, I’m going to fix you a drink and I want you to lay back and relax while I unpack these groceries. Then we’ll talk.”

Vincent assumed she was going to make coffee, so he was startled when Jennifer appeared beside him and thrust a tumbler containing an inch of amber liquid under his nose. His delicate senses reeled at the strong aroma.

“Drink,” she commanded.

“Oh, no…thank you, Jennifer, I do not drink spirits,” he protested.

“Well, I would like you to drink this one for me,” she urged. “It won’t hurt you, Vincent. One drink won’t do you any harm and it will help you to relax. You’ll never get rid of that headache if you don’t. You trust me, don’t you?”

What could he say to that? Vincent’s gentle nature hated to refuse any request which was within his power to grant. He would just have to drink the evil-smelling liquid and hope it didn’t affect him adversely. “I trust you…of course. So I will do as you ask.”

Jennifer smiled, watching him as he took the glass and sniffed it suspiciously. There seemed to be very little in it so Vincent put the glass to his lips and upended it.

Too late, Jennifer lunged forward to stop him. “Not all at once Vincent! Oh-oh…”

He swallowed the whisky in one mouthful and handed back the glass, wondering why Jennifer appeared to be stifling a laugh behind her hand. He didn’t have to wait long.  The burning sensation began in his throat, and soon the whole of his chest was on fire.  Vincent opened his mouth and found he was unable to breathe, much less speak. So much for trust. His look of injured accusation only seemed to amuse Jennifer even more, although between giggles she managed to lean forward and pat his back.

“Oh, Vincent, you should see your face! Hey, I’m sorry, but you shouldn’t have drunk it all at once. That was neat whisky! You’re supposed to sip it! I thought you knew that.  Oh well, never mind. Relax, I’ll get you some coffee instead.”

Still shaking with laughter, Jennifer left him with an irrational sense of having been betrayed and feeling more than a little strange. Realising he had no choice but to do as he was told, Vincent lay back in the chair and waited to see what would happen next.  At least the experience had taken his mind off Catherine for a few seconds, he thought wryly.

After breathing gradually became a welcome option again, he closed his eyes. Slowly the flames that danced in his chest changed to the infinitely more pleasurable sensation of warm fingers spreading out to attack the tight coils of pressure they found there, dispersing them gently and reminding him of Catherine’s gentle hands. She always knew when he was feeling particularly stressed; was always there to tenderly massage away the tension.  Ah, Catherine. As the pressure that had been mounting inexorably, began to dissipate and her image filled his head, Vincent felt another sensation beginning between his thighs. He exhaled lengthily, forgetting for a moment where he was, until Jennifer called out to him from the kitchen.

“Do you take sugar, Vincent?”

Horrified at the way his thoughts had wandered and the way his body was reacting, Vincent cleared his throat and repositioned himself in the chair. “Ah, no, thank you.  Just cream.”

She didn’t seem to notice anything amiss, and Vincent was immensely relieved that he had managed to stem the current of his feelings before they became the source of acute discomfort. Jennifer might be just his friend, but it hadn’t escaped his notice that her eyes roved over every part of him, and he certainly didn’t want to embarrass both of them by giving her the wrong idea.

“There you go.” Jennifer handed Vincent a steaming mug and he sipped gratefully at its contents. She hovered over him for a moment. “Can I fix you something to eat? A sandwich or an omelet maybe?”

“Thank you, Jennifer…no. But please, do not let me stop you if you were about to eat.”

She shook her head and sat down on the couch, tucking one foot underneath her as Catherine often did. “Uh-uh, I ate earlier. But you look like you could use something.  You’re very flushed, Vincent.”

“Do not concern yourself over me, Jennifer.  I, too, ate earlier.”

“Hmm.  I’m not sure I believe you.” She waited until they were halfway through their coffee and when he hadn’t spoken further, decided to nudge him into confessing the reason for his impromptu visit. “Do you feel like talking yet?”

Lowering his eyes, Vincent turned his head slightly away from her. “It may seem foolish to you.”

“It won’t…if it’s important to you.”

“It is a private matter. I really should not discuss it…or burden you with my problems.”

Jennifer rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. “Vincent, for heaven’s sake…I told you to come if you ever felt you needed to talk. I’m glad you’re here; now, if it’s something you feel you shouldn’t discuss with me then fine. But you must have wanted to when you set out otherwise you wouldn’t be here…right?”

“Perhaps I should not be.”

Jennifer patted the space next to her on the couch. “Let’s assume you should, okay?  Now…how about coming to sit beside me, Vincent? I have a feeling this is going to be kind of emotional for you and I want you within hugging distance.”

Vincent searched her face for any sign that she was making fun of him, but found none; just warmth and a very genuine affection for him. His hesitation was barely that.  In a moment he was beside her, his head tilted slightly in enquiry as she pushed a lock of hair back over his shoulder.

“Why is it that all the women in my life believe I am in constant need of their protection?” he asked softly. “Even you have witnessed first hand that I am more than adequately equipped to take care of myself and others.”

“All the woman in your life? You make it sound as if there are quite a lot, Vincent. I hope you’re including me in that number now?”

He couldn’t prevent a small smile as he bowed his head, embarrassed. “I did not mean to imply…” When he heard her chuckling softly he knew she was teasing him and looked up. “Well, I suppose there are rather a lot when you consider how our community has grown during my lifetime. And yes, Jennifer, I believe we can say you are now one of them.”

“I’m glad to hear it. And to answer your question, Vincen, only a fool would doubt your strength, even without seeing it. I’ve never seen a man who exudes power the way you do. But that power is tempered by gentleness; I’ve seen that first hand, too.  And I think maybe it’s not just you who needs the hugs but the women who want to do the hugging. You have a very special quality about you…I would even say, unique.”

Vincent blushed, but Jennifer continued. “I’ll probably regret saying this in the morning, but there’s a vulnerability about you which brings out the whole bag of emotions in a woman, Vincent. I’m a hard-nosed born and bred New Yorker and I thought I’d seen every kind of man. But you…you’re something else.”

“That is certainly true.”

She gave him a playful shove. “Oh, you know what I mean. There’s something about you that’s kind of hard to resist.”

“I don’t know how to respond to that, Jennifer, so I will just say…thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now…let’s cut to the real reason you came to see me tonight.  Unless I miss my guess, one of these ladies in your life has been giving you a hard time. How am I doing so far?”

Vincent’s eyes clouded over. “There is only one who can affect me this way.”

“Your lady from up here, in the city…the one you’re in love with.” He nodded. “And what did she do, Vincent? Dump you? Because if she did, I’ll kill her.”

He tried to smile at her fierce protectiveness, but shook his head sadly. “Just the opposite. Her love for me is as strong as mine for her. She has opened up the world for me, Jennifer…made me believe that anything is possible…even for me.”

“I’m sorry, Vincent. I guess maybe my brain’s sleepier than the rest of me. I mean, if you love her and she loves you, then what’s the problem?”

He took a long, shuddering breath. “The problem is that she is no longer content to spend the time we share…reading poetry and listening to music…talking. She wishes to…to…”

“To make love with you.”

“Yes.”

Vincent’s head was bent so low that his voice was barely audible. What would she think of him? Would she find it repugnant that Catherine could even consider such a union with him? But Jennifer simply laid her hand on his, the warmth of her fingers through his fur and the gentleness of her words bringing a lump to this throat.

“But, surely you want that too? I mean you must want to, Vincent…it’s human nature to…”

Vincent’s head shot up and he glared at her. “Human nature, yes! But what am I, Jennifer? There are darknesses inside me that you cannot even imagine! You have only seen a brief glimpse of the demons which lurk inside me, waiting to surface when I am roused to great emotion.” He jumped up and began to pace around the room. Suddenly he stopped and raised clenched fists in the air. “These hands can tear out a man’s throat! I have killed many men, Jennifer. What human kills other men with his bare hands!”

Jennifer stood up and slowly walked towards Vincent. Standing very close to him, she spoke calmly. “A lot more than you realise. Men have been killing others with their bare hands since they were first put on this earth. And while weapons have increased and changed through the years, that doesn’t make them any less lethal…or acceptable.  Why have you killed people?”

Jennifer’s blunt question was unexpected, but the tension was back now, visible in every line of Vincent’s body as he fought to remain in control. “To protect…her. And my home…the people I love.”

“Never for any other reason?”

“No! What other reason could there be?”

Jennifer dared to touch him then, raising his balled fists to try and uncurl them. “Many reasons. Money, power, politics. I agree with you that these are totally unacceptable reasons, but they’re none the less true. The only possible justification for killing another is in defence…of yourself or another.”

She turned to the dresser and opened the middle drawer, removing a carving knife which she held carefully between them. “Tell me something, Vincent. If someone were to burst in here when I was alone;  hold a gun to my throat and force me to have sex with him; and I took this knife and stabbed him while he was holding me down, would you think me evil…unlovable?”

Vincent knew what she was trying to do and he was grateful.  He answered honestly.

“No. You would have no other choice.”

“Right. And it wouldn’t make me any less human?”

“Not you, no. But look at me, Jennifer!” He spread his hands before her. “How can she want these hands on her…touching her when she knows what they have done! How can she want…”

“But she does, Vincent! Obviously she does, and by pulling away from her, you’re denying both of you the most basic, primitive, fundamental right of all!”

“But I’m so afraid I’ll hurt her! I’ll lose control and…” He paused, covering his face with his hands for a moment before continuing, the memories of Lisa returning yet again to plague him. “I hurt someone once before when I experienced those…feelings.  I was much younger…little more than a boy. Having to live with what I did, almost destroyed me. I…lose myself when my feelings are aroused to that extent, Jennifer.   Something…not human, takes over. I cannot ever take that risk…with her!”

Jennifer raised her hands helplessly then dropped them to her sides. “So what are you going to do, then? Remain celibate for the rest of your life?  She’s only human, Vincent; she surely won’t wait forever. Or maybe that’s what this is really all about.  Maybe you doubt her motives in this.”

He turned his head sharply and fixed her with a steel blue gaze. “What do you mean?”

Jennifer shrugged her shoulders. “I mean, maybe you’re more worried about what happens after the two of you have made love. Whether she’ll still be around the next day, or if she’ll be off to get her kicks with some other poor, unsuspecting schmuck.  With your hang-ups about sex, Vincent, it could be you represent a challenge for her.  You know, like she’s hot for a new experience.”

Vincent felt the roar building in him and the ominous rumbling started in his diaphragm. He spun around, one fist raised in fury. “I am not ‘an experience’ to be tried by anyone, and Catherine does not see me that way. How dare you cheapen what we share, with such a despicable suggestion!” Vincent advanced towards Jennifer and saw the defiant expression on her face fade and change to apprehension, then terror;  the knife she still held, shaking in her hand.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” she croaked. “I only said it to make you admit you’ve as much right to love and sex as the rest of us. I thought…you know, a change of tactics…bad move, right? Don’t hit me, Vincent. You’ll never forgive yourself if you do…you know that.  Calm down, okay?  I’m sorry.”

Vincent stared down at his clenched fist, and the realisation of what he had been tempted to do, slammed into him like a runaway train. He staggered back, gasping.  Suddenly he groaned and clutched his head. For a moment he thought the pain would slice him in two.

Hurriedly, Jennifer shoved the knife back in the drawer and, turning, took Vincent’s arm, guiding him back to the couch. “Here, sit down. Vincent, I’m really sorry. I honestly didn’t mean those things I said. I only wanted to help you; make you see that you shouldn’t be afraid to love…Catherine, did you say? You should be proud that she wants you so much. Hell, all I’ve done is make things even worse.”

Vincent fell back on the couch, breathing hard, his eyes tightly closed. Part of him wished he was back in the quiet, familiar darkness of his chamber where he could simply lie on his bed and make his mind a blank until the pain in his head faded, but another still needed the blunt, affectionate companionship Jennifer offered and which he had come so close to destroying. He would have to deal with his treatment of her as soon as his head felt like his own again.

“Why don’t you lie down in the bedroom, Vincent,” Jennifer suggested. “That’s a mega-migraine you got there.”

“No…but thank you. It will pass.” He tried to sound reassuring, but suspected she wasn’t fooled.

Jennifer sat watching him silently as he remained very still. A full fifteen minutes passed before Vincent spoke again.

“Forgive me, Jennifer…I should leave. It is late and I believe I have disrupted your evening for quite long enough.” Despite his words, he made no attempt to move, and she interpreted this as a subtle request to stay a little longer.

“Do you get a lot of headaches?”

“I used to, years ago. Around that…time I spoke of. After that, hardly ever…until a few weeks ago.”

“I’ll get you some aspirin.”

Before she could move, his hand shot out to restrain her. “No…please. My physiology is very different from yours…it will not tolerate painkillers. There is nothing anyone can do. I just have to wait for it to go.”

“Well, you can certainly tolerate an ice-pack.”

Jennifer went into the kitchen, removed some ice cubes from the refrigerator and dropped them into a plastic bag which she tied at the neck. Returning to Vincent, she held it gently to his forehead. “How does that feel?”

“Mmm, better,” he sighed, taking the bag. “Thank you, Jennifer.”

“Would you rather not talk for a while?”

He peeped out from under the ice pack and gave a small smile. “I don’t mind. I am all right, really. I am almost becoming used to this now.” It was a lie, but it worked. She relaxed a little, obviously relieved that he hadn’t been put off talking to her after their confrontation. She reached for his hand. “You do understand? What I was trying to do.”

“Yes.”

“I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, Vincent. Forgive me?”

“I am the one who needs to ask for your forgiveness, Jennifer. The way I behaved was…”

“Just like any man when he figured he was being insulted and provoked. I made a bad judgment call. Let’s just say we’re even…and we’re friends. Okay?”

Painfully, Vincent opened one eye. “Friends. Thank you.”

Jennifer grinned and sat down carefully in order not to jolt him. “So, are you going to tell me what you think has been causing these headaches, or shall I guess?”

“I imagine you are going to tell me what you think anyway.”

“Right.’ She grinned. “Well, for what it’s worth, Vincent, I think that you and Catherine are very much in love, and, quite naturally, get a little carried away when you’re together. Then, when you realise the way things are going and what she expects from you, you back off and bingo…mega sexual frustration for both of you. She gets mad; feels rejected…and you get a migraine. You also feel guilty as hell ‘cause you know you’ve let her down, and that makes it even worse. It seems like a vicious circle, and tonight you felt like you couldn’t take any more and the two of you had a fight.  Am I getting warm?”

“I would even say ‘hot’…except that we did not fight. I told Catherine I needed some time alone. I could not stay, Jennifer. Could not take that risk. I felt myself becoming… well, I just could not stay.”  His voice broke as he remembered Catherine standing there, her heart breaking but trying to be brave…for him. And he had twisted the knife in her heart even further by leaving. “She is in such pain, I know!”

“Oh sure, like you’re having the time of your life, aren’t you?  What are you going to do, Vincent?  I think if the two of you don’t work this thing out, it could destroy both of you. And you’re risking your health. It’s not good for a man to repeatedly back off from that state of arousal. Unless of course after you’ve left her, you…”

Vincent put down the ice pack and gingerly turned his head towards her. “Please, Jennifer, I really do not consider it appropriate to…”

“What I’m talking about is perfectly natural, too, Vincent, given the circumstances; although I’ll bet you don’t see it that way.”

“It is not something I wish to discuss.”

“Okay, forget I mentioned it. I had absolutely no right and I apologise. I really am sorry, Vincent. This must be my night for apologies. Forgive me again?”

“You are forgiven. I do understand you are trying to help me, but Jennifer, there are some things that are simply too private for me to speak of.”  He looked at her, hoping she would understand.

“Sure. Absolutely.” She nodded and raised her hands in an: Okay-I-get-the-message, gesture. “So, ah…what are you going to do?”

Vincent sighed and shifted on the couch. “I have told Catherine that I need a little time alone…to think about our relationship. To try and come to a decision about our future.  I…it has reached the point where I am afraid to see her alone. Every time we’re together it ends the same way, and I find myself feeling…like this.” He gestured helplessly with his hands. “It cannot go on.”

“No, you’re right. It can’t. And how does Catherine feel at these times?”

“Hurt…angry…unfulfilled. You are quite correct, Jennifer.  his is doing neither of us any good.”

“Do you want to know what I think, Vincent?”

“Tell me.”

“I think you should go to Catherine’s place, order out from Bonicci’s, lock all the doors and play your favourite music. Then, after dinner, when you’re on your second bottle of wine, I think you should take her in your arms, tell her how much you love her and…”

Vincent suddenly sprang to his feet and strode over to the doors.  She was trying to help, but the wounds were still too recent, too raw. Her words were like fans to a flame.

“Please! Do not do this!”

“Goddamn it, Vincent, listen to me!” Jennifer followed him to the other side of the room and stood right behind him. “You tell her how much you love her and you begin to dance…very slowly.  ou hold her close to your body. So close you can feel her heart beating and she can feel yours…”

“Jennifer, PLEASE!”

Vincent turned away and began to pace up and down the room; his head still pounding sickeningly; his insides churning with a plethora of emotions, some of which were, even now, manifesting themselves in physical ways, as Jennifer’s words brought Catherine’s image and feelings sharply into focus. He suddenly knew, without any shadow of doubt, that she was thinking of him at this very moment; aching for him as he was for her, separated by half of New York City. The combination of Catherine’s turbulent emotions continuing to assault him so long after they had parted, and Jennifer’s sensually stimulating advice, proved too much for Vincent.  He was too receptive…too vulnerable right now.

He spun around, and with a roar of anguish, swung a fist through the glass door and everything went into slow motion. Jennifer screamed and jumped back in alarm.  Vincent swayed on his feet and stared down uncomprehendingly at the blood dripping from the lacerations in his hand, then glanced around wildly for his cloak, desperate to flee from a woman’s apartment for the second time that night.

Jennifer was the first to recover. Refusing to acknowledge Vincent’s animal rage, having faced it already that night and established that he wouldn’t hurt her, she hurled herself at him and held on to him, resisting his rapidly weakening attempts to dislodge her and escape. He could have swept her aside with the fingers of one hand, but such was his pain and torment that he felt like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Throwing back his head, he began to pant, squeezing his eyes shut in a futile endeavour to stop the scalding tears from falling. But they came anyway, sliding down the velvet soft cheeks and onto the strands of hair around his face.

“Hold on to me, Vincent!” Jennifer implored, “it’s all right…really, it’s going to be all right, I promise.  Come on, it’s okay.”  She reached up and wrapped her arms around his shoulders the way Catherine did. Vincent wasn’t confused…even in his agony, he was blindingly aware that it was Jennifer who held him, but he needed so badly to be healed, that his arms crept around her and his head fell forward.

“I love her so much,” he whispered brokenly. “I don’t know how we can go on…I love her too much to trust myself with her…but I do not believe I can live without her now.”

“You won’t have to, Honey. I know it’s going to be okay…I just know it.” Jennifer rubbed his back with one hand and stroked his hair with the other, as he trembled in her embrace; soothing, restoring, regenerating his heart and his spirit; wanting nothing for herself.

“Just let it go now. Let all that pain go. Don’t try and hold back…it’s crushing you and you’ll never be free of it until you allow yourself to express it.”

Without knowing quite how or when it happened, Vincent realised they were sitting on the couch again and Jennifer was holding him tenderly across her body;  his nose pressed against her cleavage. She smelled so good. He wondered why she was shaking and then realised it was himself. He knew he should pull himself together, but his head hurt so much and he was so dreadfully exhausted.

Vaguely, Vincent heard himself sobbing quietly against her breast, hardly able to comprehend what was happening. Surely this must be a dream. He didn’t lose control and weep on the bosoms of recent female acquaintances. Very slowly and awkwardly, he regained a measure of discipline and inched out of Jennifer’s grasp. “Jennifer, I…I don’t know what to say, I…”

“Don’t you dare apologise, Vincent.”

“I hardly know how to begin.   I…”

“You’ve given me something very precious tonight.” He dragged a hand swiftly across his eyes and peeked at her curiously. “I do not understand.”

Capturing his left hand, she held it securely in both of hers. “You are a wonderful, passionate, and courageous man, Vincent,” she said quietly. “One who is capable of a love deeper than any I have ever known. But it’s come close to destroying you, and I feel very privileged that you chose me to help you through this. Your Catherine is the luckiest lady in the world, Vincent, to have your love. You are a very special, wonderful man…and don’t ever think you’re not any of those things.  Now, let me get some water and a bandage before you bleed to death all over my carpet…”

They both looked down at Vincent’s right hand, which was steadily dripping blood. Alarmed, he hurriedly rested it on his knee.

“Jeez, I should have taken care of this right away,” Jennifer exclaimed. “Hey, you’re not going to faint, are you?”she added suddenly, noticing his pallor as he stared at the blood.

“I don’t think so,” he answered slowly, “But I may have to look away.”

Jennifer jumped up, unsure if he was teasing or not. “Are you kidding me? Look, you stay right there; don’t you dare move, and I’ll just be a minute.”

Vincent leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

When Jennifer returned she bathed and wrapped his hand, then sat down beside him.

“Promise me something, Vincent.”

“What should I promise?”

“Listen…I love you…as a very dear and treasured friend. And I don’t ever want you to feel embarrassed about what happened here tonight. I want you to know you can come tome for anything. Now, do I have your promise?”

Vincent inclined his head and attempted a smile. “I promise, Jennifer. You have the capacity for making me feel at ease. You have my gratitude and you have my friendship…always.”

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.  That means a lot to me.”

An hour later, Vincent had repaired the door temporarily and was standing on the balcony in his cloak.

“I never got to finish my advice on what you should do with Catherine,” Jennifer said gently.

“Oh, I believe I know, Jennifer.” He smiled.

“And are you going to take that advice?”

“That is something I still have to resolve in my own time. But my heart is lighter than when I came here tonight…and for that I thank you, Jennifer…for everything.”

“Oh, Vincent,” she cried, her throat constricting suddenly. “You make it sound like I’m never going to see you again!”

He took her hand and pressed the back of her fingers to his lips. “Well, I certainly hope that will not be the case. I have told Father and Mary to expect you for supper on Friday.” He bent forward slightly and fixed her with an azure gaze. “I believe that was the arrangement?”

She nodded happily. “Sure.  I’ll be there.” Reaching upwards, she ran two fingers gently over the cleft between his eyes. “How are you feeling now?”

“Better, thanks to you.”

“Head still hurt?”

“A little.” He smiled. “You must not worry about me so much, Jennifer.”

Her fingers moved to his cheek. “I have a feeling that everyone who knows you, worries about you, Vincent. Ciao, babe. Take care going home.”

“Goodbye, Jennifer.  Be well.”

* * *

To his surprise, Father was waiting in Vincent’s chamber when he returned.

“Father, you are up very late. Is something wrong?”

The old man made an irritated sound. “You tell me, Vincent…is there? Where have you been?”

Vincent turned from removing his cloak to look sharply at his father. “Is that a demand for information, Father, or a concerned inquiry?”

Jacob tutted and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Vincent. Of course it was er, a concerned inquiry.” He glanced down at the bandage on his son’s hand. “You’ve hurt your hand.  What happened?”

Vincent ignored the arm outstretched in concern, and prowled around the chamber. “It is nothing serious, Father. Jennifer cleaned and dressed it for me.”

“Jennifer? You were with Jennifer tonight? I had naturally assumed…”

“That I was with Catherine. Well I was, but I left early, and since I was feeling…well anyway I did not wish to return home just then, and Jennifer had told me she would be happy to have me visit any time, so I did.”  Vincent could see the old man’s mind working and was unsure how to explain.

“And was Jennifer able to help you with…whatever you were feeling?”

“Yes. She is a wonderful woman, Father. Warm, caring and compassionate. We were fortunate to find her.”

“Indeed,” Jacob muttered, scratching his chin. “Yes, quite so. Vincent, I hope you are not becoming…infatuated with Jennifer.”

Vincent whirled around and brought his undamaged fist down hard on the table, making the old man jump. “No, of course not! Catherine is the woman I love!  Catherine is the only woman I will ever love!”

Father touched Vincent’s arm in an attempt to placate him. “All right, all right, I’m sorry. I’m just concerned for you…and Catherine. You’ve looked so tired and drawn recently. And these headaches you’ve been having… I’d hate you to think I interfere sometimes, Vincent, but I’m honestly only doing it out of love. Until recently I’ve known where you are and what you’re doing almost every minute of the day. It’s hard for me now to accept that you don’t need me as much as you used to.”

Vincent’s sensitive heart contracted at the sorrow in his father’s words and he placed an arm around his shoulders. “I apologise for my bad temper, Father. And you are wrong…I do still need you. I always will, but not for all the same reasons as I did before. I will always need your love and companionship; I cherish our time together… the conversations we share. But I need to be free, too. I need to resolve something, and I don’t think even you can help me this time. You are right in thinking it has to do with Catherine, but it is too private for me to go into. I went to Jennifer tonight because I needed…a woman…to talk to.”

“Could Mary not have helped you?”

“Father, I love Mary dearly, but the way I was feeling…I…Mary was not the appropriate person to pour my heart out to.”

“Is that what you were doing?”

Vincent sighed, drained from recent events and still suffering from a severe headache.  He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Yes.”

The old man patted his son’s shoulder affectionately. “Then I’m glad Jennifer was able to help you.  ou need to sleep.” He walked towards the doorway, then paused, turning.   “I’m not so old that I don’t remember what sexual frustration is like, Vincent.”

Vincent’s head shot up.

“You were not celibate when you were my age, Father.”

“No, that’s true. And that’s why I know you must be suffering an agony I can only imagine. Your health has already begun to suffer, Vincent.  You must resolve this problem before it affects your sanity as well.”

“I know. I will. Goodnight, Father.”

“Goodnight, Vincent.”

As soon as Jacob had left, Vincent shrugged off his cloak and sank onto the bed, stretching out on his back and closing his eyes, wishing he had another ice pack for his head.

* * *

For the next three days, while Vincent immersed himself in solitary duties Below which allowed him the opportunity to think, Catherine felt as if her life had been put on hold.  She went to work, took statements from a variety of people in connection with cases she was working on, engaged in the usual banter with Joe, and generally carried on with her life in much the same way as usual.  Except that inside she was crying;  her heart felt like some obscene hunk of steak on a butcher’s slab that had been pulverised for meatloaf.  She returned home each night to an apartment that felt devoid of life. She would go out on to the terrace and cry into her Chardonnay, wishing Vincent was there to share it with her.

Catherine had been devastated by her father’s death, overwhelmed and confused by her mother’s, but at least then, Charles Chandler’s big, comforting hand had always been there for her when she woke, trembling in fear from bad dreams. But this was the first time she truly understood the words broken heart. She had tasted true love; the deep, forever kind of love which usually sprang from the mind of writers and Hollywood movie moguls, only this was real and wonderful and painful. Catherine knew now that although few people ever really experience it, that was what made life worth living, what made it worth getting out of bed in the mornings. But if Vincent couldn’t be happy with her…couldn’t take that final step to complete the circle of their relationship, then she was helpless to change the situation. But she knew now, without the faintest flicker of doubt, that she would take her love for him to the grave. That her life would go on and she would function as people expected her to, while inside her heart would shrivel and die without him.

Thursday evening she returned to the living room from her lonely vigil on the balcony, feeling wretchedly guilty, knowing how deeply her grief and self-pity would be affecting Vincent. Catching sight of the almost empty wine bottle, she poured the remains into her glass and drained it.

Catherine decided she needed to hear a friendly voice and, thanks to the alcoholic properties in the wine, hoped she was strong enough to talk to Jenny Aronsen without breaking down. Through eyes blurred by tears and Chardonnay, she dialled Jenny’s number.

“If you’re selling something, hang up before I do, otherwise go ahead.”  In spite of herself, Catherine chuckled at her friend’s original method of answering the phone.

“Hi, Jen;  it’s me.”

“Cathy! Hi! To what do I owe this pleasure? I thought your evenings these days were too precious to waste making dumb phone calls.”

The poor, pulverised heart took another unscheduled pounding. “I’m sitting here looking at the walls and I wondered if you were too. I ah, I guess I have the blues.”

“Have you been drinking?” Catherine held her empty wine bottle aloft and pouted.

“Mmm hmm. But I’ve finished now. Why d’you ask? Am I slurring my words or something?”

“No. I just know you. What is it, Cathy…what’s happened?”

“I think ah…Godammit don’t cry!  I think I may have been dumped.”

“Oh, Cathy, no. The sonofabitch; I’ll cut his heart out.  I’m coming round.”

“No Jen, please. Really, I’m okay.”

“You-are-not. I’m coming round now.”

“Jen, I love you for caring, but I really couldn’t handle a heart to heart right now. I’m dead on my feet and I’m going to bed. I just…I don’t really know why I called. I guess I just needed to tell someone else how I’m feeling. Pretty selfish, huh?”

“No. You’re hurting bad, aren’t you, honey?”

Catherine sniffed and tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle the catch in her voice. “Uh huh.  But I’ll be okay. Plenty more fish in the sea, right?”

“That’s what I’m supposed to say. But in any case, you don’t really believe that, do you?”

“No,” Catherine said quietly.

“The bastard’s not worth it, you know, Cath. No man is worth our tears and heartbreak.”

“This one is. Believe me, Jen, he’s hurting just as much as me.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m going to bed now. Thanks for being there, Jen.”

“I’ll call you tomorrow. Hell, not tomorrow; I’ll call you Saturday morning. If you need me between now and then, call me at work, okay?”

“Sure, Jen. Thanks. Night.”

“Night, Cathy.”

Friday lunch time, Catherine took a sandwich into Central Park. She kept well away from the Tunnel entrance and sat on a bench in a popular public area with other office workers, watching the birds feeding and throwing them tiny pieces of bread when they dared to hop closer.

Overnight, following her bout of near drowning in self-pity, Catherine knew she loved Vincent enough to accept his decision to leave her if that’s what he needed to survive, but he hadn’t actually said that yet, so there was still hope. He needed time away from her to think, he’d said. Well, he’d had three days now; not a lifetime maybe, although it felt like it, but long enough for him to have confronted the demons…real or imagined…in his head, and maybe have come to some sort of conclusion. As Vincent himself had once said, One either moves towards love, or away from it.  There is no other direction. Whatever the outcome, he had promised to return. He wouldn’t just disappear from her life. So…as he hadn’t yet come to her, he must still be thinking.  And, in that moment, Catherine made a decision that she couldn’t afford not to take what might be the last chance to help Vincent accept their relationship for what it was.  The deep and abiding love between a man…albeit a very special man, and a woman, and everything that represented. There was no going back. An intense physical desire for the other was present in each of them and there was no possibility they could ever revert to the way things had been before. Catherine knew Vincent desperately needed the release she offered. His rigid self-control would destroy him if it wasn’t tempered.  He was trying to deny the most fundamental need of every male on earth; the desire to mate with the female of his choice.

“Well, no more, Vincent,” she muttered as she stood to brush the crumbs from her skirt. “I’ll make you understand we were born to be together even if I have to drug you and rape you to prove it!”

* * *

“Children, will you be quiet!” Mary struggled to bring the children to order for dinner.  They were excited that they were to have a guest that evening, and almost without exception, were misbehaving. “Do you want me to call Vincent?” If she intended this as a threat, she must have known it was an empty one.

“Yes!” they chorused, and clustered around him as he appeared in the doorway of the dining room.

“Where’ve you been, Vincent?”

“We’ve been waiting ages.”

“Vincent, will you sit next to me, please?”

“No, it’s my turn, he sat next to you last night.”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

“Children!”

Vincent covered his ears, pretending their arguments were deafening him and, miraculously, they fell silent. “I can only sit next to one of you because you know we have a guest for dinner. Now I will close my eyes while you all go and sit down, leaving these two chairs free. This is where Jennifer and I will sit, so it is up to you to decide who will sit on the other side of me. Now, go!”

There was a scramble for chairs and Vincent heard a lot of scraping and whispering.

“Ready!  Ready, Vincent!” they called, and he opened his eyes. Samantha and Kipper were seated either side of the two empty chairs.

“Hi everyone!”

All heads turned to see Jennifer in the doorway just ahead of Mouse, who had accompanied her all the way from the surface. Vincent extended his hand and she took it, smiling up at him.

“Welcome to our home…again,” he said with a tilt of his head. He pulled out a chair for her and they both sat down to wait for Father. Jennifer leaned towards him and whispered in his ear.

“How are you feeling?”

“Well…thank you. I hope you are too?”

“I’m great. Well, mostly.”

Vincent looked at her questioningly, inviting an explanation.

“I have a friend with man trouble.”

“I am sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. We’ll get her through it. Vincent, you still look awfully tired. Have you been sleeping?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “But now is not the time to discuss my problems. Would you like some water?” Jennifer held out her glass and gave him a look that said, Okay, but I’ll get you alone later, don’t worry.

Father arrived and greeted Jennifer, welcoming her on behalf of the whole family. He called upon Vincent to make the blessing, and soon William was carrying huge platters of  potatoes, fried chicken, salad, and fresh rolls to the table, and everyone fell upon the food as if they hadn’t eaten in a week.

After the meal, Father invited Vincent, Jennifer, and Mary to join him in his study for coffee. Mary nodded happily and said she would return as soon as she had seen all the children safely to bed. Half an hour later, all four were deep in conversation, with Father making Vincent squirm with embarrassment as he recounted an incident in childhood.

“Father, is this absolutely necessary?”

The old man chuckled in amusement at his son’s discomfort and there was a wicked glint in his eye as he waved away the younger man’s concern. “It’s quite all right, Vincent. I wasn’t going to tell Jennifer the part where you became so frightened in the night, believing the rat could be in your chamber, that you dared not go to the bathroom and ended up wetting Devin’s bed!”

“Father, please! This really is inexcusable.” Blushing furiously, he slumped down in his chair and covered his eyes, mortified that his parent could betray him so treacherously in front of their new friend.

Jennifer, however, appeared to find the story as hilarious as the others, although sitting so close to Vincent she was able to lean over and put her arm consolingly around his shoulders. Pulling his head against hers affectionately, she fought to swallow her giggles and sound sympathetic. “Don’t worry, Vincent, we all had little accidents like that at five years old. But I might have thought twice about having you in my bed if I’d known!”

So engrossed were they in laughter, none of them noticed a figure in the doorway.

“Vincent?”

His head shot up at the sound of her voice. Catherine’s eyes moved from Vincent to Jennifer, her arm still around Vincent’s neck, and she froze.

“Jen?!”

“Cathy! Wh-what are you doing here?”

“Funny, that’s exactly what I was about to ask you. And…just as a matter of interest…why are you holding Vincent?”

Jenny looked at Vincent, then back to Catherine and at Vincent again. “Why, what’s it to you? And how do you know about this place? What the hell’s going on, Cathy?”

Vincent rose slowly, fazed for once and more than a little bewildered at the vibes he felt from Catherine. “Obviously you two ladies know each other, so there is no need for introductions, but maybe an explanation is required. Catherine…Jennifer is my new friend I told you about, and Jennifer…Catherine is…”

“Let me tell her, Vincent,” interrupted Catherine. “Jen, I don’t know how all this came about or what Vincent means to you, but there’s something you should know. Vincent is the man I told you about…the man I love.” She could hear the unspoken implication in her voice, Hands off, he’s mine! and cringed, but she couldn’t seem to do anything about it.

Jenny looked again at each of them in turn.  Gradually the reality of the situation sunk in and she shook her head in amazement. “You mean, all this time…this man in your life who you couldn’t introduce to anyone…this incredible relationship you have…my God, of course. Finally, I understand everything. Cathy, I never dreamed…”

“Obviously.”

Father cleared his throat and suggested he and Mary retire and ‘leave the young people to talk’, but as they left the chamber he wondered if they’d even heard him. His hand under Mary’s elbow, he ushered her down the passage speculating on what Catherine’s presence in the Tunnels tonight could mean.  He prayed it would not spell more heartache for Vincent.

“Now hold on a minute here, Cathy,” Jenny defended. “I’m not crazy about your attitude. If you’ve got something to say you’d better come out with it. Otherwise maybe you’d better back off before this gets way out of hand.”

Vincent moved away from Jennifer and crossed the chamber to Catherine. “What is wrong, Catherine? And why are you here?  Do you need me?”

To her later shame, Catherine actually stamped her foot;  something she hadn’t done since she was twelve years old, when her tone had been equally petulant. “Of course I need you, dammit!”

“I’m sorry Catherine, I don’t understand any of this. If you and Jennifer are friends, why then are you behaving this way?”

“Cathy and I have had a bit of a surprise that’s all, Vincent,” Jenny explained. “And I think Cathy is reading a whole lot more into our friendship than there actually is. It’s making her a little crazy.”

“Don’t you dare patronize me, Jen! You have to admit you seem overly fond of Vincent.”

This time it was Jenny’s eyes that blazed. “Damn right I am. Everything you told me about him is true. He saved my life recently…no, I know I never told you. How could I? Think about it. It would have meant revealing secrets I’ve tried as hard as you to keep, since I’ve known him. Vincent has come to mean a great deal to me and I’ll protect him always, but there’s nothing romantic between us. How could there be when he’s head over heels in love with you?”

Catherine’s poor, tortured mind was reeling from the events of the past few days and the shock of finding her best friend here with Vincent, in the tunnels, as if she belonged here with him, had exacerbated the situation. She wasn’t thinking rationally when she demanded, “If  that’s true, how do you explain that crack about Vincent being in your bed!”

“Listen, Cath; number one I don’t have to explain anything to you, but because of our friendship, I will. Number two, I never said Vincent was in my bed; I said I’d offered it to him, which is true, because when he came to me after leaving you the other night…”

“What! Vincent, is this true? After all we went through that night, you went straight to Jen?”

“I was distraught, Catherine. You know that. I needed to be with someone…talk to someone who would not make demands on me…”

Catherine gave a humourless laugh. “Oh, well I’m very sorry, Vincent! I thought when two people love each other they made demands on each other…that they worked things out between themselves. So…did you go to bed with Jen that night or not?” The instant the words were out, Catherine could have cut her tongue from her mouth.

A terrible silence fell on the study. The expression on Vincent’s face was one Catherine had never before seen directed at her, and it was one she would never forget.  His fists tightened alarmingly; his face was white with fury. Before she could attempt to apologise, he turned on his heel and strode to the doorway, turning as he reached it, to address Jenny.

“I will wait for you at the Tunnel entrance to escort you home, Jennifer.”

Before Jenny could protest, Catherine began to splutter an apology. “Vincent, I swear to God I didn’t mean it…please don’t go like this!”

He cast a dark glance in her direction. “If you have anything further to say to me, you may wait for me to return. I warn you though…I am in no mood for the type of remark you just made.” With that, he disappeared, leaving both women shaking.

“You’re a fool, Cath.”

Catherine’s chin trembled and she could barely see for the tears that filled her eyes.

“I know. Jen, please forgive me. I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you should be. But I guess we all get a little cranky when we’re in love.  I’ve said some things I’m not proud of in my time. But you really pissed Vincent off with that crack, Cathy.”

“I’ll make it all right. I have to,” she whispered. “I can’t live without him.”

“He came to me that night because he didn’t know what else to do…”

Catherine held up her hand. “You don’t have to explain, Jen, really you don’t.”

“I know that. He came because he needed to talk to someone…a woman, I think.  Someone he thought might understand what you were going through, as well as himself. He was in a terrible state; at first I thought he’d been in an accident. Anyway, I gave him a stiff drink and we walked. He told me about you…only of course I didn’t make the connection. All I knew was that he was deeply in love with a woman named Catherine, who was getting really pissed that he couldn’t bring himself to make love to her. I told him what I thought…a little clumsily I’m afraid. I only upset him more, which, incidentally is how he came to cut his hand. Anyway, to make a long story short, I told him you wouldn’t wait forever and that no one deserved love more than him.”

Jenny sighed and shook her head as she remembered the evening. “The reason I offered him my bed…which, in case you’re still wondering, he refused…was because he had such a godawful migraine he could hardly stand up. I thought he should lie down for a while. Did you know sexual frustration affected him that way?”

Catherine’s eyes were wide. “Not…exactly. He didn’t look very well when he left. I was afraid for him. We were both very…emotional…drained. I desperately wanted him to stay but he-he said he needed to get away from me. I knew that being with me only added to his self-doubts and distress. He said he needed some time alone…to think about our relationship.” Catherine’s expression was one of utter desolation. “Saying goodbye to him that night was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life, Jen. I love him so much…so much.” She broke down then, covering her face with her hands and Jenny stepped forward to pull her into a tight hug.

“You two bring each other so much pain and so much happiness, Hon’. When he comes back, you make damn sure he knows just how much you love him, okay?”  Receiving only shuddering sobs, Jenny shook Catherine’s shoulders gently.  “Okay?”

Catherine raised a tearful face from Jenny’s shoulder. Unable to speak, she attempted a brave little smile and nodded.  Satisfied, Jenny picked up her purse from the floor and the two women embraced again before Jenny walked to the doorway.

“Better not keep him waiting any longer. I don’t think he’s in a very good mood right now. Cathy?”

“Y-yes?” Catherine was fumbling in her pocket for a hanky.

“You were right. He is a wonderful man. You make a terrific couple. But if you ever tire of him…”

Catherine smiled her most loving and beautiful ‘thinking about Vincent’ smile, knowing her friend was teasing. “Never, Jen. Not in this lifetime.”

Jenny shrugged. “Okay. Then I’ll keep right on loving him as a very dear friend.”

“And I’ll love him as a woman.”

“Look after him, Cathy.”

“I will, I promise. Send him home soon, Jen.”

“Sure. Ciao, Cath.”

“Bye. Oh, and Jen…you were wrong you know…I would wait forever…for him.”

Her friend smiled. “Let’s hope you won’t have to.”

* * *

One hour later Catherine heard footsteps in the passageway and her heart jolted apprehensively. She had never been so nervous at the prospect of seeing Vincent, although even this was mingled with a sense of excitement. He loomed in the doorway, as imposing as ever.

“You waited for me.”

“Yes. I hope you don’t mind.”

“That depends on what you have to say.” He removed his cloak and laid it over a chair.  “Jennifer said you wish to speak with me. And that I should listen without getting angry.” This last statement was made with a hint of wry humour, despite his present demeanour.

“I wish you would,” Catherine replied. “I have some things to say to you.”

Vincent sat down on the bed and tugged off his boots. Then he rose again, removed his belt and began to unlace his vest.

This in itself, was so unusual that Catherine felt her throat go dry.  What could it mean? “Are you going to bed, Vincent?”

He looked up, a faint smile touching the corners of his mouth. “I have not slept well for many nights, Catherine. I am very tired. If I am to remain alert for our talk, then I intend to take a shower first. You do not object, I hope.”

A little taken aback, Catherine shook her head, waving her hands in a feel free, it’s your chamber, gesture. “N-no, of course not. I’ll wait right here, if that’s okay with you.”

“As you wish.”

With that, he took another pair of pants from the tall cupboard and disappeared into the adjacent bathchamber, leaving Catherine faintly perplexed and wondering quite where to begin when he returned. Whilst not being openly hostile or aggressive, Vincent was quite obviously well aware that he was in control of the situation, and she was free to  leave or remain until he was ready for her.

Fifteen minutes later, Vincent returned, the ends of his hair wet, and the thick, springy tufts of hair on his chest, in disarray from vigorous towelling. It was the first time he had ever appeared before her in so little clothing, and Catherine’s jaw dropped. The sight of him, slightly dishevelled and clad only in the patched, contour-hugging cord pants, made her catch her breath, and she had to concentrate hard to focus on the conversation ahead; one which she hoped would lead, ultimately to the culmination of that feeling.

He took a clean shirt from the drawer and shrugged it on, overlapping the edges and stuffing it into his waistband. Having picked up on Catherine’s feelings both while he was in the shower and immediately he came out, he preferred not to attempt so many buttons at this precise moment. “What is it you wish to say to me, Catherine?”

Whilst Vincent was the most eloquent of men and could spend hours reciting poetry, he rarely indulged in small talk.

“I love you…very much, Vincent.”

He blinked in surprise. Good move, Chandler.  He hadn’t expected that. “Also, I think we have some things to settle; one of which is an apology.”

He tilted his head in enquiry. “You wish to apologise to me for the way you behaved earlier?”

“Yes, of course I do, Vincent. I was being childish and over-reactionary to a situation that took me by surprise. I just saw the two people I love most in the world…in a very cosy, intimate setting, and kind of…”

“Felt jealous.”

Years of indignation at such a suggestion from previous male companions, made Catherine bristle automatically. But this was Vincent. They both knew that was exactly how she felt and to lie to him would be absurd. Her injured pride had no place here. In any case, her emotions had been all too apparent in her shameful behaviour.

“Oh, Vincent,” she yielded, “of course I was jealous, dammit! I know it was crazy, but it’s the oldest cliché in the book…I caught my man in the arms of my best friend. So sue me…I never claimed to be perfect, okay? I’m sorry, Vincent. Sorry I acted like a jerk; sorry for everything I said. Now it’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“Yes! Your turn…to apologise.”

Vincent spread his palms in a gesture of bewilderment. “I have done nothing wrong, Catherine. I thought we had just established that.”

“But you have, Vincent. You have done something wrong. No, not with Jen,” she continued as he opened his mouth to protest again. “You have wronged both of us and caused us each a great deal of pain.”

Realisation hit him, and his shoulders slumped at the mention of that topic again.

“Catherine please,” he responded quietly, imploring her with his eyes. “Do not torture us both again with talk of things that can only cause us both unhappiness. You know I would deny you nothing that is within my power…or control.”

“But you do deny me…constantly. You deny me the thing I want most in the world.   Yourself.”

Vincent turned and walked a few faces, plainly disturbed at the direction the conversation had taken. He remained with his back towards her, and rested his hands lightly on his hips. Catherine took a deep breath, sensing that what she said and did now, would have a profound effect on the future of their relationship, and she couldn’t afford to screw up. She wanted to hold him; needed to feel his warmth against her while she began to heal his poor, tortured mind, but she forced herself to remain where she was.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the headaches?” she asked gently.

“You would have worried.  Felt…responsible. I did not want to burden you with a weakness in myself which I had to overcome, if only for my own sanity.”

“And what about mine?”

He turned his head slightly and looked at her. “I do not understand. I mean, I know you…care for me, but…”

“Oh Vincent!” Catherine balled her fists in exasperation and came very close to throwing something at him. Then she saw the anxious, perplexed look in the zircon eyes and wondered, for the thousandth time if it would ever be possible to get and stay mad at him for more than mere seconds at a time. He truly did not understand the depth of feeling she had for him. Somehow still could not quite believe, even after all her reassurances, that her love for him was deep, powerful and for ever;  requiring every part of him to join with her…body and soul. Well, the ‘soul’ part was infinitely more wonderful than she could ever have imagined, but the ‘body’ part was still an uphill struggle, and one which Catherine was determined once and for all, to climb tonight.

“Have you discussed this…problem…with Father, Vincent?”

“No. But he is a man of many years learning. A man with experience in the ways of love.  He knows of my dilemma.”

“He must have noticed the headaches.”

Vincent nodded slowly. “Yes. And it has worried him, I know.  I believe he also understands the reasons for them.  He has hinted as much.”  Vincent looked suddenly stricken. “Are you still angry that I went to Jennifer, Catherine? I was not…myself, that night and she was very kind to me.”

Catherine’s heart constricted at his expression, as he remembered. “No, Vincent, not angry. Like I said, I was acting like a typical irrationally jealous woman; something I hate, incidentally, and never used to be before I fell in love with you. But you were in such a state when you left me that night I realised that being with me was doing you more harm than good. All I wanted in the world was to put my arms around you and love you…show you that there was nothing to be afraid of, but I knew you needed to get away from me and that hurt. Oh God, how that hurt, Vincent. But I did understand.  And now I know where you went, I’m grateful to Jen for being such a good friend to you…to both of us. Did she help you?”

“With my…problem?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“Yes. I’m afraid I was quite a nuisance that night…although she says otherwise.  My own behaviour was not entirely rational either, and she was wonderfully patient with me. She told me the same thing you have always told me, but which I have always refused to believe.”

“That you should do what you feel…what you feel in me…and trust in our love for each other to guide you?”

He took a long, shuddering breath and turned away again. “Yes.”

It was time now. Catherine moved forward a few feet until she was standing right behind him, close enough to feel the warmth of his body through his shirt. Opening the bond as fully as she was able, she concentrated on pouring all her love, desire, and passion for Vincent into the wondrous channel that linked their hearts and minds.   Suddenly he trembled with the force of her emotions as they hit him like a sledgehammer.

She slipped her arms around him and he gasped as her fingers splayed across his chest, pulling him back firmly against her until her breasts pressed into his back. His hands moved to cover hers in a vain attempt to free himself, but she held on tight and began to slide her hands sensuously over his chest through the thick cotton of his shirt.

“Don’t try and stop me, Vincent.”

“Catherine…”

After a moment, his own hands fell away and Vincent emitted a low growl of emotion.  Catherine knew she had the advantage; that she wasn’t playing fair. She had learned a long time ago that he found this action particularly soothing, comforting, or stimulating, depending on the situation.

She had made the discovery by accident one day when he had come to her, emotionally wounded by Father and Devin, misunderstanding a situation which had been too close to his sensitive, gentle heart, for him to view rationally. If he had only tackled the protagonists about it face to face at the time, he would have learned of his mistake and thus saved himself a lot of heartache, but it fell to Catherine initially, to calm and heal him with her love, her hands and her words, and to ultimately resolve the situation by interfering in what was actually, a family matter.

Vincent had been touchingly grateful, and an even closer intimacy and trust had grown between them. Since then, Catherine had been quick to realise that whenever Vincent was distressed, enraged, or in pain, either physically or emotionally, the touch of her hands on him, particularly on his chest or shoulders, eventually restored him to peace, or at least, to a state of mind where he was able to deal with the situation calmly and rationally. Since every part of Vincent’s body was the subject of intense speculation and fantasising by Catherine, those occasions when he allowed her to touch him, were intensely precious. Sometimes, when his need was for soothing rather than pleasure, Catherine found it necessary to force down her own yearnings. It was almost impossible to touch him, she found, without her own body betraying her. But always, she put his needs before her own, as he did for her. Tonight, however, her hands were deliberately stimulating rather than calming…for both of them.

“Yes, Vincent?”  Catherine whispered against his back. No answer. She knew he was struggling with himself to find the strength to send her away again, but this time she was not to be distracted from her purpose. This time, they would both emerge victorious or die trying. There was no other way.

“Tell me you like what I’m doing, Vincent.”

A moment of silence while he debated with himself whether to answer her rhetorical question. “You know that I do.”

“And you know that I love doing this…that it gives me pleasure…for whatever reason I do it, yes?”

“I…believe so, yes.”

Catherine’s face was pressed tightly to Vincent’s left shoulder blade. “You believe that when I touch you this way, it causes an ache deep down inside me that only you can ease?”

“I…”

“You know that it’s true, Vincent, so tell me…please.”  She felt the powerful chest expand beneath her hands as he drew a deep breath, stalling for time.

“I…believe that you love me…and that you also…desire me. I don’t know why, Catherine but…” He tried to turn in her embrace but she stopped him, increasing the pressure of her hands and melding her body into his back even harder.

“No, don’t move, Vincent, please,” she whispered. “I want to hold you just like this. I want to show you love with my hands; let you feel for yourself the pleasure of touch from someone you love, and who loves you. I want to give you the pleasure you’ve always denied yourself. Please let me, Vincent…please?”

Inching upwards with her fingers, Catherine located the ‘V’ where his shirt edges overlapped, and pulled them free, sliding her hands inside. They both gasped;  Catherine at the thrill of feeling his chest muscles tighten under her fingers, and Vincent at experiencing her sensual caresses on his bare skin.  He felt his heartbeat begin to quicken.

“There’ll be no headache tonight, Vincent,” she murmured, her voice husky with longing.

Placing her palms flat on his chest, she moved them slowly and sensuously upwards to his shoulders and down again, pausing to stroke and knead the perfectly sculpted pectorals and smooth golden hair. Then she ruffled it again for the sole purpose of repeating the whole process over and over until she sensed he was ready for the next stage. Vincent’s head fell back; the silky ropes of his hair streaming even further down the taut muscles of his shoulder blades and tickling her face. He groaned, as if in defeat, and it seemed to Catherine an almost conscious decision to abandon himself to her exquisite torture. The realisation that he was surrendering, and all that this would entail, stimulated Catherine practically to the point of orgasm, pressed as closely as she was to Vincent’s body, but she took some deep breaths and controlled herself, slowing down to enjoy what she had promised him.

To her amazement and delight, his hands suddenly crept around behind him to slide up the backs of her thighs beneath the short skirt and grasp her rump, an action which, whilst not strictly in the realm of allowing her total control over his pleasure, was nonetheless exciting and welcome. It demonstrated an unprecedented lowering of Vincent’s defences, and indicated an acceptance…a willingness even, to allow her to do whatever she wanted with him. It felt pretty wonderful. too, and gave her unrestricted access to the beautiful chest she loved stroking, and Catherine was swift to press home her advantage.

Keeping one hand moving sensually over his ribcage, she stretched the other upwards to his left shoulder and then, standing on tiptoe for a moment, onward until she reached the smooth column of his neck, massaging his throat with gentle fingers.  Breathing in a mixture of his shampoo and pure, naked Vincent through the heavy curtain of hair, she nuzzled it aside and nibbled at the base of his neck, delighting in the soft growls her action coaxed from him. Standing flat again, she slowly drew her hand back down, past his shoulder until it rested over his heart. Vincent’s head, still tilted back in ecstasy at the almost unimaginable pleasure of her touch, turned from side to side, and he gasped aloud as her other hand moved upwards and ten fingertips found and caressed the tender twin buds buried in the soft chest hair. His breathing was fast and shallow as if he had run a marathon distance for his life.

Continuing the slow circuits of his chest with her left hand, Catherine gradually lowered the right, moving into the hollow beneath his ribcage and pausing there, stroking, before journeying beyond until her hand slipped easily inside his waistband, loosened as it was, by his sharply indrawn breath. With finger and thumb, Catherine pushed the button through its hole, lifting the tab on the zipper; the considerable pressure from within, causing it to inch open. Suddenly, he gasped and dragged air into his lungs through his teeth as her exploring fingers made contact with the pulsating source of his masculinity.

“Catherine!”  His voice was little more than a croak. “Please, you must not…someone may come in!”

“Don’t worry, Vincent, no one will come in…I assure you.”

“How do you kn…aah, Catherine, do you have any idea what this is doing to me?”

She smiled against his back. “Oh, I think so, Vincent. Are you going to tell me you want me to stop?”

“If I were,” he panted, “would it make any difference?”

“None. Not this time. This time the battle is lost…and you’re going to be very glad, I promise you.”

Vincent gave up trying to speak and surrendered himself again to her delightful torture.  Removing his hands from her rump for a moment, he shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it carelessly aside, oblivious to where it fell. He glanced down to gaze in wonder as her hands moved over his body, and was filled with an overpowering sense of love and tenderness. Even through his own highly charged adrenaline flow, he had felt her almost climax, and was aware that she had suppressed it in deference to his pleasure. Close to tears, he captured the hand that caressed his chest and pressed it to his cheek, kissing its palm and each finger tenderly before replacing it over his heart and holding it there for a moment.

“I love you, Vincent.”  But he was too choked by emotion to respond, and hoped she’d understand what was in his heart.

The hand that had dared to slip inside his most intimate apparel was, even now, reaching downwards to lift him from the confines of his clothing. The sensation literally took his breath away.  No one…ever…had done such a thing before; not even when, as children in the tunnels, he, Devin, Mitch, and others, had investigated their private parts. Vincent had been profoundly relieved to discover that he was formed no differently from the other boys in that area, and although Molly, Rebecca, and Sarah had giggled and sworn to touch him if they caught him in the race through the Chamber of the Winds which followed, he had been too swift for them, wondering afterwards if it would have been more fun to let them catch him, as Devin and the other boys had done.

Later, Father had gently explained to Vincent that for him, it would be unwise to even consider an intimate relationship with a woman. Such liaisons would only be remotely possible underground, and if such a friendship faltered, there was no guarantee that the girl, especially if spurned by Vincent, would remain silent in the world Above, about her unusual friend and where he lived. Much better, Father advised, to remain celibate than risk discovery and danger; possibly even death, for a brief sojourn into the volatile physical pleasures of the flesh.

Vincent hadn’t been completely convinced at the time, having seen several young ladies of around his own age, for whom he felt a certain attraction. But then had come the incident with Lisa, and when Vincent had recovered from the traumatic breakdown which had nearly killed him, he finally admitted that Father was right. It was, indeed, too dangerous…he was much too dangerous and unpredictable to risk becoming close to a female friend again.

So it was as a virgin that Vincent came to Catherine. And he felt her gentle fingers beginning the task that his own occasionally performed when the painful, overpowering need dictated. Never had his own caress given him anything but shameful release and a feeling of degradation, despite Father’s assurance that the process was natural and necessary in cases where celibacy was practised.  He had even given examples of certain sections of society to illustrate his point.

Never had the process included any of the sensations eclipsing him right now; an agonising, bittersweet excitement; throbbing, intense pleasure which was escalating by the second to a pitch he knew was about to spiral out of his control. He tipped his head back further and clenched his teeth in a desperate attempt to prevent the roars that rumbled in his chest and threatened to escape.

Catherine held him tightly, forcing his rump into her stomach. She was rubbing herself against him, and although he hadn’t dared investigate beneath the lace panties she wore, he realised she was coinciding her movements with those of his hands as they squeezed her.

Unused as he was, to such an overwhelming onslaught of physical pleasure, Vincent felt suddenly dizzy. The ceiling of his chamber tilted and danced above his head and he closed his eyes against the feeling, but that didn’t stop the rhythmic pounding in his ears. A little off center as he felt, it took him a moment to realise the sound was his own heart. As Catherine’s warm, gentle fingers began to move faster, its cadence increased and breathing became almost impossible. The sensations were those Vincent had grown to associate with severe blood loss or fever, and he hoped he wasn’t about to succumb to the spectacular loss of consciousness which usually followed such an incident. He realised, however, that this time the feelings weren’t unpleasant; on the contrary, Vincent had never in his life experienced such a feeling of freedom and delight.

As Catherine used one hand to alternately stroke his inner thighs, belly, and chest, the other was rapidly moving on his swollen manhood. The sensation was like riding a roller coaster, climbing the rails with mounting excitement in the knowledge of what was to come at the pinnacle of the ride. Vincent’s own car, having never ridden the rails in quite this way before, reached the top quite quickly, hovering for a second or two before accelerating to maximum speed as it hurtled downwards and suddenly spun out of control, flying off the rails and sending him soaring into a place filled with brilliant colours and warmth. Vincent bit down on his lower lip, drawing blood, in a frantic attempt to remain silent, but the sensations were too new for him and he suddenly roared his release.

Catherine held on to him as tightly as she could, but following his bellow of ecstasy, he swayed and sank to his knees, taking her with him. Heedless of the slight stickiness which covered her hand, she delighted in his release and crossed her arms across his chest, hugging him close as he trembled and fought to regain control of his limbs. His head fell back on her shoulder and she kissed his neck and throat, revelling in his reaction. She had wanted to do this for him for so long. Licking and kissing his ear, she whispered:

“Next time, Vincent, it will be inside me. Then we will really be together and no one will ever be able to part us again…not even you.” She shifted his hair to one side with her nose and began kissing his shoulder. “Tell me you enjoyed it, Vincent. I can see that you did, but I want you to tell me. Please?”

Vincent recovered sufficient breath to turn in her arms and take her in a fierce embrace, murmuring into her hair. “There are no words, Catherine…for the way I feel.  Thank you, my love.” She smiled and, holding his chin between her fingers, used her tongue to remove the spot of blood from his lower lip. Vincent kissed her with a mixture of tenderness and passion, and when he drew back, her heart turned over to see tears silvering the long, honey-coloured lashes. Catherine stroked his hair and planted tiny kisses on his eyes, nose and lips.

“If you want to thank me, Vincent, you know what they say…actions speak louder than words.”

He looked taken aback. “You mean you wish me to do the same…”

She nodded. “That is unless…no, it wouldn’t be possible just yet.”

There was the smallest hint of…surely it couldn’t be pride…smugness even…in his expression when he replied. “You don’t think so, Catherine?”

She shifted position and peered down between his thighs. “Vincent!”  Her eyes were wide with astonishment and pleasure.

“Another of my ‘differences’ I believe.” He smiled sheepishly, a faint pink blush staining the velvet cheeks. Catherine wound her arms around his neck and buried her face in the sweet herbal fragrance of his hair. “You are the most magnificent, adorable, surprising, downright lovable man in the whole world, Vincent,” she laughed, “and I love you to pieces. Now, are you going to prove to me something I’ve always known?”

“What should I prove to you, Catherine?”

“That you are also the sexiest.”

He gave a low chuckle and stood up, lifting her with him. He set her down beside his bed and carefully removed her sweater. He followed this by releasing the fastener on her skirt, unzipping it, and watching her step out of it, all the while keeping eye contact with Catherine, who rested her hands on his shoulders while he undressed her.  For a moment he almost faltered, astounded at this new boldness he felt. It was as if Catherine’s gift to him…the undisguised pleasure she had taken in releasing his sexuality…had opened a locked room; one that Father had closed firmly on a young boy over twenty years before. Inside that room was the knowledge that Vincent had as much right to love a woman as any other man. And this was his woman…his love…his life.

This time it was Catherine’s turn to fight for breath; to feel the room closing in on her as Vincent’s fingers slid beneath the satin camisole and panties she wore, removing them as easily as if he did it every day. With any luck, she thought, maybe he would from now on. Once undressed, she experienced a brief moment of shyness; like a bride on her wedding night, which was exactly how she felt.

The ends of his hair reached her breasts before his lips, and Catherine found the feather light tickling sensation agonisingly stimulating. Her lips parted slightly and, panting, she gasped in ecstasy as Vincent simultaneously found the core of her femininity with one gentle, but insistent finger.  He drew the nipple of one breast into his mouth, setting it on fire with the warmth and slight roughness of his tongue.

Catherine began to twist and writhe on the bed, whispering his name over and over again, begging him to continue, begging him for more. She clutched at him, needing him closer…as close as her own skin. As his finger continued its delicious rhythmic torture, Catherine felt herself being drawn into a vortex where all she could see was colours and textures. Gold and black, amber and blue, soft hair and warm skin. Tiny pinpricks from something sharp, and flashes of fire as a magnetic, powerful force reached for her and she dissolved into it, becoming part of it. As innocent as he was regarding lovemaking, Vincent needed no instruction. Instinctively, as Catherine’s body tensed and exploded with the release of a yearning she had held for over two years, he shifted and moved on to her. She clutched at his beautifully rounded rump and wondered briefly when he had removed his pants. Supporting his weight on his elbows, he moved purposefully and Catherine found her nose and lips perfectly positioned to kiss and nibble his chest as the soft curling hairs brushed back and forth with each thrust of Vincent’s hips.

Still recovering from her own earth shattering climax, Catherine smiled weakly as Vincent growled his own, second, shuddering release and collapsed on her, panting, until awareness returned and her comfort once again became paramount in his mind.

She loved the feel of him spread-eagled and spent atop her, and held him tightly, never wanting to surrender him. Unfortunately, the reality of the situation was that she was barely able to breathe under his weight, and when he carefully raised himself to roll away beside her, she tried to decide whether the luxury of breathing easily again was really worth the emptiness above her. Catherine knew that feeling…his warm strength covering the length of her…his damp, softly furred chest against her face, would remain with her forever. She could still feel where he had lain as if he had imprinted her indelibly with his body. She smiled mischievously and wondered if Joe would know, when this particular memory intruded into her thoughts at work.

Missing him already, Catherine opted for a compromise and climbed on top of Vincent. It felt just as good. He opened his eyes and looked at her. To Catherine’s surprise she saw tears brimming in the bright blue depths. It wasn’t sadness, she knew.  Stretching up, she kissed his lips tenderly.

“Whatever you’re feeling, Vincent, you should know that I feel it too.”

He shook his head slowly and when he answered, his voice sounded as if it was hard for him to speak. “No. You cannot know what I am feeling, Catherine. What you and I have just shared was something I always believed was impossible for me. The physical expression of the love I feel for you…I didn’t know…I just didn’t know…” He stopped, closing his eyes, overcome with emotion, and Catherine kissed his tears away.  Stroking his forehead, she sought to reassure him.

“Neither did I, Vincent,” she whispered. “I’ve loved you for so long. I’ve wanted to share that with you almost from the beginning, and now, finally, it’s happened. It was the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to me, Vincent. As far as I’m concerned, that was the first time a man ever made love to me. And no one else will ever make love to me again for the rest of my life. Is that okay with you?”

He opened his eyes and Catherine felt his love envelop her like a quilt of the softest down. All-consuming, but not constricting; total and infinite, yet without chains or restraints. Catherine was ashamed to admit her own feelings were less generous. Love in equal measure, but tinged with a reluctance to ever share him with anyone.  Impossible of course in the tunnels where he’d lived and worked all his life among people who loved him.  No matter…she could live with that. There was no other choice. To love Vincent was to take him and every other member of his family Below.  To accept their time together without complaint, and to surrender him to the demands and responsibilities of the community when required. Well, that was okay. She would just have to make sure that every minute they spent together was filled with love, contentment, and passion; to bring him back to her as often as possible.

“If that is truly what you want, Catherine, then yes, it is…okay…with me.”

“I love you, Vincent.”

“And I love you…with everything that I am.”

After a kiss that starved them of oxygen, Catherine sat up and watched Vincent stretch languidly and sensuously, totally oblivious to how beautiful he was. Catherine’s mind began to race and she took the opportunity to rearrange some of the pillows around and under him. He found himself reclining with his back and shoulders supported a little higher than his head. Not uncomfortably so, but as Catherine took his arms and curled them around the highest pillow, he felt unusually vulnerable, and as if he was at Catherine’s mercy. He raised an elegant eyebrow in faintly amused enquiry. “I hesitate to ask, Catherine, but what are you planning to do to me?”

She smiled. “Just love you. Only lying down, this time. I thought you were going to pass out last time when I reached a certain point.”

“So did I.”

“You don’t mind then? If I try again? I mean…you haven’t anything better to do?”   She was teasing him and he loved it.

“Nothing particularly pressing.”

She glanced downwards, astonished and delighted yet again, at his restorative powers.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

Catherine had only seen the faintly enigmatic smile he now wore, on one other occasion. It had titillated every nerve ending in her body, but before they’d had the chance to explore the possibilities it suggested, the phone had rung and an evil male voice had slithered into her ear to announce he was watching them on the balcony.  That had been a long time ago, and this time there would be no interruptions.

“No cheating, Vincent. You’re not allowed to move your hands from this spot.”

He gave a soft laugh, and for the second time in an hour, although more at ease this time, allowed her free rein over his body. She bent her head and kissed his throat, then slid down a little and, pushing beneath him to hold him around the waist, began to cover his whole chest with tiny, moist kisses.

At first Vincent merely sighed and watched her with a look of wonder on his face.  Soon, however, the feel of her breasts pressing into his belly and the touch of her lips and tongue on his chest as she licked and nipped gently, had his heart racing again.  After long moments teasing and pleasuring them both, Catherine reached the hollow beneath his ribcage;  leaning forward again, she placed her tongue at the base of his throat and traced a line straight down his breastbone until her breasts encountered the source of Vincent’s arousal.  His reaction excited Catherine to fever pitch.  Unrestricted by clothing this time, his organ seemed to have a life of its own, and it writhed and ground against her, hot and pulsating, begging for discharge.

Wanting to give him what he craved and feeling her own climax approaching rapidly, Catherine put her right leg over Vincent’s left and used his knee to further her stimulation. Wondering if she had been wise in asking him not to use his hands, she stole a glance upwards. What she saw reassured her and heightened her own titillation.  Vincent’s head was thrown back and he panted through slightly parted lips, affording Catherine a glimpse of his fangs…a sure sign he was ‘losing himself’. He arched his back, growling softly, and gripped the head of the mattress with both hands. Unwilling to prolong his torment any longer, Catherine moved her hands lower to clasp his rump possessively, trapping his swollen organ even tighter against her breasts. He groaned, eyelids fluttering as she began moving up and down to give him the release he needed.  At the exact moment Catherine needed it most, Vincent shifted his left leg, twisting and rubbing against the part of her that cried out for him in silent desperation.

They climaxed simultaneously and Catherine raised her head to the chamber ceiling, watching the explosion of tiny lights and shapes behind closed eyes until they finally dissipated. Moving upwards, she collapsed on Vincent’s chest and he held her there in warm, loving arms until their breathing and heartbeats returned to normal.

“How did you know?” she murmured.

He smiled against her hair. “Your heart is not the only part of you that calls to me, Catherine.”

“Apparently not.” She reached up to kiss him, then blew gently in his ear; something she had never done before and his startled expression made her laugh and hug his neck. “Is there room for two in your shower, Vincent?” she enquired innocently.

“I have absolutely no idea. I have never put it to the test,” he replied with a chuckle.

“Well then, let’s see, shall we?”

Catherine disentangled herself from Vincent and the pillows, holding her hand out to him. His expression was guarded but he followed her into the bathchamber. It was quite a squeeze for two people, but neither of them minded that. As the warm water cascaded over them, they kissed, teased and tickled each other until the floor was awash with water.

“This is getting out of hand, Catherine” protested Vincent.  “If water begins to seep into the chamber below, someone will come here to see what is going on. I really think we had better do what we came to do!” With that, he picked up the soap, rubbed it between his hands and began to lather his chest.

“Here, let me,” Catherine urged, but Vincent held her at arm’s length.

“Only if you promise to behave yourself,” he admonished with mock severity.  “And I had better only do your back for you, otherwise we shall never leave here. Is that a fair trade?”

Pouting, Catherine agreed. “Okay. But tomorrow we take a shower at my place and we can make it last as long we like. Is that a fair trade?”

“I believe those terms are acceptable,” he smiled.

Catherine soaped Vincent’s chest with unnecessary thoroughness, drawing patterns in the thick hair and rinsing him off again. She even tried writing her name.

“What exactly are you doing, Catherine?” he asked patiently.

“Just branding you as my own private property,” she grinned. “Promise me you won’t let any other woman do this…ever.”

Vincent shook with laughter, unable to speak at first. After a moment, he placed a hand over his heart. “Catherine Chandler, I give you my faithful promise that I will never allow any other woman to write your name in soap on my chest.”

“Idiot!” She punched him playfully.

“I apologise! Her name…in soap…on my chest.”

“In the shower,” Catherine prompted.

“In the shower.”

“Or anywhere else.”

Vincent raised his eyes to the ceiling and gripped her shoulders. “Or anywhere else.”

“Okay then. Now…tell me you love me.”

“I love you.”

“How long will you love me?”

Vincent pretended to consider for a moment, then tilted his head. “I will love you, Catherine, for all my life and for ever.  Is that long enough?”

Smiling up at him through tears that had suddenly welled in her eyes, she tightened her hold on him. “No. I’ll love you longer than that.”

Shaking his head in wonder at this miracle destiny had brought into his life, Vincent pulled her into his arms. Lowering his head, he kissed her, and as they explored each other’s mouths again, the shower water continued, trickling between their lips at every opportunity to caress and stimulate them, blending their tears of love and gratitude that they had found each other and a love that would endure beyond life and time.