THE QUESTION

by ChicagoTunnelKid

Catherine watched the wind play through Vincent’s hair as he stood in the Whispering Gallery. With tendrils driven back from his face, he looked like a warrior resolute on his guard. His stare off into the Abyss belied the thoughts whirling through his head. She knew his mind was far from the calm his countenance conveyed. How much those thoughts involved her, she wasn’t so certain.

She left the entrance from the tunnel and joined him on the bridge, careful to be near, yet not touching. She, too, stared out into the Abyss, freeing her mind to experience the present, content to be near him. They stood silently together for what seemed like a small eternity to Catherine. She would wait as long as necessary for Vincent’s response.

A small sigh escaped as Catherine realized a response would not be coming today. She embraced Vincent’s arm in a small hug and turned to go back the way she came. She tried to keep her feelings neutral, not to add to Vincent’s burden. The journey back to her apartment seemed twice as long as the way down.

Vincent’s eyes closed with her hug, and again he felt as if he was failing her in some way by not being able to respond to her question. But he hadn’t yet come to a decision, and he could not speak until he had, fearing he’d say the wrong thing and ruin everything. He had so much to lose now where, before Catherine, he blithely led his life according to his whims and wishes.

He knew what she wanted him to say. Yes, she was trying hard not to influence or pressure him with her own emotions, but he knew. He knew what he wanted to say. He just wasn’t sure if it was best for her, for him, or for everyone else.

Father.  Oh, what Father might say was not so unforeseen. Vincent had lived so long pleasing Father in small things, keeping the peace, picking his battles for those moments that were truly important for him. This was one of those moments, he knew. But her question extended beyond him, beyond they as a couple, encompassing nearly everyone. Father would have plenty to say about that.

It was Vincent’s turn to sigh. Usually the Abyss provided a place where his uncertainties could be released, freeing his mind to come to a resolution. Today, it seemed more like empty space. Perhaps tomorrow would offer more hope, and he turned to wend his way back to his chamber.

He entered the familiar chamber, eyeing the accouterments of his lifetime. He seldom saw them anymore; so familiar they were in their placement. How might it look to others? To Catherine? She loved touching his keepsakes, examining them, turning them over and around as if to uncover the stories behind them. Slowly, one by one, he had revealed many of the stories as he shared more of his life story with her. Still, there was a lot he had left unsaid. Perhaps he was afraid that ‘familiarity would breed contempt.’

He put down the piece he had picked up during his reverie. He moved to his chair, determined to read for a while and give his mind a rest. The book on top of his reading pile was “A Tale of Two Cities.” He had thought about Charles recently, and pulled out the book to read it again, thinking about Charles’ delight in hearing it for the first time. Two cities. Above and Below. Very little twain seemed to exist between them. He closed the book. Reading was not the answer.

He stood and paced a bit within his chamber, before grabbing his cloak and heading back out. He felt so – contained. The Abyss failed to provide that expanse he needed. A walk Above might be balm he needed. It was past midnight when he entered the park from the tunnel. A brisk breeze blew as he walked through the trees, skirting the edge of the park. Carefully crossing the deserted street, something rarer to experience these days, he entered the alley and walked on, hugging the sides of buildings to remain unseen.

Before he knew it, he had climbed Catherine’s building and stood in the very corner of her balcony. He did not come to see her; of that, he was sure. He needed to be near. After all, she was the object of the question. Maybe in her unaware nearness, he could find the answers he sought.

He stood silently, eyes closed, absorbing her contentedness through the Bond. Odd that she was contented when he was in such turmoil. Still, he took it in as if it could be his contentment, too. How long he stood he did not know. As far as he was concerned, he could stand near Catherine forever. She was his heart, his everything. The world now came to him through Catherine. What beauty was in the world, he saw through her eyes.

At some point, he became aware of her physicality. He opened his eyes to see her standing quietly before him. Dressed in one of her many lingerie sets, she never looked lovelier to him. She took his breath away.

Not a word had been spoken by either of them. Eyes held each other in silent communication. Hearts beat as one, as they often did when together.

Vincent heard himself speak before being aware he meant to do so. One word escaped his thoughts to become reality, to change his, and their, reality. The look on her face, the warmth of her heart, told Vincent the word was the right one.

“Yes.”