The strains of a classical symphony filtered gently through a crack in the French doors which opened onto the terrace of Catherine’s apartment. The velvet darkness above was studded with stars, and Catherine was grateful for the chill February air which gave her an excuse to snuggle even deeper into the protective circle of Vincent’s embrace. One arm was around his waist, the other against his chest, stroking the soft  suede of his tunic with her fingertips. There was always the delightful possibility that one of the fastenings would open beneath her featherlight probing. And while his breathing remained even throughout her gentle investigation, he couldn’t control the acceleration in his heartbeat. Catherine smiled against him and sighed in contentment. 

“Tell me,” he whispered, his breath parting wisps of her hair as it floated over the top of her head.  

“Nothing. Just…Oh, Vincent, I just wish we could stay here like this forever. It’s perfect.”  

“Perfect,” he agreed. “As if no pain or troubles existed in the world…as if the problems we face every day were no more. As if…” 

“We were two ordinary people in the privacy of our own home,” Catherine continued, hoping his thoughts matched her own. “As if we were…married.” 

“Catherine…” Vincent tried to silence her with a finger against her lips, but she raised her face from  his chest and countered his movement with one of her own. Daringly, she slipped an arm around his neck, imprisoning his head in her embrace as she pulled it nearer. Their noses were so close that on their next breath they touched. Almost in slow motion, their lips met, softly at first; like the touch of a  butterfly’s wing and Vincent’s arms crept around Catherine. Usually, the iron control he had mastered to  perfection whenever they were together, and which she had been trying her best to erode for months, ensured their hugs were those of loving friends, but this time his fingers splayed on her back, massaging  her shoulder blades with one hand while the other dipped below her waist, pulling her against him. This  time his touch was verging on…possessive…and Catherine’s heart soared. The kiss deepened and she could hear her heart pounding in her temples. Kissing Vincent was like nothing she had ever previously experienced; and definitely something to which she intended to become addicted. 

* * *

“Guy on line two wants to speak with you, Joe.” 

“Yeah? Did he say what about?” 

“Uh-uh. Says it’s private. You want I should tell him to take a hike?”

Joe Maxwell’s dark eyebrows knitted together in concentration, raised a little in amusement. “Are you kidding? Sounds like the most interesting call I’ve had all day.” He lifted the receiver and covered the mouthpiece. “Okay I got it.” There was a click as his colleague in the main office replaced his receiver. Joe leaned back in his chair and threw down his pencil. “Yeah, this is Joe Maxwell.” 

“Mr Maxwell, I have some information for you which I think you’ll find very interesting.” 

“No kidding? Could you, maybe, be a little more specific?” 

“The body you pulled out of the East River. Is that ‘specific’ enough for you?”

Joe’s stomach muscles tightened and twisted, causing a sharp pain in his gut. “Yeah, I guess it is.” He leaned forward, immediately alert again, his whole body taut; the  consummate professional Deputy DA, anxious for any information on his newest, distressing…and highly personal case. He picked up his pencil again. “Who am I speaking to?” 

“You can call me Stuart if you need a name.” 

“Is that your first or last name?” 

“You want to discuss names or you want information?”

“I want whatever you got.”

There was a pause, as if the man on the other end was weighing up the wisdom making such a call. “Not over the phone. You know Broome Street on the Lower East Side?” 

“I know it.” Joe frowned. The area was known to be one of the most dangerous parts of the city. It was not a good place for a meet. 

“Okay, there’s an old, disused private club called the Beaumont. Be there at midnight…I’ll give you a name. Just make sure you come alone. You hear me, Mr Maxwell?”

Joe knew he would have to be out of his mind to go through with this. “I hear you. I’ll be there.” 

Joe hung up and reached for the file on the corner of his desk. He opened it and stared down at  the photograph of a dead woman taken by a police photographer at the scene of the incident. She wasn’t  a pretty sight. Three days in the river had seen to that. But she had been beautiful. Joe could vouch for that. When he’d seen her that last time in his office, her lovely face had registered more than just remorse at her treachery. There was also a flicker of regret; that her greed and ambition had soured things between  them. Joe felt another brief pain. this time in the region of his heart. Oh yes, Erica Salvin had been a  stunningly beautiful woman. 

* * *

Catherine felt a hunger building inside her that she wasn’t sure she had the power to control. She clutched at Vincent, one hand tangled in his hair, the other now blatantly trying to free the fastenings on his tunic. His response to their kiss had been so unusual that she hadn’t really considered whether she was actually trying to undress him; she just wanted so desperately to feel the contours of his body against her instead of his bulky cloak and tunic.

Suddenly, almost roughly, Vincent pushed her away and scrambled to his feet.  

“Vincent, please…don’t do this.”

He strode to the far end of the terrace, turned and paced back again, all traces of his previous relaxed demeanour gone now; replaced with the familiar tension which was always just a heartbeat away when they were together. Even his voice was strained when he spoke. “I cannot be what you want me to be, Catherine!” 

“Why not!” She stood up and moved to halt his pacing back and forth across the terrace. “Don’t feel threatened by my need for you, Vincent. I love you…I swear to God, I’ll never hurt you.”

His eyes  flashed like a field of cornflowers set alight. “But I could hurt you! I cannot trust myself, Catherine. I thought you understood.”  

“Oh, love.” She had him backed up against the wall and moved forward, surrounding him as if she were trying to step right into him. Wrapping her arms tightly around his waist, she just held him, waiting for his breathing to calm and her cheek to still against the rapid motion of his chest. She wished the arms that remained at his sides would move to hold her, too, but she knew him well enough to know that while he needed all her love and comfort at this time, he also needed some space. And that meant he didn’t  trust himself to touch her, and it was only a matter of moments now until he left.   “I do understand, Vincent. But the difference between us is that I trust you. With my heart, my  life…and with my body.” 

“Your trust may be misplaced.” 

“I don’t believe that. I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. It’s just so hard for me sometimes.” She gave him a little shake, and peered up into his face. “I guess I love you too damn much.” He looked  down and her heart revolved in her breast to see the anguish in those shimmering blue pools beneath  long, golden lashes. 

“You can never love too much, Catherine,” he murmured, his voice catching with emotion. “Know that I am yours in every way that is possible for me.” 

“With love, everything is possible, Vincent. But I can wait. I’ve learned to be patient.”

Vincent  dropped his eyes, unwilling to look at her. “You will not wait forever.” 

Catherine brought one hand to his face, lifting his chin so that their eyes met. 

“Vincent, listen to me; making love with the person you intend to spend the rest of your life with, is a beautiful experience. And I want to share that experience with you so much. But you’re wrong…I will wait…forever if necessary. Because I’d rather spend the next fifty years celibate with you, than make love  every night with someone else.” 

“I would never ask you to do that…” 

“I know you wouldn’t, but let me finish, Vincent.” Catherine held on to his upper arm, squeezing it encouragingly in the hope of delaying his flight. “Physical union between two people who don’t love each other is just…sex. Sometimes it’s the worst thing a person can experience in their whole life. But when it’s with the person you love most in the world…it’s an act of love. It’s bringing the love you feel for that person to its most natural conclusion.” Catherine stroked the velvet down of his cheek. “And we love  each other, don’t we, Vincent?” 

“Yes.” The word was murmured so softly she had to strain to hear it. 

“Tell me something, Vincent.” 

“What should I tell you?” 

“Do you trust me?”

He expelled a breath he’d been holding and took her hand from his face to  press tightly over his heart. “With everything that I am, Catherine. You have opened the world for me. How can you doubt  that I trust you?” 

 “Oh, Vincent…” She paused, uncertain if she could continue without crying. Closing her eyes for a  moment she swallowed hard. “Sometimes I think this ‘world’ I have opened for you, causes you more pain than joy.”

He shook  his head vigorously and strands of his hair whipped across her face. “I was only half alive before I found you. Better to feel pain sometimes, than to feel nothing.” 

“But I don’t want you to feel pain! I want you to feel only love and joy and happiness always!” Her control slipped finally and she sobbed into his chest. It didn’t help that she knew this whole conversation had been her fault, pushing him too hard as usual. Vincent needed no further encouragement to hold her. His own troubles forgotten at the sight of her tears, he wrapped one arm  around her back and stroked her head with the other hand. 

“Sssh. Don’t cry, Catherine…please don’t cry. It will be all right, I promise. You are so patient with me. Truly, I did not mean to put you through this. I should have left much earlier.”

Catherine sniffed and lifted a tearstained but fierce face to glare up at him.”The hell you should. I can take it, Vincent, but you…” She squeezed him hard. “In some ways I’m stronger than you. You need an awful lot of love…more than anyone I’ve ever known. Well, that’s easy. I’ll give you all the love, reassurance, and comfort you need. I’m right here for you and I always will be, Vincent. And as for that subject that worries you so much…I can wait forever…I hope to God I won’t have to, but if that’s what it takes…” She shrugged. “So be it. Tell me you believe me.”

He offered her one of  his precious half-smiles. A smile that said he knew when he was beaten; at least for tonight. “I believe you.”

“Good. Then go home and get some sleep; it’s almost midnight.” She ran her hands soothingly over his shoulders and refastened the front of his tunic where her probing fingers had gained access. “Relax and stop worrying. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

His smile widened a little and she glimpsed the tips of his fangs. “Okay.”

She loved it when he said that. He’d done it more and more lately and it told Catherine  that he was learning to accept the gentle, sometimes teasing intimacy of a shared love. Returning his  smile, she stood on tiptoe and pressed her lips briefly, non-threateningly, to his. “‘Night, Vincent.”

He tilted his head in gracious submission. “Goodnight, Catherine. 

* * *

Joe often worked late in preference to returning home to an empty apartment. After the phone call at five-thirty, he continued ploughing through a mountain of paperwork until he heard the janitor rattling his cleaning cart through the outer office. He’d be bound to get a lecture from the man. Throwing a glance at the clock he grimaced. Nine-twenty. This was getting ridiculous. His brother and  sister-in-law in New Jersey were always telling him he worked too hard; that his body would rebel one of  these days. Joe frowned and rubbed a hand over his stomach, wondering if the twinges he’d been feeling there for the past few days, and which he’d put down to an over-indulgence of chocolate cheese nuggets, could possibly be something more sinister. All he needed right now was an ulcer. Then he relaxed a  little. He hadn’t eaten anything since the Danish at 11:30. No wonder he was getting twinges. 

But this case was getting to him. If they hadn’t been so short-staffed in the office, it would never  have been allocated to his caseload. Everyone who knew Joe also knew he’d pursue this one relentlessly.  He’d fallen head over heels in love with Erica Salvin; let down his guard and behaved like a gullible, immature jerk. He’d welcomed her into his bed and into his heart, and all of a sudden, good old Joe – who never had time for serious involvements – had found himself thinking about dinky little cottages with roses around the door; mortgages and…yes, maybe even kids. But Cathy had been suspicious. Almost  from the start she had figured something was wrong and tried to warn him. Hell, she’d even gotten mad and yelled at him when his work started to suffer. But he hadn’t listened until it was too late…until he’d  found he’d been set up and damn near gone to prison as a result of Erica’s scheming. 

And Cathy had been there for him when his world had fallen apart. She’d single-handedly brought Erica and the corrupt partners in the law firm for whom he’d very nearly left the D.A.’s office, to justice. There had been no recriminations, just relief that she’d been able to get him off the hook. She’d stuck by him and helped him through the heartache. Joe had long suspected that Cathy had a lot of that in her own life…but it hadn’t made her bitter. She was still the same tough little cookie she’d been ever since he’d known her; fiercely independent, compassionate, infuriatingly secretive, and the most loyal friend he’d ever had. 

Shoving all the papers into his top drawer, Joe locked the desk and pocketed the key. He yanked  the already loosened tie from his neck and stuffed it into his pocket. Going around to the other side of  the desk, he hooked his finger in the tab on his jacket and slung it over his shoulder. The day had been  fraught with problems and complications and he almost looked forward to the short drive across town. 

Joe rarely ate dinner at his apartment, and when he did, it was still rarer that he cooked for himself.  Mostly it was frozen pizza or take-out from the local deli. More often than not, Joe stopped by a diner on the way home. Tonight he felt like Italian, so he nosed his car into a parking lot close to an authentic little trattoria he often visited. The food was good, the atmosphere informal, and the people as friendly as you wanted them to be. Tonight he felt like some company. Joe looked at his watch. He also knew they’d let him stay as long as he liked, and he didn’t want to eat, then go home and twiddle his thumbs for a couple of hours before meeting ‘Stuart’. He walked the few yards to the restaurant, and pushed open the door to the welcoming aromas and ambience he’d come to enjoy.

* * *

Vincent made his way home through the streets and alleys of a city that didn’t know of his existence. Despite the winter temperature and its threat of frost on such a beautifully clear night, his cloak felt hot and heavy, and he cursed the fact he was forced to keep the hood up. When he reached the park,  he relaxed his guard just a little. He never felt quite as vulnerable there as walking the streets. He allowed 

his hood to fall as he moved towards the drainage culvert. He paused for a moment, looking up at the  moon. A cloud was about to pass over it, obscuring it for some time. 

* * *

Only a handful of diners were left in the trattoria by ll:45 pm, and Joe asked for the check. His stomach wasn’t growling any more, but he felt a trace of unease at the prospect of the appointment he was about to keep. It was only a short drive to the Lower East Side and he certainly didn’t want to arrive  any earlier than necessary. 

He was about to leave when, on an impulse he couldn’t have explained even to himself, he reached for a paper napkin and wrote down Cathy Chandler’s name and phone number. Then he folded  the paper into four and tucked it into the breast pocket of his jacket. With a sigh, he scraped back his chair and left the restaurant. 

* * *

Vincent’s chamber felt airless, and for some reason tonight the smell of candle wax made him feel vaguely nauseous. The tunnels were not well equipped to deal with the changing seasons. In winter the individual chambers were heated by their inhabitants, but the passages remained chilly and the walls were often damp. By contrast, during a hot summer, they had a tendency to be stuffy, and Vincent was the first to admit there were certain facilities available in the world Above to which the residents of the tunnel community were not privy. Central heating and air-conditioning would be very welcome additions to their world.

He wondered if Mouse had ever considered the intricacies of developing some kind of Heath Robinson method which would provide heat in winter and fresh air in summer. Vincent smiled. He could just imagine Father’s face if the boy were ever to suggest such a thing. He’d very nearly had a heart attack when Vincent had supported and endorsed Mouse’s theory for providing running water Below. That had  been several years ago, and, after a few inevitable teething troubles, the system had worked surprisingly well. Must be getting old, Vincent thought. I don’t remember having so many complaints about the  temperature before. 

 Hanging up his cloak, Vincent began to undress. He removed his tunic and belt and then sat down to tug off his boots one by one. He pulled his shirt over his head and unzipped his pants. When, a  few seconds later he was naked, he paused. 

There were no mirrors in Vincent’s chamber, never had been. Father had always been careful to ensure that his special son lived as normal and peaceful a life as he was able, without constant visual reminders of his outward differences. As a child, however, Vincent had gone through a stage of looking at himself almost daily in the Mirror Pool and seeing a distorted reflection of his face in the water. This had  resulted in him bolting from the scene and sobbing into his pillow every night for almost two months. When Father had discovered the reason for Vincent’s distress, he had shown the child a proper mirror and managed to mollify him, albeit slightly; reassuring him that he was not a monster or an animal, although he was different to other boys and as a result of this, would have to live Below all his life for his own  protection. It had taken some considerable time for Vincent to accept the reasons why. His innocent, trusting nature could not comprehend why people in the world Above should wish to hurt him for no  reason. 

As Vincent grew into adulthood, his life went through many transitional periods. He accepted his fate graciously most of the time, and although he knew his body was well formed, he was careful to keep it hidden from prying or simply curious eyes. He still took no pleasure in his appearance, and since Catherine had entered his life, certain other factors and complications had arisen. To Vincent’s amazement, she had not only come to love him, but had fallen in love with him, feeling an intense sexual desire for him which he could barely comprehend.

As a result of meeting Catherine and more recently discovering her true feelings, Vincent had experienced his first erection since adolescence. The shame he felt when it first happened had abated, but he remained constantly on edge whenever they were close, determined that she should never be aware of  how she affected him. He was convinced she would be revolted if she should ever discover his shameful secret. Tonight, however, he was almost sure she had known. That was why he had broken away from her so abruptly and behaved as he did. That Catherine should actually feel the physical manifestation of his forbidden yearning for her, was just too painful to deal with. And yet she had looked at him with such love and trust; almost pleading with him to make love to her; assuring him of her eternal devotion. Her declaration that she would rather live a celibate life with him than have any sort of life without him, had twisted his heart. She had already made so many sacrifices to be with him…to love him as she did. 

Vincent looked down at his naked body. He knew from seeing other boys and men in the bathing pools and sometimes as patients in the Hospital Chamber, that he was built more powerfully than all of them. His muscles rippled in his shoulders, arms, and legs, and his chest was wide and superbly developed. He hadn’t a pound of fat anywhere on his body, but neither was he too lean. Firm flesh covered every finely honed part of him. He might even have been comfortable with his body if it hadn’t  been for its hirsute appearance. The silky, golden hair that was quite thick on his upper chest, thinning gradually over his back, arms, and thighs until it almost disappeared on his flanks, rump, and inside forearms, was something other men didn’t have. It was this hair which made Vincent feel less than human,  and he couldn’t bear to think that Catherine might see it and be repulsed by him. 

He stood, feet apart, in the center of his chamber and tilted his head back. Closing his eyes, he splayed both hands on the swell of his breast, one above the other, feeling his heart pulsing harder and faster as the feeling suffused him again. Vincent was very much aware of his own sexuality as he moved his hands slowly over the hardened nipples and down over his stomach until they came to rest lightly on the part of him that pleaded for attention and categorically defined his biological status as a man.  Catherine…! 

* * *

Broome Street was deserted at midnight. Joe walked purposefully towards the Beaumont building, his eyes scanning the children’s play area for signs that he was not alone. He felt the hairs along his scalp lift, despite his desire to appear calm and unruffled. 

A car door slammed, causing an acceleration in Joe’s heartbeat. Footsteps echoed in the shadows  and a man emerged into a watery light spilling from the only lamp in the street that hadn’t been vandalised. 

“Joe Maxwell?” 

 “That’s right. You the guy I’m supposed to meet with?” It was an inane question. Who else would expect to run across the Senior Deputy District Attorney of Manhattan in this seedy and dangerous part of  town?

“Come nearer, Joe. I want to see your face.”

Joe took a few steps towards the man. “Look, wouldn’t you rather go somewhere to talk? I mean, I know you don’t want anyone to hear this, but there’s a bar right around the corner where no one will bother us.” 

“What I have to say to you, Joe, can be said right here.” 

The man suddenly reached inside his jacket and Joe knew he’d made a terrible mistake in coming to this place. Before he could react in any physical way, he heard a gunshot and something slammed into his chest with all the force of colliding with a train. Seeing everything in slow motion, he fell to the ground as the man with the gun floated over to him and stood grinning humourlessly above him. “I said I’d give you a name. I never break a promise, Joe. This is for Erica.”      

As the stranger turned away, Joe found his brain unable to function. He felt sleepy and faint, but there didn’t seem to be much pain. He touched the wound in his chest and slowly raised his hand to look at it. The fingers wavering a few inches from his face were wet…and something warm and sticky was dripping onto his face. Joe tested it gingerly with the tip of his tongue. It tasted like a new filling after you’d come from the dentist…like iron. 

Suddenly, a myriad of silent lights exploded in Joe’s head and then everything went black.    

* * *

 Vincent was dreaming, but it wasn’t a peaceful dream. He lay on his back in bed, his arms and legs moving restlessly, kicking off the comforter. The soft cotton ties at the front of his nightshirt lay open, exposing his chest almost to the waist. He’d wrestled with his pillows, and his head now lay between them, turning back and forth as the dream grew more intense. 

He and Catherine were naked in her bed. She was stroking him all over, glassy-eyed with desire for him. She moved sensuously beneath him, arching her back and thrusting her breasts upwards into his waiting mouth. She was calling to him, touching his thighs and genitals. He could feel himself losing control; he needed to be inside her, to feel everything she was feeling; everything she was offering. He’d held back for so long he was beginning to experience intense discomfort; his erection heavy and  throbbing from the enlarged blood vessels inside. Suddenly he knew he could wait no longer. He threw back his head and roared, plunging inside her, oblivious to her cry of anguish. His head was filled only with his own need to empty himself inside her and feel the ecstasy other men did, but which had  previously been denied to him. 

Catherine screamed underneath him, pushing at his chest to try and free herself of the raging beast that was violating her body. The Beast looked down at her. How dare she fight him. He saw blood on the sheets but this only enraged and excited him even more. He ran his tongue over lips that tasted salty with perspiration. He would have his way, and anyone who tried to stop him would be very sorry they interfered. 

* * *

A light sleeper always, Mary awoke with a start. She lay for a moment wondering what had disturbed her. Then she heard it…a sound she had heard many times before over the years. Vincent…   

The growls were becoming louder and Mary guessed he must be having one of his nightmares. She’d held and calmed him more times than she cared to remember over the years. There had been times in his life, often following a bout of illness, when he couldn’t seem to close his eyes without suffering the terrifying dreams. What broke Mary’s heart was the fact that it was always The Other; that darker part of  himself that always tortured Vincent. Other children dreamed about ghosts and bogeymen and when they awoke, they knew it wasn’t real. But for Vincent, the monster was always there; all too real; lying dormant for most of the time, but still there, inside him; however deep it was buried. 

Well, there was only one thing to be done. She couldn’t let him suffer. Vincent hadn’t been a child for over twenty years, but he still endured the torture of bad dreams; still needed the comfort she could offer him. She climbed out of bed and pulled her robe around her. Padding down the stone passageways, she bit her lip as the sounds from Vincent’s chamber grew louder. It hadn’t been as bad as this for a long time. What, in Heaven’s name, must he be going through? 

She called out to him from just outside the doorway, but he was obviously far too deeply asleep to hear her. Shaking her head anxiously, Mary pushed aside the curtain and went inside. Vincent was thrashing back and forth on the bed as if he was in the grip of a fever. His face and chest were damp with  perspiration and his hair was matted and tangled about his face. His nightshirt had ridden up above his knees and, knowing how shy he was, Mary bent to pull it down again. 

“Vincent? Vincent, wake up dear, it’s Mary.” She touched his shoulder to rouse him, but what she awoke was the clawed, fanged demon of his nightmare. Gasping with shock, Mary hesitated a moment too long and The Beast whirled in the bed, raising one powerful arm which lashed out in fury at the one who had dared to intrude on its mating. The sound of its victim’s scream of terror and pain finally banished The Other, bringing Vincent abruptly to consciousness. 

He reared up, chest heaving, and fighting for breath. At first he didn’t know where he was and, dizzy from the sudden movement, he dropped his head into his hands. Then, slowly, as he became aware of his surroundings and the fact that Catherine was safe at home alone in her bed, he looked around the chamber. Something had awakened him. He rubbed his eyes, not quite believing what he saw. Mary was lying in a crumpled heap on the floor just inside the doorway. Even in the dim candlelight, Vincent’s keen  eyesight detected a pool of blood spreading around her head. 

“Mary!” Vincent sprang from the bed and knelt beside the woman who had been mother, best friend, elder sister, and aunt to him for almost his whole life. What was she doing here, and how had this happened? Realisation gradually…agonizingly dawned on Vincent as he remembered the content of his nightmare. He had done this. He had attacked Mary when she came to wake and comfort him. Vincent  swallowed a sob and, reaching out shakily, gathered her slender body up in his arms. Blood immediately saturated his sleeve as he held her against his chest. Vincent trembled as he threw back his head and howled in anguish, tears pouring down his face and falling onto Mary’s cold, pale one. 

* * *

When the insistent ringing reached Catherine’s ears, she automatically reached for the alarm. After punching it twice and then, through bleary eyes, seeing it slither to the floor, she realised the ringing must be coming from the telephone. The answering machine kicked in just as she made it into the living room. Snatching up the receiver, she stifled a yawn. 

“Is this Cathy Chandler?” 

“Yes it is. Who is this?” 

“This is City Hospital, ma’am. Do you know a Joseph Maxwell?” 

“Joe? Yes…yes, we both work for the District Attorney’s Office. Is something wrong?” Catherine felt the stirrings of anxiety in the pit of her stomach. 

“I’m afraid so. Mr. Maxwell was admitted in the early hours of this morning with a serious bullet wound to the chest.” The woman obviously heard Catherine’s involuntary gasp as she asked, “Are you okay…you still there?” 

“Yes! Yes, I’m here. What happened? Who would want to shoot Joe?” 

“I don’t know what happened, ma’am. I just work in Records. I was handed your phone number a few minutes ago because it seems Mr. Maxwell had it in his pocket when he was found…” 

“How is he?” Catherine interjected, her fingers tightening on the phone. “Is he going to be okay? Can I see him?” 

“Well, he’s still in surgery. I have to tell you, it doesn’t look good.” 

Catherine whimpered, her eyes filling with tears at the thought of losing the man who was not only her boss, but one of her dearest friends; one with whom she’d been through so much. She suddenly realised the woman at the other end of the phone was still speaking. 

“We can’t seem to trace any family here in the city. Do you think you could get down here and answer some questions for us?”

The sleepiness had long since dissipated from Catherine’s head and she was already thinking ahead a couple of hours. “Yes, of course…I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” 

“Thank you. Goodbye.” 

“‘Bye. Thanks for call…” But the receiver had been replaced at the other end. In Records at City Hospital, there were many other calls to be made. 

As Catherine hurried through the doors of the hospital, she was reminded of another time. A time her Father had lain apparently unconscious and dying, yet appearing to understand her message to him. In addition to re-affirming her love for Charles Chandler, she had reassured him that she had found the happy life he and her mother had wanted for her. It might not be the kind of life they would have  chosen, and Vincent certainly wasn’t the man they’d have hoped would one day become their son-in-law, but as a wise man once pointed out,we don’t always have a choice about whom we love; sometimes it is destiny. 

Vincent had ignored the danger to himself of making such a foray into her world, to be there for her at one of the saddest times in her life. He’d actually come into her father’s private room and stood beside the bed – hood lowered – and explained his love for Catherine. Later she’d thought long and hard about that; about what might have happened to Vincent if someone had come in. And she knew she’d spend her whole life trying to makeVincent as happy as he deserved to be, even if she had to fight him  every step of the way in order to do so. 

After completing as far as she was able, the interminable forms required by the hospital, including the name and address of Joe’s brother in New Jersey, Catherine retreated to the visitors waiting room. With a sense of deja-vu, she sat, paced, and sometimes dozed for the next three hours until a man in surgeons’ greens, a mask dangling from one hand, appeared in the doorway. With a start she scrambled to  her feet. 

“Doctor…Joe Maxwell…is he…?” The man looked tired. Catherine surmised he’d probably been on his feet since early the previous morning. 

“You’re Miss Chandler; Mr Maxwell’s friend?” 

“Yes…how is he?” 

“Well, he’s come through surgery, but he’s not out of the woods yet. The next few hours are crucial. The bullet…” He hesitated, obviously unsure how much Catherine had been told. “You are aware of the type of wound?” Catherine nodded. “Well, as I say, the bullet was buried very deep in the chest cavity; in fact, it grazed the heart. Another inch and he’d be dead. I don’t know why he’s not. However, let’s try and be optimistic. I’ve repaired the damage and his vital signs are strong. If you want me to stick my neck out, I’d say he’ll live. That’s assuming he doesn’t suffer any kind of setback in the meantime. I’m sorry I can’t be more encouraging.”

Catherine twisted her fingers together, forcing her voice to sound controlled. “If he…lives…will he be okay? I mean, will his heart be damaged in any way?”

“Hard to say. As I say, if he remains stable for the next few hours and doesn’t relapse, then I see no reason why he shouldn’t make a complete recovery.” 

“Thank God. Can I see him please?” 

“Certainly. But only for a moment.” He jerked his head in the direction of the hallway outside. “He’s in ICU down there on the right.last room. He won’t know you’re there, of course.”

Catherine grabbed her purse from the couch and was moving past him as she spoke. 

“I understand. Thank you Doctor.” 

A nurse was in attendance, but Catherine barely noticed her as she approached the bed. Joe lay on his back in pristine white sheets which were almost indistinguishable from the paleness of his face. There was a thick padded dressing on his chest and a nasal feeding tube and drip were taped in position. He looked terrifyingly vulnerable, and Catherine stifled a sob with her hand as she leaned over him to  speak. 

“Joe? Joe, can you hear me? It’s Cathy.” She hadn’t expected a response, but it was such a shock to see him so pale and lifeless. The silence in the room was oppressive and sickening. If it hadn’t been for the regular bleep of the heart monitoring machine nearby, Catherine could have believed he was already dead. As she turned to pull up a chair beside the bed, the importance of Joe in her life suddenly hit her with a force she hadn’t counted on. 

Despite his initial reluctance to employ a socialite with a brand-new conscience, his gruff, macho attitude had softened immediately he realised she was prepared to ‘grunt’ with the rest of the staff. Right from the start she’d worked damn hard and he knew it. In just a few short weeks she knew she’d become – though he’d rather die than admit it – his favourite colleague; the kid sister he’d never had; the best friend he could talk to…even cry with if he had to. 

She’d always had a sneaking suspicion that he was even a little bit in love with her, but he never told her that either, so she might have been wrong. Joe was a man you were proud to have as your friend. He’d cover for you, watch out for you, give you his protection; even share his last jelly doughnut with you if you were his friend. And now some low-life had tried to end that bright energy source that was Joe Maxwell. Catherine looked at her life without Joe in it and the dam of tears she’d built inside wasn’t strong enough to withstand the onslaught of grief. Moving closer, she reached for his hand with both of  hers and held on to it as if it were her lifeline. As she pressed it to her forehead, her sobs mingled with long-forgotten childish prayers. 

Don’t die, Joe! she prayed silently, holding his hand. Just don’t die…please God, don’t let him die. I’m here for you, Joe…I’m right here with you and I won’t let you die. D’you hear me…I won’t let you die!   

* * *

Vincent scooped Mary into his arms and raced through the tunnels shouting for Father.  Oblivious to the fact he was wearing nothing but a nightshirt, he hurtled around corners and took stairs three at a time, his hair flying out behind him as he ran. When he reached the Hospital Chamber, a few of the nearby residents were already waiting for him, having heard his shouts. 

“Get Father, quickly!” he yelled at Kanin and Olivia as they arrived, rubbing their eyes and tying their robes around them. 

“Oh my God, it’s Mary…what happened?” 

Vincent had neither the time nor inclination to answer Olivia’s question. He placed Mary gently on a bed  and covered her with a blanket. “Just get him…NOW!” he commanded. Olivia raced off and Vincent moved quickly around the chamber getting cotton wool, lint, and bandages. He filled a bowl with water and carefully turned Mary’s head to begin bathing the wound. Kanin remained silent but stood beside the bed and stroked Mary’s  cold hand. 

Jamie and Pascal arrived, their faces white with fear. “We met Olivia in the passage – she said Mary’s hurt.”

Kanin nodded but Vincent didn’t even seem to hear. “Where is he…where is he!” he muttered, frantically trying to stem the flow of blood from behind Mary’s ear.

Jamie went to stand beside Vincent, touching his shoulder gently.”Vincent, do you think maybe you should wait for Father? I’m sure he’s on his way and it might be dangerous to move Mary’s head.” It was as if she hadn’t spoken. Vincent continued to soak pads of cotton wool in water now the color of Mary’s blood, and press them against the wound.   

“I’ll put out a message on the pipes to let everyone know,” Pascal said quietly. “Tell me if there’s anything I can do…anything.” He looked around quickly and Jamie nodded in acknowledgement. Pascal collided in the doorway with Father and, apologising, sped on his way. 

“What on earth’s happened, Vincent? I heard you shouting and then Olivia said something  about…” He always moved with difficulty first thing in the morning and he’d been sound asleep when Vincent’s shouts had disturbed him. He moved to the bed and gasped in shock. “Oh, dear God…how  did this happen?” He glanced quickly at Vincent for explanation but was horrified to see that his son was shaking from head to foot and his pale face was beaded with perspiration. For a moment he even wondered if Vincent, too, was ill. Then he realised that whatever had happened, Vincent must have been involved and he was badly shaken. Putting a hand on his son’s shoulder, he tried to ease him away from the bedside. 

“All right, Vincent,” he said, in his practised, calm physician’s voice. “We’ll talk later. I’ll take over now. You don’t have to stay.”

Vincent’s eyes were wild and unfocused when he replied. “Of course, I have to stay! I did this to Mary!”

Father hadn’t got the time to ponder on what exactly Vincent meant. Mary’s need for medical attention was real and urgent, and anything else would  have to wait until later. “Very well, but go and sit down over there.” He gestured vaguely to a chair and bent over Mary.

 “I don’t need to sit down!” Vincent growled. “I need to be here…helping!”

Father looked up, his tone of voice brooking no argument from anyone…even Vincent. 

“In my opinion you do need to sit down. You’re obviously extremely upset and possibly suffering from shock. Now, either sit quietly for a few minutes while I examine Mary, or go and get a cup of hot tea because you’re no help to me like this, Vincent.” Thus dismissing his son, Father turned his attention back to his patient. Vincent looked around in agitation, unsure what to do; knowing only that he needed to  stay with Mary. He began pacing around the room, his hands clenched into fists which he held at waist  level, a sure sign of his high anxiety. 

 “Vincent!” Father snatched off his spectacles and tutted irritably before forcing himself to say more  gently. “At least go and put some clothes on.” Vincent halted and looked down. Realising his state of undress triggered a need to do something normal, if only temporarily, and he whirled on his heel and left the Hospital Chamber. 

Mouse caught up with Vincent as he was nearing his chamber. 

“Vincent…pipes say Mary hurt…how bad?” Vincent marched into his chamber and grabbed the pants he’d taken off the night before.

Mouse touched his arm, his face tense with worry. “Vincent! Talk to Mouse…how bad Mary hurt?”

The terror in the face of his young friend jolted Vincent briefly back to the needs of others. Stepping into the pants, he fastened them and yanked the nightshirt over his head. “Mary is badly hurt, Mouse. I –I can’t tell you exactly how it happened but…we all have to be very patient and pray for Mary’s recovery. Now…” He pulled a clean shirt from his drawer and reached for his soft suede boots. “I must return to the Hospital Chamber.” 

“Is Mary gonna die, Vincent?” 

“No!” Vincent whirled around, his eyes almost feral with terror and fury. He wanted to hit Mouse for asking that question. God help him he actually wanted to hit the boy. Without even bothering to fully pull his hair from inside his shirt collar, Vincent was already moving to the doorway, lacing his shirt as  he went. 

“Mouse come too?” 

“If you wish, Mouse. Just don’t get in the way, and do whatever Father tells you.” 

“Okay. Help Mary. Help Father.” He looked up at his best friend who was racing down the passage so fast that even Mouse was having difficulty keeping up. “Help Vincent too,” he muttered.   

As they approached the entrance to the Hospital Chamber, Jamie was ushering people away. “Father will tell us how Mary is as soon as he can,” she promised several concerned residents. “And if he can’t leave Mary, I or someone else will come and tell you. Now, please, all of you…go back to  bed. There’s nothing you can do here.” When she saw Vincent, she stepped back hurriedly to allow him access. He moved immediately to the bed and Father glanced up at his son. 

“Are you all right?” 

“How is she?” 

“She has a fractured skull. And I’m not happy about her neck. It’s not broken, but it was badly twisted when she fell. I think she may be bleeding inside.” Father straightened and peered at Vincent over the top of his spectacles. “I’ll have to operate immediately. Rebecca offered to help but she’s never been involved in surgery before. I’m not sure she has the stomach for it. Are you up to assisting?” 

“Of course.” 

“Then let’s scrub up and make a start.” 

For the next two hours, the two men worked diligently, efficiently as a team. Vincent somehow managed to contain his own roiling emotions and inner turbulence to give Father the support he needed, passing instruments, preparing sutures and bandages, swabbing, and, when the tension of performing such delicate surgery on someone so precious caused Father to perspire, wiping his brow. Eventually it was done and both men felt utterly drained, although for entirely different reasons.

Father moved slowly to  the sink to wash his hands. “Take my spectacles off for me, will you, Vincent?”

Vincent complied, setting them down safely, then bent to wash his own hands. “What will happen now, Father? Will Mary recover?”

The old man shrugged his shoulders with a sigh. “I honestly don’t know. It’s a very bad fracture. I’d much prefer Mary to be in a hospital Above. We may yet have to send her to one.” 

“No!”

Father turned in astonishment to look at his son. “I beg your pardon?”

Vincent flung the hand towel aside and whirled away from the sink. “I have to be near her…care for her.” He turned beseeching eyes upon Jacob. “Please, Father…don’t send Mary away. I couldn’t bear it.”

Jacob stared at Vincent. “We have to do what is best for Mary. But…” He knew that Vincent’s uncharacteristic plea for his own wishes to be granted, was born out of frustration and sheer terror that Mary might not pull through. Father went through the motions of rinsing and wiping his hands while he formulated his thoughts. After  a moment he turned to Vincent. “Would you like to talk about…what happened?”

Vincent’s fists were clenched tightly and he was becoming restless again. “I – I don’t think I can. And it would serve no useful purpose. Mary would still be…like this.” He looked down at her heavily bandaged head and pale, almost ethereal face as gut-wrenching feelings of guilt and shame swirled inside him. making him feel nauseous. What kind of man did something like this…something like he’d done in his dream? The only possible consolation Vincent allowed himself to feel was that the violation of Catherine’s body had not been real. The violation of Mary’s, however; was.   

“It might help you. We have done everything possible for Mary at this time. She won’t wake for several hours at least. Vincent, I think we should talk.” 

“Not here.” 

“Very well then, in my study.”

Vincent looked shocked. “No! I will not leave Mary!” 

“Vincent, there’s nothing more we can do.” 

“Maybe not, but I can sit with her. I will sit with her until she awakes.” 

“That may not be today…or even tomorrow.” The color drained from Vincent’s face.   “However long it takes,” he muttered, “I will remain here.” Father reached for Vincent’s arm and gestured for him to sit. Pulling up another chair to face him, he picked up his spectacles from the bench and slowly began to clean them; more in an effort to give them both something physical to focus on than because they actually needed it. 

“Vincent,” he said gently, “Mary has been anaesthetized. She cannot hear anything we might say to each other. Please, tell me what’s upsetting you to this extent…it’s obviously more than Mary’s injuries.”  

Vincent glanced over to the bed. “You’re wrong. It is entirely to do with Mary’s injuries.”

Father paused, wondering how to phrase  his next question without making Vincent clam up completely. “Vincent…would I er, be correct in assuming that…you were somehow…responsible for what  happened to Mary?”

Vincent stared at his father, a stricken expression on his uniquely beautiful features.  Then he made a strangled sound in his throat and leaned forward on his knees, covering his face with both hands. Jacob allowed him the time he needed before answering. With a slightly shaking hand, he reached out and touched his son’s shoulder. “I can see that you’re in great pain, Vincent…but whatever happened, no blame will be attached to  you.”

Vincent looked up. “How can you say that! The ‘blame’ is attached to me! You don’t know…”  

“Then tell me, please.” The silence which followed was almost tangible. Suddenly Vincent jumped up and began to pace around. Father hated it when he did this, but it was frighteningly obvious to even most unobservant, that Vincent was under enormous stress, so he kept his own counsel, knowing  that in time, his son would speak. 

“I had a dream tonight.”

Jacob looked up. “A dream?” 

“A nightmare. About what, I cannot say…it is not relevant to what happened here. Mary must  have heard… something.” He looked over to the bed. “She has come to me many times to soothe my fears. It never  made any difference to Mary if I was too old to need comfort…she always came anyway.”  

“No one is ever too old to need comfort, Vincent.” 

“No.” 

“Your er, nightmare…was it of a violent nature?”

Vincent sucked in a lungful of air. He was becoming more distressed every moment as the memories of that dream and its consequences filled his head. “The…other part of me…was…in control.” 

“I see. And when Mary came to awaken you…”

Vincent strode to the counter and bent over it,  his arms braced against its cluttered surface. His hair fell forward over his shoulders, muffling his voice  when he spoke. 

“I must have…struck her.” 

“I imagined it must have been something of the sort. Vincent come back and sit down…please?” After several seconds, Vincent turned and walked back to the chair. He slumped into it wearily. As Father was trying to formulate some kind of comforting, yet at the same time, unpatronizing response, Kipper appeared in the doorway, an envelope in his hand. 

“‘Scuse me, Father.” 

“Yes, what is it, Kipper?” 

“There’s a letter for Vincent.”

Father waved the boy in. “Very well, you’d better give it to him.” Kipper stepped into the room and handed Vincent the envelope. He hovered uncomfortably, sensing the tension in the room, while Vincent used one claw to slit open the envelope. He took out a sheet of paper, scanned it, then leaned his head back in the chair and shut his eyes. “There is no reply, thank you, Kipper.”

Father dismissed the boy with a wink and a wave of his hand, and his boots could be heard for several seconds as he raced back through the candlelit  passageways. When Vincent didn’t speak, Father tentatively reached for the sheet of paper that lay on  Vincent’s lap. “May I?” The merest inclination of his son’s head indicated that he had permission to read the letter. Raising his spectacles to his eyes’ Father studied the brief note. 

Dearest Vincent, 

I’m sorry, I can’t see you tonight. Something’s happened. 
I’m okay; don’t worry about me but I won’t be home for a while so don’t come to me.
I’ll be in touch as soon as I can. 

Love, 
Catherine 

Father carefully replaced the letter in the envelope and returned it to Vincent. “I wonder what has happened. Do you think Catherine has had to leave New York?”

Vincent  shook his head without opening his eyes. “No, she is here. She is worried …fearful…but not for herself.” 

“For you, perhaps?” 

“No. Something else is occupying her time and thoughts. She is where she needs to be.”  

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Father muttered into his beard. 

“If Catherine could be with me, she would be, Father.” Jacob wisely decided not to pursue the subject. Instead, he rose and went to his patient, checking pulse, heartbeat and blood pressure. Vincent came up behind him. “Is she stable?” 

“Yes, thank God. Why don’t you see if you can rustle up some tea for us, Vincent?”  

“No!” Vincent shook his head vigorously. “I will not leave here. Please do not ask me again,  Father.”

Jacob sighed and reached for his stick. “Very well. Then I shall go and fetch it myself.” 

When the old man had left, Vincent leaned over Mary and carefully stroked her cheek with two  trembling fingers. “Please be well, Mary,” he murmured. Drawing a chair near the bed, he sat down to keep his vigil. Closing his eyes for a moment, he reached for his connection with Catherine and remembered their earlier conversation. Her words floated through his head as clearly as if she were in the room. I’ll give you all the love, reassurance, and comfort you need. I’m right here for you, Vincent, and I  always will be. 

“Oh, Catherine…” he whispered brokenly, “I wish you were here with me now. I need you.”    

* * *

Catherine only stayed a few minutes at the hospital. The nursing staff asked if she’d mind picking up a few things from Joe’s apartment and she willingly agreed. 

Driving over to his brownstone, Catherine remembered she was supposed to be meeting Vincent that night, and while nothing in her life was more important than him, regrettably there were times when, through necessity, something occasionally took priority temporarily. Sadly, this was one of those times. As soon as Mrs Turturo let her in, Catherine ran to Joe’s bureau, found paper and a pen and scribbled a brief note to Vincent. Right now, Joe needed her more than he did. He would understand. 

Catherine found a toilet bag and filled it with various items that Joe would need as soon as he was conscious. With a final glance around, she gathered up the bag of things and closed the door on the place that Joe called home. As she nosed her car into the hospital parking lot, she experienced a momentary twinge of something she couldn’t quite explain. It had almost been a pain, but it had disappeared so quickly she thought she must have imagined it. Catherine closed her eyes and tried to zero in on her tenuous connection with Vincent, but found nothing. While he could feel her every  emotion, she was rarely able to do the same. The reassurance of knowing he was there came basically from the deep love they shared, rather than from any empathic feelings that Catherine was able to evoke. 

There had been the odd occasion when she had felt that all was not well with Vincent; most importantly when he and Father had almost been buried alive in a tunnel collapse. Then she had suddenly felt an all-consuming pressure inside her head which she instantly knew was coming from Vincent and the fact that he was in trouble. Once he was safe again, Catherine had wondered if this had been a sign that she was developing an ability to sense Vincent’s feelings in the same way he was able to feel hers, but it seemed this was not to be. She was disappointed about this. It would have been nice, when they were apart, to know that she could think of him and know instantly what he was feeling. Whether he was safe and well, or if he needed her in some way. 

Catherine shook her head with a sigh. Whilst she was determined to persevere with a kind of self training in that area, now was definitely not the time. Joe needed her. 

This time when she entered the ICU unit, the nurse smiled and retreated to the far end of the room. Probably thinks I’m his girlfriend, mused Catherine, moving to take a seat at Joe’s bedside.

Ten minutes later, the nurse touched her shoulder. “Why don’t you go home? We can call you when he wakes up if you like. It won’t be for a while  yet.”

Catherine smiled. “I’d rather wait here if it’s okay with you. I promise not to get in the way.”  

“Okay, no problem. I just thought you might be needed at home.” 

“Oh no, I live alone. No one needs me more than Joe right now. I’d rather be here when he wakes up.”

The young nurse smiled. “In that case, would you like a cup of tea or coffee? You look as if you could use one.” Catherine nodded her thanks. 

When the nurse had left, Catherine stood up. Leaning over Joe she touched his forehead gently. “I really wish you’d wake up for me, Joe,” she whispered, swallowing hard to stop burgeoning tears from falling onto his dear face. 

* * *

 Breakfast in the tunnels was a sombre affair the following morning. William complained that he didn’t know why he’d bothered to cook at all, since none of the adults seemed to have much of an appetite. Only the children ate with any degree of enthusiasm. It wasn’t that they didn’t care that Mary was sick; it was just that children don’t have the same way of dealing with sorrow. They still played, ate, and studied, asking about Mary when they remembered, or when they saw someone that they knew had just come from the Hospital Chamber. 

If anything, they were more concerned about Vincent. Only Kipper had seen him all day. He hadn’t left Mary’s bedside even to come to breakfast and they missed him. 

Rebecca entered the Hospital Chamber to remove Vincent’s tray of eggs, toast and coffee. “Vincent, you haven’t eaten a thing!” she scolded.

He glanced up briefly. “I’m sorry Rebecca, I just couldn’t.”

Friends from childhood, Rebecca put down the tray and reached down to stroke Vincent’s hair. “Do you feel okay?”

He shrugged. “I feel the same as everyone else.” 

“No, you don’t. You feel everything much more than anyone else. You feel too much, Vincent. I worry about you, you know.”

 He reached up to take her hand and pressed his lips against it briefly. “Do not worry about me, Rebecca. There is no need…I am quite well. Mary is the one who needs  our concern.” 

“Is Catherine coming down to be with you?”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid Catherine has problems of her own. She will come when she can.”

Well, I hope it’s soon, Rebecca thought, squeezing his shoulder before she picked up the tray again, because you won’t open up to anyone else about how bad you’re feeling, and if you ever needed to unload on someone, it’s now. 

With Vincent’s permission, Father had made an announcement at breakfast, explaining the reason Vincent felt so bad about Mary’s injuries. It was necessary to tell the whole community the truth, he had said, because everyone would wonder why Vincent refused to leave her bedside. As predicted, no one blamed Vincent in any way. He had the love and respect of every single resident Below, and they all knew that being the catalyst in this terrible tragedy must be hurting Vincent as much as it had Mary. 

“I want to go to him,” sobbed Lena. “If Mary dies, it will kill Vincent.”

Father’s voice rose at this. “Let’s have no more talk like that, please. Mary isn’t going to die and Vincent doesn’t want to see  anyone just now. Give him a little time. As soon as Mary regains consciousness and shows some sign of  improvement, Vincent will be his old self again.” He wished he could be sure he was correct with both of  those predictions and was unable to prevent a shiver running through him. At the moment he wasn’t even certain that Mary would live, let alone what it would do to Vincent if she didn’t.   

The afternoon of the following day found Mary still unconscious and Vincent still sitting at her bedside. He hadn’t eaten or slept in over thirty-six hours and no one had been able to persuade him to leave the Hospital chamber other than to make the occasional trip to the bathroom. He had taken a few sips of several cups of tea brought to him by worried friends, but most of each drink had gone cold. Father  was now even more concerned for his son than he was for Mary, whose condition was stable and as well  as could be expected. 

At Jacob’s request, Peter Alcott had come down, partly to offer a second opinion and reassure him the treatment being given was satisfactory and that Mary could do no better Above, and partly in the hope that Vincent might be persuaded to listen to reason from another older man for whom he held the greatest respect and admiration. Peter had been shocked when he saw Vincent’s unkempt hair and untidy appearance. His face, usually so golden and healthy-looking, was haggard and gray; the vibrant blue of his eyes dulled with grief and exhaustion. 

“You’re taking this sense of responsibility too far, Vincent,” he advised. “I want you to go for a walk and get some air.” 

“Where do you suggest I go, Peter…to the top of the Empire State Building? The air must be wonderful up there.”

Peter and Father looked at each other. It was almost unheard of for Vincent to be  sarcastic. 

“I meant somewhere Below, naturally,” Peter replied evenly. “The Chamber of the Falls is a good  place to clear one’s head. You’ve often said yourself that you find the sound and spectacle of the water soothing and…”

Vincent sprang out of his chair and crossed the chamber in three strides. His eyes were  wild and he raised a balled fist, stopping just short of the wall as it sliced downwards again. He let it hang in mid-air, his breath coming in short gasps. Father and Peter exchanged glances. If Vincent had punched the wall in his present state, he would undoubtedly have broken his hand. The fact he had not proved at least that he was still managing to hang on to a thread of control; but how tenuous was that  grip, and at what cost to himself? Both men knew how dangerous extreme tension was for Vincent. They  had witnessed before the consequence of his stress level being exceeded, and the breakdown of both his physical and mental health had been terrifying for everyone who saw it. Right now that level was again in danger of being breached and neither man had any idea how to prevent it. 

Peter cleared his throat. “Vincent, I’m just about finished here. Would you ah, mind walking me back?”  

“No!” Vincent spun around, his blue eyes glittering with anger. “You do not need me to show you the way, Peter. This is merely a conspiracy between you and Father to try and force me to leave Mary’s side!” He took two steps forward and bent over them intimidatingly. He didn’t shout, but his voice was huskier than ever, both with rage and the internal sobbing he would not allow to surface. “Know this…I am the one responsible for Mary’s injuries…I am the one who has to live with the knowledge that I have hurt one of the people I love most in the world! If Mary dies…I will have killed  her…and I…I” He broke off, unable to continue, putting a hand to his chest as he struggled to breathe through the emotion which was all but choking him. 

Father pushed himself up from the chair and grasped Vincent’s arm, determined to make him  listen to reason. “Enough. Vincent, I insist you walk Peter back. You need the exercise. And then you will return to your chamber and sleep…even if it’s just for an hour or two. This constant vigil of yours is getting out of control…and so are you.”

Vincent shook off Father’s hand as if it were a troublesome insect. “You insist? I think you forget that I have not been a child, obligated to obey your commands for many years, Father. Unless you are speaking in your capacity as our leader, and directly for the safety of our community, you will not insist that I do anything! 

“I am speaking as your father!” 

“Then I repeat…I shall do as I choose! And I do not wish to discuss this further…with anyone.” Vincent turned his back on Jacob, his clenched fists tightening with every laboured breath he drew. He wanted to lash out and hit something…anything or anyone, and it was taking every bit of his self-control to refrain from doing so. Why couldn’t they all just leave him alone? 

“Vincent, if you won’t listen to me as your father, then I’ll speak as your physician …you must stop this! You are making yourself ill!” 

“No.” 

With an energy fuelled by anxiety, Father turned his son back to face him. He grabbed Vincent’s upper arms and shook him with surprising strength; something he had never done before in his life. At that moment he didn’t know which emotion he felt more strongly towards his son…fury or concern for his health. “Yes, you are! Just look at yourself…you look dreadful. You’re like a time bomb ready to explode with all this tension and guilt…I – I’m afraid for you, Vincent.” 

Peter jumped up and tried to intervene between father and son, worried for both of them, but both seemed to have forgotten he was even in the room. Vincent’s eyes blazed as he growled at Jacob.  “I don’t care! Do you understand, Father? I don’t care!” 

Something snapped then in Father. He dug his fingernails intoVincent’s arms, hurting him even through the thick sweater he was wearing, and shoved him backwards so hard that Vincent staggered. “Then get on with it! If you’re so hell-bent on self-destruction, do it! But don’t expect me to wait around and watch. I’ve had thirty- six years of worrying about you, Vincent…” He glanced upwards, “thirty-six years of praying to whoever might be listening up there…that you’d survive…praying every time someone or something hurt you, that it would never happen again…that you’d eventually find an inner peace and one day be truly happy….I’ve protected you from everything I possibly can…but you fight me every step of the way. I just don’t have the strength any more, and even I can’t protect you from yourself!”

He paused  in his tirade and Vincent opened his mouth to speak, but Father hadn’t finished. He still had the final, most wounding blow to deliver. “If you don’t care, then why in God’s name, should I?”  

Vincent stared at Jacob, blinking in confusion and shock. He’d never seen Father so enraged. Even as a child, he’d never been on the receiving end of so much wrath from his parent. “Father, please, I…” 

“No! Don’t say another word. I don’t want to hear it.” He turned and left the chamber; an old man leaning on a cane, but to Vincent it was a dignified exit by a beloved man whose temper and forbearance had been pushed to the limit and beyond. He sank back against the counter, bowing his head. His fingers curled over the edge, feeling the need to have something solid to hold on to. 

“Vincent, he didn’t mean any of that.” Peter stepped in front of Vincent and touched his shoulder gently. “He’s exhausted and upset, as we all are. He’ll calm down soon enough. I’ll speak with him on  my way out.” 

“No, please don’t. Father is in great pain. I have done that to him just as surely as I have hurt  Mary. Thank you for your concern, but whatever happens now must be between Father and I. Leave me now, Peter…please.” Somehow Vincent forced himself to speak quietly,calmly, but his tone left Peter in no doubt that there would be no further discussion on any subject tonight. With a sigh of despair, he patted  Vincent’s arm and turned, walking out of the hospital chamber and away from the people who were so dear to him and who were in so much pain at this terrible time. 

After Peter had left, Vincent pushed himself away from the counter and walked around the bed.  Slumping into the chair, he leaned forward and took Mary’s right hand between both of his. He lifted it  and held it to his cheek for a moment. 

“That was unforgivable, Mary,” he whispered hoarsely. “I pray you have no awareness of what just happened in here…it would have hurt you terribly to see Father and I shouting at each other…loving us both as you do.” Replacing Mary’s hand on the bed, he checked her pulse and stroked his fingers over her cheek. “Please, please be well, Mary,” he begged, his voice thick with emotion. 

Feeling suddenly weak, Vincent leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes, Father’s words reverberating around the walls of his mind. Since the moment he’d discovered Mary crumpled on the floor of his chamber, Vincent had felt as if there was a mass of solid steel where his heart should be. It was heavy and cold, filling his chest cavity  and hurting him when he breathed. Now, after the words of rage that had spilled from Father’s lips and struck Vincent with all the force of a whiplash, his most vital organ had suddenly, agonizingly been restored to him; living, pumping and bleeding…like a severely lacerated muscle…into his soul.

Oh, Catherine…where are you…

* * *

The phone in Joe’s office rang and Rita Escobar dialled the extension, enabling her to take the call. Joe was the latest in a growing list of employees calling in sick, and it hadn’t yet been decided who would take over his workload, but everyone suspected it would be divided between the three remaining junior Assistant D.A.s. Rita shot a glance at Catherine’s desk and pulled a face. If she didn’t get her ass in here pretty soon, she wouldn’t be able to complete her own work, much less her share of Joe’s.

“Mr. Maxwell’s office.” 

“Rita, it’s Cathy.” 

“Cathy! Are you still at the hospital? How is he?” Rita didn’t bother to try and disguise her concern for the man she fought with continually during the working day. Their ‘love/hate’ relationship was well known in the office, but no one was fooled. Joe treated Rita like the irritating kid sister he’d like to have had, and Rita took no nonsense from him. His abrasive personality didn’t faze her one bit. Deep down the two were friends. 

“He’s still unconscious, Rita, but at least he’s stabilised. Hopefully the healing process has begun. I can’t reach his brother…he and his wife are on vacation in Europe. No one knows exactly where they are.” Catherine’s voice broke. “He’s all alone, Rita and he looks so sick…I have to stay with him…he needs someone near who cares. Can you fix it with Moreno for me?”

Rita made a noise into the phone. “Are you kidding?! He’s going to have a coronary when he finds out…Cathy, the work on your desk is three feet high. Don’t do this to me.” 

“I’m sorry, Rita, I really am. I promise I’ll be in as soon as I know Joe’s going to be okay, and when I do, I’ll work nights, even on weekends if I have to, but right now I have to stay with Joe. The Department owes me three days anyway. Do you want me to talk to Moreno myself?”

Rita rolled her eyes to the ceiling and sighed loudly. “No, I’ll do it. Maybe I can diffuse things a little before he sees you. But you owe me one for this,  Cathy.”

Catherine smiled into the phone. “I know it.” 

“When Joe wakes up, will you tell him from me…uh, tell him…” 

“I’ll tell him, Rita. ‘Bye.” 

“‘Bye, Cathy.” 

Catherine had agreed to sleep on a cot in a room next to the ICU for a few hours on condition that someone called her if Joe showed any sign of regaining consciousness. Certain she wouldn’t sleep, she had crawled beneath a comforter, still fully dressed, and slept for over four hours.   

Returning to her apartment for a change of clothes the next evening, Catherine was surprised not to find a note from Vincent. She hoped he’d received hers. He would know that she was terribly worried about something and it wasn’t like him not to express his concern in some particular, personal way. She  prayed he was well. But if he wasn’t, or if, God forbid, he’d had some sort of accident, surely she’d know. While her tenuous thread of connection to Vincent wasn’t anywhere near as strong as she’d like, she was relatively certain she would know if anything bad had happened to him. She paused in the act of changing and closed her eyes, desperately trying to think only of Vincent in the hope that she could find that faint link with him. Nothing; not even the peaceful, loving feeling that always made her feel as if her heart was smiling. 

“Well, it’s hardly surprising,” she muttered. “The way I’m feeling right now, I’m not sure even Vincent could make me feel peaceful. God, I wish I could see him!” 

She spent just under an hour in her apartment and then returned to resume her vigil at the  hospital. Catherine sat beside Joe’s bed almost continuously for the next two days. She dozed and woke, drank vile coffee and stretched her legs occasionally to fetch a Hershey bar or a blueberry muffin from the hospital cafeteria. She’d begun to feel like a prisoner, forgetting what fresh air and daylight felt like. This is how Vincent must feel every day of his life. How does he bear it? How has he remained the sane, gentle,  loving man he is? It’s been more than three days now. God, I miss him! 

“Miss Chandler?” Catherine turned from the front desk where she’d been calling Rita again, to see the nurse from Intensive Care. Her heart throbbed painfully, unsure whether she wanted to hear what the  woman had to say. “What is it? Is Joe…?” 

“He’s just opened his eyes. I knew you’d want to come back in and say hello before he falls asleep again.” She smiled and Catherine felt her legs begin to shake. Holding on to the desk she gave a wobbly grin. “Thank God.” Gathering all her strength, Catherine ran past the nurse in her eagerness to see Joe.  She pushed open the door and hurried to the bedside. 

Joe’s eyes were half open. He seemed to be trying hard to absorb his surroundings and take stock of what had happened, but his eyelids kept letting him down. He blinked and attempted to focus. “C-Cathy…?” 

“Yes, Joe, it’s me. How’re you feeling?”

Joe seemed to take a minute to think about it. He frowned, apparently trying to get his head around what could possibly have brought him to a hospital bed. “Tired. Why should I feel so tired, I…” Not understanding, he tried to raise himself, pulling at the  injury and summoning a pain that felt as if his whole chest had exploded. “Shi…t!!! JeSUS!!!” He collapsed back onto the pillow, his face contorted in agony and Catherine bit her lip to stop herself from crying. The ICU nurse who had followed her back in walked over quickly and checked Joe’s pulse before filling a syringe and giving him a shot. Catherine reached forward tentatively and touched his brow. “Take it easy, Joe. You were shot…don’t you remember?”

Joe’s face was beaded with perspiration from the pain and he waited until he could form a coherent reply. “Shot…yeah, n-now I remember. Stuart.” 

“Stuart? Who’s Stuart?” 

“Some guy,” Joe gasped. “Said he h-had information on the Erica Salvin case. Asked me to meet with him.” 

“And you went? Alone?!”

Joe took as deep a breath as the pain would allow and gave a lopsided smile. “Pretty dumb, huh?”

Before Catherine could agree, the nurse broke in. “I’m sorry, Miss Chandler, but I think Mr Maxwell has done enough talking for now. He needs to get some rest.” 

“Sure.” Catherine smiled. “Now I know he’s going to make it, I’ll leave him in peace. Now listen, Joe…” She leaned over the bed and squeezed his hand gently. “I’ll come back as soon as I can. In the meantime, take it easy and try not to worry about  anything. I’ll get on this right away. Now, promise me you’ll behave yourself and not try to run before you can walk, okay?”

Joe grimaced. “That won’t be a problem, Radcliffe. The way I feel right now, I can’t even lift my head. Now get  outta here.”

Catherine smiled, touched his cheek and turned towards the door. “Thanks for all you’re doing for him,” she called out to the nurse as she left.   

Back in the parking lot Catherine looked up at the sky and grinned. She felt as if a huge weight  had fallen from her shoulders now she knew Joe was going to live. She sauntered over to her car and unlocked it with the remote. Her relief was short-lived. As she slid behind the wheel, she suddenly experienced an overwhelming sensation which was hard to define. There was no real pain, but the top half of her body ached with something both physical and emotional; an all-consuming grief, despair  and…loneliness. Vincent! 

Catherine snatched at the ignition, jammed the gearshift into ‘Drive’ and sped towards the exit, the tyres screaming in protest at what was being asked of them. Her promise to Joe that she would go through the Erica Salvin case was forgotten as Catherine was flooded with Vincent’s emotions. The joy she’d imagined she would feel at being able to receive them, evaporated as she experienced his utter desolation and hopelessness. What could possibly have happened to make him feel this way? 

The traffic was heavy at 5pm and she cursed the fact she lived in a city. It took her 45 minutes to complete what would take twenty out of rush hour, and she dived down into the underground garage beneath her apartment building. She slewed the car into position close to the basement entrance and scrambled out, locking it with the remote as she ran. 

* * *

Pushing himself out of the chair, Vincent walked slowly around the hospital chamber. His whole body ached and the muscles in his legs felt stiff and cramped. Much of it was tension; some simply the result of so many hours of inactivity. Logically, he knew the others were right, and that he should walk and get a change of air. His lungs were having to work harder than usual just to breathe normally under the strain of the situation. But Vincent wasn’t in the mood for logic. All he could think of was what he’d done to Mary. If he could react so violently, even during sleep, to someone he respected and loved with all his heart, what would he do to Catherine if they loved as she wanted them to? 

He looked down at Mary’s still, pale face. The sight of her made his heart convulse with a pain as  real as if he’d been stabbed. “Oh, Mary, Mary…” he whispered, stroking a finger over her cheek. “If you live, I know you will forgive me, but know that I will never, ever forgive myself.” Tears usually came easily to Vincent when he was feeling great emotion, but for some reason he hadn’t been able to shed a single one; whatever  demons lurked within his soul hadn’t allowed him even that much release. 

“Vincent?”

He whirled around at the sound of the voice he heard even when she wasn’t there. She stood in the doorway, her eyes taking in the scene; Mary lying in bed, her head swathed in bandages, the drip and other basic but adequate equipment necessary to keep her stable…and himself.  

“Catherine!” Before he could say more, she was in his arms. He hadn’t even seen her cross the chamber; somehow, suddenly she was holding him, crushing him with a strength that always surprised  him, coming from so delicate a pair of arms. 

“Catherine,” he murmured again, closing his eyes and pressing her head against his heart as if her very contact could heal his agony. “You came.”

She changed her grip on his back, trying to soothe and hold him even tighter; an automatic gesture of fierce protection and love. Pulling back to look up into his face, she fought back the tears that threatened, at his distress and appearance. “I felt you, Vincent…your unhappiness. What happened to Mary? Why didn’t you send someone  to find me? 

“You felt me?” 

“Not soon enough, but yes…I knew how you were feeling…and that you needed me. Oh, Vincent, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you.”

He took a deep, much needed breath. “You are always with me.”

She shook her head vigorously. “No! I should have been here…with you, to help you through this.”

He stroked her hair.” You’re here now.” 

“Vincent, what happened? Did Mary fall? Did someone attack her…was there an intruder?” 

Vincent eased himself out of Catherine’s arms, unsure how to answer her questions or how much to tell  her. He walked over to the counter and leaned against it. “Yes, someone…attacked her. But there was no intruder.” 

“What do you mean? No one down here would…” She broke off and Vincent could feel her mind churning and coming up with a devastating, yet frighteningly plausible conclusion. “Vincent, you can’t mean…that somehow you…”

Almost before she had got the last word out, he was pacing the room, balled fists at waist height as, for what seemed like the thousandth time, he tried to quell the rising tide of self-loathing inside him. “Yes! I did this to Mary…with this hand that you are so sure is capable of giving love!” As he spat out the last word, he unfurled his right hand and thrust it in front of Catherine’s face.

Unfazed, she seized it and pulled it to her breast. “Don’t do this to yourself, Vincent. Whatever you did was an  accident.”

He gasped and snatched back his hand, as if the feel of her body beneath the soft wool  sweater had burned his fingers. “Is there nothing I might do that you would not forgive!” 

“No.” 

“Then you are a…a fool, Catherine.” She blinked at him in astonishment. The insult was mild…a  word used every day by and to many people for a variety of reasons. But Vincent never called anyone names. It just wasn’t his style, even when he was angry. The words stung, but her feelings weren’t important right now. Vincent’s were all that mattered. “For loving you?”

He turned anguished eyes on her. Eyes that pleaded for understanding, yet at  the same time were filled with self-hatred and disbelief that he was worth loving. Pointing towards Mary  he shouted, “Isn’t this reason enough to see how dangerous it is to love me? Mary loves me! Look at what I  did to her!”

Catherine deliberately remained calm, a reason behind her provocative words. “Did you do it on purpose, then?” His mouth fell open in disbelief. Before he could say another word,  Catherine was holding him around the waist, her cheek pressed close to his heaving chest. “That doesn’t require an answer,” she said softly, massaging his spine. Vincent closed his eyes, not having either the words or sufficient breath to reply. 

“Vin-cent?” The whisper came from the bed. Vincent and Catherine spun round, beside the bed in an instant. Vincent went down on one knee and lifted Mary’s hand to his cheek. “Mary…”

Slowly she smiled, and moved her fingers against the soft hairs on his face. “Don’t -worry-about-me, Vincent. I’m-all-right.”

Vincent’s usual eloquence deserted him. “Mary, I…I…” 

“Is-Catherine-here?”

Catherine moved around to the other side of the bed so that Mary wouldn’t try and move her head. She knelt beside Vincent, slipping one arm around his waist and stroking Mary’s  arm with her other hand. “I’m right here Mary. How are you feeling?” 

“Tired. And…worried…about Vincent.” 

“Mary, please…I am fine…all that matters is that you rest and heal. I’ll fetch Father.”  

“Yes. And then…you’ll leave. Catherine…please…take Vincent away. I know him…he’s been here…with me…all the time. He’s exhausted…promise me.” 

“I promise, Mary. I’ll take care of him, don’t you worry. Now you have to promise us something. That you’ll rest, too, and do everything Father tells you so that you’ll soon be well again…oh, here’s Father now.” They remained where they were and looked to the doorway as Jacob appeared.

He hurried to the bedside to examine Mary, peering into her eyes and checking her pulse and heart rate. When he held up three fingers above her face and asked her how many she could see, he was visibly relieved when she answered correctly. He touched her cheek and she smiled up at him. “You, my dear, will never cease to amaze me,” he said. “And now, I’m going to sit with you for a  little while if no one has any objections.” His eyes held Vincent’s for a split second before coming to rest  upon Catherine. 

“Vincent and I are just leaving, Father.” Jacob raised his eyebrows at this and Catherine guessed he’d probably tried without success to get his son to take a break. He would probably be less than pleased that Catherine had succeeded where he’d failed. She squeezed Mary’s arm. “We’ll be back later, Mary. You don’t know how happy I am to see you smile.” Exhausted now,  Mary acknowledged her words by raising her fingers. 

Catherine stood up, moving her hand to Vincent’s shoulder and squeezing it to encourage him to follow her. He hesitated, then got to his feet, placing a kiss on Mary’s fingers. “Be well, Mary.” He glanced at Father, but the old man seemed to be examining the white blanket which covered the patient, and refused to meet Vincent’s eyes. Catherine looked from one man to the  other. Something was very wrong between them, but right now all she cared about was getting Vincent away from the hospital chamber and doing her best to exorcise the demons which were consuming him. 

They walked in silence for a few moments, heading vaguely in the direction of Vincent’s chamber. Catherine knew he should rest, but she doubted if that were an option just yet. “What would you like to do, Vincent? Do you think you could sleep?”

He shook his head. “I believe I should like to walk. The Park.” 

“It’s not fully dark yet. We can go later if you want?” 

“The Chamber of the Falls then.”

Well,that was okay with Catherine. It had a tendency to be cold down there and she hadn’t a clue what the next few hours would hold for them both, but she knew one thing; she wasn’t letting Vincent out of her sight until he’d gotten some of this guilt out of his system. 

Vincent was silent as they made their way down to the Falls. His breathing was audible, as if he were either concentrating very hard or needed more air, and he almost seemed to have forgotten she was  even with him until she stumbled on a loose chipping and swore briefly. Immediately, he held out his arm to steady her, but once reassured that she hadn’t fallen, he dropped his hand again and continued in silence.

Catherine desperately wanted physical contact with him; to hold his arm would be enough; anything to remind him that he wasn’t alone. But sometimes Vincent was hard to get close to, no matter how much she wanted it and how badly he needed it. She would have to be patient; something for which she was not renowned. But she knew him well enough now to accept that sometimes things had to be done his way or not at all. 

It took over forty minutes to reach the Chamber of the Falls and when they did, Vincent walked  straight to the edge of the lake and stared up at the highest point where the water coursed over the edge and cascaded downwards in a spectacle that would have attracted fee-paying tourists in the world Above. She knew he loved to feel the spray on his face; that he identified with the power of the water that would not be contained; and that he envied the fact that it was channelled in such a way that there was no need to contain it. 

 She hung back watching him, trying to gauge his mood and exactly what he needed from her at  this precise moment to help drag him from his torment. After a moment or two he strode to the edge of  the chamber and, facing the wall, leaned against it, arms braced at shoulder height, palms flat against the  algae-covered surface. The fine spray settled on his hair and his shoulders slumped in despair. 

Catherine felt something twist out of shape in her gut and she walked up behind him, sliding her arms around his waist and pressing her cheek against his back. His body shielded her from the spray and she looked up at the wide shoulders and long fair hair which usually tumbled easily about them, but which now looked as if it hadn’t been combed for days and, frankly, could use a wash. 

“Mary’s going to be okay, Vincent.” 

“Is she?” 

“Yes. And she’s not going to have any bad memories about what happened if that’s what you’re thinking. She loves you so much, Vincent. Please, don’t let her down by torturing yourself this way…that will only hurt her more.” 

“Catherine I…I don’t know if I can speak about this yet. I’m sorry…” His voice faded and he closed his eyes against the images that swam in his head; blood, claws and a brute force that could rend limbs, bring death, or make something beautiful into something sickening and ghastly.

Catherine held on tight and  felt the expansion in his upper body as he sought to fill his lungs with the freshest air the underground  world could offer. “That’s okay, Vincent. Whatever you want is okay. We have all the time in the world.” After a moment Catherine spoke softly against his back. “Wouldn’t you like to sit down?” 

“I’ve done nothing but sit down for almost four days!” 

She started to reply, but Vincent suddenly twisted out of her grip and began to stride aimlessly about the chamber. He tightened his hands into fists and his breathing became even more laboured as he struggled to hold on to himself. He wanted to cry; to hurl himself against the walls of the chamber until he bled; even to dive into the waters and swim until he had no breath left to surface; anything to release the  pressure which had built inside him until it had become unbearable. But he could do none of these things in front of Catherine. He sensed her apprehension as he paced back and forth, but he didn’t know how to reassure her. How could he, when he was barely hanging on to his self-control? He knew it was only the vicious turbulence inside him that was countering his exhaustion and even keeping him on his feet. All at once he was terribly afraid that if she didn’t leave, he might lose his hold completely. And then he would surely lose her too. For not even Catherine would be able to watch the ‘man’ she loved  clawing, raging, and tearing at the walls in an attempt to kill himself and rid the world of a creature unworthy to be called ‘human’ and live as others in the world Above.

He spun around to face her. “Catherine, leave me…please!” 

“Why do you want me to leave?” 

“Because I…because you should not see me like this!” 

“No.” 

“Leave me! NOW!” Catherine jumped. He rarely shouted at her and only ever in times of extreme distress and anxiety. Once, when he’d been filled with self-loathing over his jealousy of Michael, she’d been shocked and hurt. Not so much for herself as for him, and the way he had tortured himself. She’d been able to comfort him then by declaring her love in both a verbal and physical way. He’d wept on her shoulder as she held him, barely daring to believe that she could love him the way she did. If this  is my fate, she’d vowed, I accept it…gratefully. 

“No, I won’t; I’ll never leave you Vincent – don’t you know that by now? Please don’t ask me to.”  

Vincent’s vision began to blur into a reddish haze. He felt the roar gathering in his chest and fought against it desperately, clamping down on the hated sound which made him sound like the animal he sometimes feared he was. But the roar was not to be denied. It built and rose, deepening the ache in his chest, with the effort of trying to contain it. 

Losing the battle, Vincent suddenly threw back his head and roared his pain, guilt and self loathing to the rushing waters of the chamber and the walls reverberated with the noise that some would  have likened to a feral, enraged jungle cat; to those that knew and loved Vincent, it was the terrifying sound of a tortured, very human soul who had suffered more than any man should, in one lifetime.   

Not knowing what to do, just knowing she had to find some way to calm him before he fell over the edge of his self-induced emotional Abyss, Catherine raced to his side. The laces at the front of his quilted vest had snapped under the strain of his heaving gasps and Catherine slipped her hands beneath it, rubbing his back and chest in the hope that some positive physical contact would reach him wherever he was, and bring him back to her. She kept up a constant stream of soothing sounds and phrases,  concentrating on trying to project all the love she felt for him into her words and fingers as she waited for him to ‘return’ to himself and his breathing to ease. His heart thundered under her left hand and  Catherine bit her lip to stop herself from crying.

Slowly, very slowly, the terrible gasping began to subside and he clutched at the small hand on his chest as if it was all that was keeping him bound to this life. They stood silently for several minutes; Vincent, head tilted back slightly, unable to speak as he panted through clenched teeth, rigid with the kind of tension Father feared would one day strain his heart; Catherine, her face pressed against his shoulder, willing herself to share his emotions so that she could somehow lighten his burden of misery and guilt. A small sound escaped his throat; something between  a grunt and a sob. 

“How do you feel now, Vincent?” she ventured at last. 

“Drained. Of strength…of coherent thought…everything.” 

“You need to rest.” She stepped around his left foot to face him. He looked haggard and ill. There were dark circles under his eyes and a sheen of perspiration on his cheekbones and forehead. She took  both his hands in hers. “Come on. The sand’s soft and dry over there; we won’t be uncomfortable.”

Vincent followed her as if  in a daze. The area she’d referred to was several yards from where they stood, well away from the spray, and a large rock helped to muffle the noise of the water. Catherine sat down with her back against an unusually smooth rock and patted the ground beside her. Again Vincent complied. He sat, elbows resting on parted, bent knees at first; a favourite position for him, but then he grunted and shifted around, leaning back against a rock.

Catherine watched him closely. “What is it, love?” 

“Nothing. Don’t worry.”

He closed his eyes and Catherine continued to study his face anxiously. “I wish

you would let yourself go. You haven’t cried yet, have you?”

He turned his head twice against the rock. “No.” 

“Don’t you think you should? It might help. I don’t know what triggered all this, Vincent, and I hope you’ll tell me when you’re ready, but you need to release everything you’re feeling before you can start to heal.” 

“Perhaps this time I don’t deserve to heal.”

Catherine’s mouth fell open in shock. She’d never heard Vincent use a single word of self-pity and he damn well wasn’t going to start now if she had anything to do with it. She opened her mouth to yell at him, but he looked so stricken she just couldn’t do it.  Instead she rubbed his shoulder. He felt thinner than the last time they’d met. She guessed he probably hadn’t been able to eat a thing since Mary’s accident and this was, in all likelihood, a major contributing factor to his present mental and physical state. 

“You don’t really believe that, so I’ll pretend I never heard it. Will you just quit trying to be so damn tough, Vincent? Let down this barrier you’ve built around yourself and let me in. I want to help you through this. When I said there is nothing you could do that I wouldn’t forgive, I meant it. No, don’t yell at me again because it’s the truth…it’s how I feel.”

Vincent turned his head wearily. “Forgive me, Catherine, I should not have shouted at you. I believe you are wrong to dismiss the darkness inside me, but I had no right to say the things I did. I fear I am not…myself right now.” He leaned his head back on the rock again.

Catherine’s voice was gentler when she spoke. “I know you’re not; that’s why you need me here with you. You say you don’t feel strong…fine…I  do. Let me be your strength. Lean on me, Vincent; I won’t let you fall…I love you too much. There are so  many ways in which we can show how much we love. Use me, Vincent…use me in whatever way that will  help you most right now. Everything else can wait.” She reached out to lay her palm against his forehead. “Do you feel as bad as you look?” 

“How can I tell? There is no mirror for me to judge. I have felt better,” he confessed, almost as an afterthought; a tiny concession to her plea for him to lean on her a little. It was a start.  

“Why don’t you lay down for a while?” 

“Here?” 

“Why not?” 

“It is not the most comfortable place for either of us. Perhaps we should return.”  

“To your chamber? Do you feel up to it?”

In truth, Vincent felt as if his legs wouldn’t carry him twenty feet, but old habits are difficult to break and he still resisted any show of weakness with a measured reply.   “Perhaps in a little while. The sight and sound of the water…helps me.” 

“Fine. In the meantime, why don’t you use me as a pillow and just rest for a while.”

Vincent raised an eyebrow. “You mean…I should…”

Catherine silenced him by catching him off-guard and easing him backwards so that he ended up with his head and shoulders in her lap. Well satisfied with the arrangement, she stroked his hair with one hand, combing it with her fingers and taking great care not to pull it. The other  hand rested lightly on his midriff, tender and non-threatening; communicating to him in a non-verbal way, that she loved him and would do anything in her power to help him through this time of great trauma in his life. 

“Are you comfortable, Vincent?” she asked softly, leaning over to nuzzle his head as he so often did to  her. 

“Yes, but surely I am too heavy for you.” 

“No, I love having you resting on me like this. Now, try and sleep. If you can’t, then we’ll see if talking helps. Okay?” 

“I’ll try.” 

Resting more intimately with Catherine than he had ever done before, Vincent closed his eyes and tried to will himself to relax. It was true, he was exhausted, both physically and mentally; he hadn’t appreciated the full extent of his weariness until he sat down. But while he probably looked comfortable, stretched out on the sand, this was far from true. He’d hoped to fall asleep, but this was rarely the case when his stress level had reached its current intensity. 

Tension affected Vincent in a variety of ways, depending on the type of ordeal to which he’d been subjected. Sometimes a migraine followed a situation that required him to suppress his darker twin; while a violent confrontation during which he’d lost the battle he constantly waged, usually left him feeling queasy at the bloody aftermath; something that haunted him for days. At other times, when there had been no physical or emotional release of any kind, he invariably suffered severe muscle cramps, most  commonly in his chest and shoulders. Often, it was so bad that even breathing was painful, and only soaking up to his neck in the warm waters of the bathing pools eased the discomfort sufficiently to allow him to sleep. 

Tonight it was worse than it had ever been. Despite his exhaustion and need to rest, the emotions that had churned inside him over the last four days had caused a build-up of pressure which was all but choking him. Every muscle and sinew above his waist was locked solid; as if each had been knotted and stretched to breaking point. Vincent felt as if his chest was being slowly and painfully inflated beyond its capacity by some sadistic inner force which would not be quietened until his body had exploded. The  deep breathing, muscle relaxant technique that Father had taught him to use at the onset of extreme stress, sometimes worked if he practised it early enough, but he was way past that point tonight. He unclipped his belt and laid it aside. 

As if she’d read his mind, Catherine laid the palm of one hand on his breastbone and began to rub gently. He raised his head in alarm. The feel of her hands on him, however innocently, always produced a stirring inside and Vincent didn’t trust himself to handle those kinds of feelings right now. “Catherine, it would perhaps be better if you did not…touch me.”

She silenced him by slipping her left hand beneath his neck and bending to kiss his forehead. “I know how tension affects you when you’re this upset, Vincent,” she said softly. “Let me help you.”  

“I –I don’t know…” 

“If you don’t like it, or it makes you more uncomfortable, you just tell me and I’ll stop. Okay?” 

He leaned his head back again, defeated. “I should go to the bathing pools…but I’m so tired.” 

“I know you are.” 

For maximum benefit, massage was best performed against bare skin, but Catherine knew that in Vincent’s case, stripping off his clothing would merely compound his distress. So, since the object of the exercise was to ease the pressure, not increase it, she didn’t even unbutton his shirt.  “Just try to relax, Vincent. This is no different than if I was to rub a charley horse in your arm or leg. Just breathe normally.” Flexing and relaxing her fingers, she gently worked her way under the wealth of hair to manipulate the back of his neck with her left hand. The other, she began to move in small, tight circles, working her way over his chest and shoulders, and using her fingertips to apply just the right amount of pressure to knead the solid knots of tension beneath the surface. 

At first Vincent’s eyes darted about, landing briefly on everything except Catherine’s face, finally concentrating on the high, damp roof of the chamber. The strain he was under showed clearly in the dulled, blue mirrors of his soul, and Catherine ached with love and compassion for him. He lay as rigid as  a pole, stomach muscles tightly clenched, not even daring to breathe. With a small smile Catherine moved her right hand to the hollow below his ribcage and gave him a little pat. 

“Vincent, you have to remember to breathe, for this to do any good.” He glanced at

her anxiously. “I – I’m sorry…I thought I was.” 

“No.” 

“Oh…then I shall.” 

“Good. It might help.” She leaned over and rubbed her nose against his velvet-coated one. Perhaps relaxation would come more easily with some carefully chosen conversation. “There’s nothing ‘improper’ about this, Vincent.” 

“Perhaps not.” 

“If you had a pain in your arm, you’d let me rub it for you, wouldn’t you?” 

“Yes…if you wished.” 

 “And if you’d strained your knee?” 

“I – I suppose so, yes.” 

“There you are then.”

He stared up at her. “Then you would do…this…for William? Or Father?”

Catherine swallowed hard. As fond as she was of the two men, the idea of either of them stretched out across her legs in this way while she practised therapeutic chest massage, had about as much appeal as getting up at five in the morning to shovel snow. She pulled a face, searching for an appropriate response. “W-e-l-l, okay you win. But you and I are in love with each other, Vincent. Massage, whether it’s to relieve pain and discomfort…like this…or of a more sensual nature, is very natural and enjoyable when the two people love each other.”

Vincent looked away and replied quietly. “I did not say it was an … unpleasant …sensation. Only that I question the wisdom of it in…our case.”  

Catherine moved the hand under his neck and turned his head back to face her.   “Look, Vincent, I love you, and whatever part of you was hurting, I’d want to take the pain away for  you…whether it was your neck, your leg, even your big toe. Right now you’re all tensed up and the discomfort is here…” she emphasised her words by splaying her hand on his chest, “…all I want to do is try and ease it for you so that we can go back to your chamber and you can sleep. If the circumstances were different, well, who knows…but they’re not. So will you please trust me? And trust that my love for you will let me think only of your feelings… not my own. Okay?” 

Vincent stared up at her with such mixed emotions in his eyes, that Catherine’s heart seemed to spin. He turned his head slightly, leaning his face into her arm for a moment. “Thank you, Catherine,” he whispered. Closing his eyes, he sighed and tried again to relax under her ministrations. 

Despite her honourable intentions, Catherine found that keeping her own emotions under control while she administered this particular form of T.L.C. to Vincent, was no easy task. She had lain in bed night after night fantasising about what it would be like to fondle and touch his body in more intimate ways than he had ever allowed. In her dreams they massaged each other often. She imagined his warm  hands sheathing her breasts, their sensitive tips reaching for him hungrily with his slightest touch. She  visualised running her hands over him, smoothing the golden hairs which she was almost certain covered his chest and legs; having the pleasure of seeing the most sensitive and intimate male part of him swell and stiffen instantly under her hands. Yes, it was hard to keep her feelings submerged as she confined  her innocent massage above his waist. 

But submerge them she did, for his sake, and as the painful pressure inside him slowly began to dissipate, so did Vincent’s resolve. The touch of Catherine’s loving, tender hands had the effect of  chipping away at his self-erected barrier, and it began to crumble, just a little at first and then more and more until they both realised he was shaking.

Catherine’s hand paused. “What is it, love? Tell me.”

To his horror, Vincent felt his eyes fill with tears that refused to be blinked away. Instead, they began to course down his golden cheeks, soaking the hair around his face. “I almost killed her, Catherine,” he whispered hoarsely. “I almost killed Mary.”  

“Oh, Vincent…” Raising her knees, Catherine lifted Vincent’s head and he turned his face instinctively into her breast. He wrapped his arms tightly about her waist and she gathered him to her protectively,  rocking him as she would have done a child, rubbing his back as he shuddered with silent sobs in her arms. She pressed her face against his damp cheek, her own heart breaking at his anguish. “That’s right, Vincent, let it go…let it all out. All that pain you’re feeling has to go somewhere; you can’t store it up forever or it’ll destroy you. Cry, my love; you’ve needed this for days. Just hold onto me and we’ll get through this together. Hold on, Vincent. Everything will be okay, I promise.” Vincent clung to her as he’d never done before, and Catherine felt the heat of his tears through her sweater, causing the garment to cling damply to her left breast. 

The events of the last few days had been traumatic for both of them. Joe’s accident had upset her badly, but at this moment, Catherine could think of nothing in the world but Vincent. All she wanted from life; all that made it worth getting out of bed in the morning; was right here in her arms. This  sudden, unrestrained release of emotion was the best thing that could happen, and Catherine had no  doubt whatever that it would begin the healing process. He’d never have let anyone else get this close  and see him at his most vulnerable: he’d have gone off somewhere far below and suffered the anguish  alone. Catherine silently thanked whatever Being might be listening for enabling her to be with him when  the floodgate finally opened. She knew he’d be mortified later at having broken down so completely even  with her, but she’d heal him of that too. Nothing was more important than Vincent, and she’d make damn sure that he knew it. 

He was always expected to be their tower of strength Below. Well, he might be much stronger physically than anyone else, but he was still just a man. He bled and hurt and cried just like them, and it angered Catherine when she saw how their expectations affected him at times. He always felt he wasn’t allowed to be weak; that it was his ‘job’ to take care of them. Well, he needed taking care of sometime, too, and Catherine was going to be the one to do it. 

The thought of him suffering alone this way for the last few days was too terrible to contemplate, and Catherine suddenly remembered that the last time they’d seen each other she’d made him a promise – that she’d always be there for him – a promise she’d already broken. She’d failed him. When he needed her more than he had ever done before, she’d let him down badly. The fact that this had been through no fault of her own didn’t help one bit, and Catherine anchored her bottom lip with her teeth as she  made a silent vow there and then that this was the last time. She’d fight all of them, Vincent, too, if she had to, for the right to take her place permanently in this world so that neither of them would ever be  alone again. 

* * *

 Over half an hour passed before Vincent pulled away and Catherine released him from her aching arms. He sat up, swiping a cuff across his eyes, moving away from her a little. He drew up his knees and used them to support his elbows, leaning his forehead on interlaced fingers for several moments. Eventually he spoke, haltingly. 

“I was dreaming. About what, I cannot say, but the…evil inside me …wakened. Mary must have heard something and come to rouse me. She’s been doing that ever since I was a child,” he explained. 

“And you think you struck out at her because you were still dreaming?”

Vincent nodded. “It is the only rational explanation. When I came to myself, I saw her…on the floor across the chamber.”

Vincent shuddered, the image that tormented him every time he closed his eyes, returning for  the hundredth time. “A-at first I thought someone had attacked her…an intruder. Then I realised…I was her attacker. Catherine, I thought she was dead.” Vincent covered his eyes with his hand and Catherine  closed the few inches that separated them to kneel at his side. She laid one arm across his back. 

“Well she isn’t, Sweetheart. She’s going to get better and that’s what matters. Try not to think about what could have happened. You’ll be here to help her get well.” 

He didn’t respond and Catherine knew her words were poor comfort. In his head, he was probably yelling, don’t be so goddamned patronising, but of course he’d never say it. Only Vincent knew the agony of living with the dark force that dwelt inside him; waiting to be summoned at the slightest provocation. Up until now, he had been able to restrict its rage and blood-lust to those occasions that demanded a form of retribution, and although it damaged Vincent psychologically every time it happened,  he always knew about it. Now, his confidence, his very existence had been shattered beyond anything he had ever experienced to know that he could kill and wound when not even fully conscious.

Catherine felt a trill of fear run through her as she realised that without the right kind of help, Vincent might never recover from this devastating incident. She wished, briefly, that she had trained in psychology, but since  she’d chosen law – something that would never be of any help to Vincent on a personal level – she’d just have to go with courage and with love to try and heal his beautiful, bleeding heart. 

“Vincent, Mary has known you almost all your life. She understands you, probably as well as Father. She knows how sensitive and compassionate you are…how caring and gentle. She, of all people, knows you’d never deliberately hurt anyone except to protect and defend any of us down here.” Catherine chose the last few words carefully in the hope he’d recognise her attempt to include herself already as a member of the community.

He was much too bright not to. Vincent raised his head and took a deep breath. “I have no doubt that Mary will forgive me, Catherine. That is not the issue. I shall not ever  forgive myself.” 

“Then you’ll eventually destroy yourself. And in doing that, you’ll destroy me, too, and others who love you.”

He turned his head sharply and looked at her. “Don’t say that, Catherine…please, don’t say that. You know I would give my life for you…”  

“That’s not what I want from you! I want your love, not your death! I want to live here with you, loving you…loving each other for the rest of our lives! But you have to learn to love yourself, Vincent. And forgive yourself for your mistakes.” He opened his mouth to protest but she put a finger to his lips.  “However bad those mistakes seem to be. We all do terrible things sometimes, Vincent. Words can be weapons too; and they can wound just as deeply as actions.” 

“You would never deliberately hurt someone with your words, Catherine.”

She pulled a face. “Perhaps not now…since I’ve met you and really learned the meaning of compassion for other people. At least I hope not. But I have a bad side just like everyone else, Vincent, and I know I’ve hurt people sometimes with my temper.”

He managed a small, philosophical smile. “I have seen you angry…with me. I know you sometimes feel like shaking me, or even striking me.”  

“You’re right,” she smiled, “well, about wanting to shake you anyway. But the problem with you, is that I just can’t do it. When I get good and mad with Joe, it’s easy. I just yell at him and he yells at me and then I march out slamming his door. Then, when I’m walking back to my desk, I hear it slam again. Can you believe it, he actually opens the door again and slams it just so he can feel he had the last word?

I know because I caught him doing it once. It’s unbelievable.”

Vincent raised a questioning eyebrow. “Do you call him names?”

Catherine rolled her eyes. “Do I ever? I tell him he’s the most arrogant, pig-headed, stubborn and insufferable man I’ve ever  met.” 

“And how does he respond?” 

“Oh, he says I’m stubborn too…that I have an attitude problem…I have no respect for authority…oh, yes, and that I have lousy taste in men.”

The corners of Vincent’s mouth tweaked a little. “It would seem he knows you very well, Catherine.” 

“He does. Except for the last bit.”

Vincent refused to be drawn on that. He stared at the ground between his legs, gathering sand in his hands and letting it trickle through his fingers. It seemed to  Catherine that the brief lightening of his mood was already over. Still, at least it proved he hadn’t quite lost all his resilience, despite the terrible suffering he had endured throughout his life. 

“I ah…thought I detected an atmosphere between you and Father, Vincent. Did something happen between you two?”

Vincent brushed a few grains of sand from his fingers and rose on one knee. “Father is very angry with me. Forgive me, Catherine, but I do not feel up to discussing the details tonight. I should like to return to my chamber now.” 

He got to his feet and, feeling a momentary dizziness, drew a long breath. The tremendous strain of the last few days, combined with the lack of food and exercise, he realised, had taken its toll. He felt shaky and weak. The walk back would not be an easy one. Extending a hand to Catherine, he pulled her up and instead of linking her arm through his as she usually did when they walked, she put her arm firmly around his waist, knowing that he would have little choice but to drape his own around her shoulders. She apparently knew how he felt and even now, was telling him, without any verbalization, that he had her love and support, not only emotionally but physically, too, if he needed it.

He gazed down at her. “There are no words to adequately express what I feel for you at this moment, Catherine.”

She  smiled, and turned her head to place a kiss on the hand at her shoulder. “Then don’t try and find any. Use your strength for something more important. Come on.”   

Together they began the walk home. The forty minutes it had taken to reach the Chamber of the Falls, when Vincent’s turbulent emotions had fuelled his pace, lengthened into well over an hour. Catherine tried to persuade him to stop and rest, but he refused, reasoning that if he sat down he would undoubtedly fall into a sleep from which she might be unable to rouse him, and he had no wish for either of them to spend the night in a draughty tunnel. 

Vincent had rarely been so thankful to see the doorway of his chamber. Inside, the bed had been turned down and the room was bathed in an amber glow which shone through the stained-glass window from a lighted torch in the passage outside. 

“Sleep or bath?” Catherine asked. 

“Can I sleep in the bath?” Vincent enquired, “because the way I feel, I will not be able to climb out of it again.”

Catherine smiled and hugged him, trying not to notice how pale he’d become. “Then the bath can wait. Here, let me help you with your shirt. I can pull your boots off if you fall asleep, but I need you conscious to get your shirt off.”

Vincent had never in his life felt faint with exhaustion, but he did now. He stumbled slightly against Catherine and she helped him to the bed, where he sank down gratefully allowing her to unbutton his shirt. Ironic, he mused, that earlier he had  been afraid she’d do just that. Now, he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to stop her even if she’d  wanted to take his pants down. 

“Thank you for everything, Catherine.” 

“That sounds very much like a dismissal. I hope you don’t plan on me leaving?”

“I fear I shall be very poor company.” 

“That’s irrelevant. I want to be here with you…to hold you while you sleep. Please ask me to stay, Vincent…please.” He tried to focus on her with eyes that were rapidly losing clarity of vision. The room was starting to spin and Vincent knew he had to lay down. The thought of having Catherine’s arms around him as he slept touched the raw pain around his heart and warmed a tiny part of it, sparking the first good feeling he’d had in days. 

“Stay, Catherine…and hold me…please.” 

A second later his shirt was pulled free and eased over his head and Vincent collapsed backwards onto the welcoming pillows. Catherine lifted his legs and tugged off his boots as he drifted into oblivion.  It only took her another moment to pull off his thick, wool socks. She looked down at him. She’d never seen him bare-chested before and her breath caught at the magnificent spectacle he made. He was just as beautiful and impressive as she had imagined he’d be. The soft honey-coloured hair which covered his forearms, began at his collar bone and was quite thick at the widest part of his chest. It thinned out a little below the deep pectoral muscles and disappeared altogether in the dip below his ribcage. The gentle light from the stained-glass window caressed him with invisible hands as she yearned to do, bathing some areas of his body with a halo-like glow. 

How many times had she visualised him naked in her mind? Stretched out sensually and gloriously…waiting for her touch. Catherine swallowed hard, running a hand down one arm which was flung out to the side. All she wanted to do was lay down on top of him and kiss every inch of his beloved face and that powerful chest which, thank God, now rose and fell with reassuring ease. Then she’d move lower and… 

Shaking herself out of her reverie, Catherine was shocked that her thoughts could so easily become sexual just because Vincent was stretched out before her, half-naked. The chill of the chamber reminded her that he needed warmth. She started to draw the comforter up over him when she hesitated;  there didn’t seem much point in putting his nightshirt on over his pants and in any case she couldn’t get them off without help. They would be tight and uncomfortable around his waist but she could at least  unfasten them and make them less restrictive.

With faintly trembling fingers, Catherine pushed at his fly button to release it and the zipper moved down a couple of inches, exposing part of Vincent’s lower abdomen. Her heartbeat accelerated as she touched his skin there and her eyes strayed to the fullness which had stopped the zipper from opening fully. For one shocking moment her finger hovered over the zipper to investigate further, needing to see the part of him she knew no woman had ever touched; needing to be the first and only one who ever would. Fortunately sanity returned; such a blatant breach of privacy and disregard for his condition was unthinkable, and Catherine suddenly felt like a child caught looking in her Mom’s change purse when she’d been expressly forbidden against it. 

Bending low, she placed a featherlight kiss just below Vincent’s waist and another in the center of  his chest. “Sleep, my love, and I’ll be here when you wake.” Then, not trusting herself any further, she hurriedly drew up the warm covering and turned her attention to putting his boots away and finding out where he put his clothes that needed washing. 

* * *

Knowing Vincent would probably sleep for several hours, Catherine quickly formulated some plans. First she would see if Father was still awake and let him know that Vincent was safe in his bed. Then she would return to her apartment to collect a change of clothing for the morning. While she was there, she’d be able to ring the hospital to check on Joe. 

Satisfied that she had done everything she could for Vincent for the moment, Catherine took one  final look at him over her shoulder and left the chamber. 

She had no idea of the time, and when she glanced at her watch, she wasn’t in the least surprised to see it registered 1:20. When she reached Father’s chamber, she called out softly.

“Father, it’s Catherine, are you awake?” There was a sound of books falling and then the creak of ancient wood. Guiltily she realised the old man had probably fallen asleep in his chair and she’d disturbed him. 

“Come in, Catherine, please.” 

He was dressed in a full-length robe and rubbed his eyes as she entered. He reached for his cane,but she stopped him. “Please don’t get up, Father. I’m sorry to be so late. I just came to let you know that Vincent is asleep and I doubt if he’ll wake for hours.” 

“Is he all right?”

Catherine shrugged. “Depends how you define ‘all right’. He’s torturing himself with guilt over Mary and he’s completely exhausted. I’ve never seen him so deathly tired. He practically passed out on me as I was putting him to bed.”

Jacob pounded the desk softly with his fist. “I told him. I begged him to sleep…to eat, but would he listen? My son is the most stubborn, pig headed…what are you smiling about, Catherine? I do not consider this situation to be humorous.” 

Catherine shook her head and composed herself. “I’m sorry, Father. I’m not laughing at the situation. Just something Vincent and I were talking about. How is Mary?” 

“Sleeping. Her vital signs are good and, having finally regained consciousness, I have every reason to think she’ll make a good recovery. It’s very important now that she not be distressed in any way. She was very worried about Vincent. Since he was off somewhere with you, I had to assure her he was fine and that he would see her tomorrow morning.”

Catherine noted the faintly barbed comment, but had no wish to exacerbate an already sensitive situation, so she ignored it. “Well, I doubt that Vincent will be awake in the morning, but I’ll visit with Mary and explain that he will see her as soon as he can.”

Father fixed Catherine with a stern, gray gaze. “Do you intend staying the night with us then, Catherine?” 

“Naturally, if you have no objection. Vincent shouldn’t be alone tonight. Anyway, he’s…asked me to stay.” 

“I see. Well then, if that’s what Vincent wants. He invariably gets his way around here. There are two guest chambers free. Do please take whichever one you prefer.”

Catherine decided not to antagonise Father any further by informing him that she fully intended to sleep in Vincent’s bed, and that if she got her way around here, that situation would soon be permanent. 

“Father…I believe you and Vincent have had some sort of disagreement.”

Jacob looked  disconcerted. “What has he told you?” 

“Only that you are very angry with him.” 

“Yes. I am. Or at least, I was. I hate it when we have words.”

Catherine reached down and touched Father’s hand. “I know how you feel. So do I.”

He looked up and smiled. “Thank you for that. It was just a silly thing really. As you know, I worry about him…perhaps more than I should. And in the four days since Mary was hurt, he has spent every second at her side. He hasn’t slept; he hasn’t eaten; hardly more than a few sips of tea or water have passed his lips; he hasn’t even had a change of air. I told him he would make himself ill and do you know what he said? He said he  didn’t care. Didn’t care!” Jacob leaned his head back against his chair and obviously made an attempt to quell the anger he still felt recalling their conversation.

After a moment he looked back at Catherine. “Well, I’m afraid I just lost my temper. He tried to speak to me and I told him…I actually told him I didn’t want to hear anything he had to say.” The old eyes were bright with tears now. “Oh, Catherine, I  hurt him, I know. My beloved son, who is more precious to me than anything else on this earth. Even more precious than Devin if you want the truth, because Devin doesn’t need me, not the way Vincent does. Devin doesn’t need anybody. But Vincent…despite all his great strength and power…needs so  much…love. You must have noticed that yourself, Catherine.” 

A tear, defying Catherine’s brain and listening only to her heart, escaped to roll down her cheek. She swiped it away with her hand and hunched down beside Father’s chair. Looking up at him with an empathy she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel for her ‘rival’ in Vincent’s affections, she gave him a small, rueful smile. “Yes, Father…I’ve noticed. Vincent needs more love than anyone I’ve ever known in my life; which is strange, considering he’s also the strongest person I’ve ever known.”

The old man stared down at her as if seeing her clearly for the first time. He lay his free hand over hers. “You really do love him, don’t you? I never truly understood just how much.”  

“There are times when I wonder if either of you will ever truly understand how much, Father.”   

The two hands gripped in a fierce alliance. One old and lined, the other small and pale-skinned; combining to forge a new affection and understanding; bound for a lifetime by the man they both loved more than anything in the world. 

“I wish I’d been able to speak to him before he left; apologise to him for my harsh words. He  looked so…haunted and ill, Catherine; I swear he’s lost weight. Well, you know; you saw him.”  

“I know, Father, but I’m sure that after a long, undisturbed sleep, he’ll wake looking and feeling much better. And now we know Mary’s going to be okay, Vincent will be, too. With all our love and support we’ll win the battle.”

Father smiled and gripped her hand tighter. “I’m very glad Vincent found you, my dear. I admit I had serious reservations about your…relationship, but only because I thought you’d tire of him and go back to find someone in your own world. Now I can see I was wrong. You’re a very strong person yourself. You have commitment, don’t  you?” 

“To Vincent? You bet. He won’t get away from me, Father, however much he tries. And believe it or not, I think he’s finally beginning to believe how much I love him. He’s begun to talk to me about  himself and how he feels. I want him to lean on me for support when he needs it and I think the process has begun. Now…”

Catherine rubbed the gnarled hand she held. “What about you? Mary’s…accident, must have been devastating for you, too. How are you feeling, Father?”

It must be the day for asking that question. He sighed and rubbed mittened fingers across his brow. “Oh, I’m made of pretty strong stuff too, my dear. I confess the possibility of losing Mary frightened me very badly. I can’t imagine her not being here. It would be a loss from which our world would take a very long time to recover…myself especially. But I’m her doctor as well as her friend, and for the time being I must put aside my personal fears and focus exclusively on making her well.” 

“You must be tired too.” 

He nodded. “Yes, I am. But Rebecca is sitting with Mary now and has promised to call me if there is any change. Lots of people have taken turns at sitting with Mary so that I could get a little rest. We take care of each other down here, you know.” 

“Yes, I do know. Now, you must do as Rebecca asked you and go to bed.” The old man sighed and nodded his assent. Catherine stood up. “Father, I have to leave for a while. Joe is in the hospital; that’s where I’ve  been these last few days. I have to check on him and pick up some fresh clothes. I’ll be back as soon as  I can.” 

“Catherine, I had no idea. Your friend…Joe Maxwell? Is he very ill?” 

“He was shot in the chest. It was touch and go for a while. The bullet actually grazed his heart,  but he’s going to make it.” 

“I’m very glad to hear it. So while Vincent has been out of his mind over Mary, you’ve had similar problems with Mr Maxwell?” 

“Ironic isn’t it? I told Vincent a few days ago that I’d be here for him whenever he needed me, and then I let him down.” 

“It wasn’t your fault. I’m sure Vincent understands you have other important things in your life.” 

Catherine sighed and shook her head. “I haven’t even had a chance to explain to Vincent yet why I wasn’t here. Father, Joe is very dear  to me. He’s not just my boss…he’s a very special friend. I care about him. But if I’d known Vincent  needed me, well…nothing is more important than him.”

Father smiled affectionately. “Hurry back, Catherine. Vincent does need you.” 

“And you, Father.” Bending over, she dropped a kiss on Jacob’s forehead and left the chamber.   

“City Hospital.” 

“Yes, this is Catherine Chandler. I’m sorry to call so late. Could you please tell me how Joe Maxwell is. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to stop by tomorrow.” 

“Are you a relative ma’am?” 

“No, I’m a close friend and colleague. I’ve been sitting with him for most of the last four days and I really need to know his condition. Is that ‘relative’ enough for you?” 

“Hold the line please.”

Catherine waited impatiently, listening. Eventually the invisible desk clerk  picked up the phone again. “He’s resting comfortably. No further complications.” 

“Thank you. Would you please tell him I’ll be in to see him as soon as I can, and that everything is under control. Will you be sure and tell him that?” 

“I’ll tell him. What was your name again?” 

“Cathy Chandler…C-h-a-n-d-l-e-r.” 

“Okay. Bye now.” 

“Bye.” 

 Catherine mentally ticked off ‘check on Joe’ from her list. Going into the bedroom she packed a duffle bag with a change of underwear, a fresh sweater and socks and added deodorant, toothbrush and paste from the bathroom. Looking around the apartment, she suddenly realised she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten anything other than hospital junk food and her stomach was protesting in earnest. The refrigerator yielded only a tub of mango and peach yoghurt and a hunk of cheese. Breaking off a piece the size of thick credit card, she picked up her bag, locked the door and ate as she hurried down the stairs to the basement entrance to Vincent’s world. 

As she made her way back through the maze of passageways, she found herself slowing down with fatigue. She’d had more sleep than Vincent certainly, but she was still beat. The thought of curling up beside him in his huge, warm bed, grew more appealing with every step. 

When she finally reached his chamber, Vincent was lying in exactly the same position she’d left  him. With a smile, she set down her bag and took off her jacket and tennis shoes. After brushing her teeth as quietly as she could, she climbed over Vincent, pulled back the comforter, and wriggled in beside him. She hadn’t brought a nightgown with her and didn’t remove even her sweater, reasoning that, in the  unlikely event that Vincent should wake before she did, he would be horrified at finding her in a state of undress. She had plenty of time to put her plan into action; there was no need to frighten or unsettle him further at this difficult time in his life. 

Vincent was as warm as toast, and as Catherine turned on her side to hold him, he shifted in his sleep and drew her into the circle of his left arm. The bed was wonderfully soft and comfortable and Catherine found herself beaming with pleasure against Vincent’s neck. At least one of her fantasies had come true.

Very lightly, she touched his chest, stroking the silky soft hair downwards towards his ribcage and revelling in the feel of its rise and fall as he breathed. This produced a very peculiar sensation in Catherine’s lower regions and she knew she had to force herself to ignore the erotic pleasure of being in such an intimate situation with him and focus purely on the equally pleasant companionship aspect. She slid her arm across his chest and rested her hand on his shoulder. Yawning, she hugged him and felt an  answering response. Her last conscious thought was that Vincent was the warmest, cuddliest and most huggable sleeping companion imaginable, and all her energy and feminine wiles would be put into immediate operation to make the arrangement permanent. 

Despite the traumatic events which had occurred and her weariness, Catherine woke on the dot of eight o’clock the next morning after almost seven hours undisturbed sleep. Initially she wondered where she was, but the uncertainty only lasted for a second. Vincent’s warm body was still cuddled close and he was sound asleep. She had feared he might be troubled by bad dreams, but judging from his position in the bed, he’d barely moved. Probably too exhausted, poor love, she thought. Raising on one elbow, Catherine looked down tenderly at his face. Although his breathing was even, the golden brows were furrowed, a sign, Catherine was sure, that his slumber was not as peaceful as it should be. He would need all her love, patience and support in the coming days and weeks, to ensure he didn’t slip into that terrifying state he’d reached before when guilt and self-loathing had overwhelmed him. Well, love for Vincent was something Catherine possessed in abundance; patience was not something by which she was instantly identified, but she was learning. When you loved Vincent, you damn well had to be patient or lose him. Catherine shivered; if necessary she would spend the rest of her life healing his shattered  heart and making him whole again. Together they were a formidable force; strong enough to conquer anything. 

Remembering her promise to Joe, she was anxious to return Above, even if only briefly, to visit with him and at least put in a token appearance at the office to make sure the ball was rolling on the Erica Salvin case, especially as they now knew it was connected to the attempt on Joe’s life.   

Taking care not to wake Vincent, she clambered across him and took her fresh clothes into the bath chamber. Running a tub of water would be too noisy and take too long, so, grimacing at being deprived of her morning shower, Catherine settled for what her mother had called ‘a lick and a promise’ wash. 

As soon as she had dressed and brushed her hair, Catherine crept out of the chamber and made her way quickly to the hospital chamber. Father was again on duty; this time dozing in a chair beside the bed. He stirred as she approached. 

“Please don’t let me disturb you, Father,” she whispered. “I just wanted to see how Mary is this morning so I can reassure Vincent and stop him racing here the moment he wakes.”  

“That was thoughtful of you, my dear. Good morning.”

Catherine grinned. “Good morning.” She peered down at Mary, who appeared to be sleeping peacefully, but Father rose anyway and limped over to stand at the other side of the bed. 

“Mary spent a good night,” he said. “Rebecca said she woke once and had a few sips of water,  then went straight off to sleep again. When I arrived here at six, I checked her vital signs again and they are much stronger.”

Catherine gave a nervous laugh, and pushed her hair behind her ears. “Thank God.” 

“You were frightened.” 

“Mmm hmm, a little…for both of them.”

Father nodded his understanding and took Catherine’s  elbow, steering her out of the hospital chamber. “How is Vincent?” 

“He slept soundly; I’m about to wake him; I don’t want to leave without telling him where I am. I’ll be as quick as I can, but I really do have to go into the office.”

The old man nodded. “Of course, you do. Don’t you worry about us.” He jerked his head back towards his patient. “Mary is going to get better; I’m certain of that now. And…Vincent and I will be the best of friends again very soon.”

Catherine leaned over and pecked his cheek. “I’m so glad to hear you say that, Father. And I won’t interfere, I promise. See you later.”   

She left Jacob staring after her, reverently touching his cheek. 

Catherine hated to wake Vincent, but it was better than leaving him alone without explanation, especially after coaxing a request out of him for her to stay. “Vincent?” Catherine leaned over him and stroked his forehead. “Vincent, wake up love, I have to  leave you for a while.”

He muttered something and opened his eyes, stretching and blinking adorably and  blowing at a wisp of hair across his mouth. Catherine smiled and stroked it back from his face. “Catherine…” he began groggily, “what is it…are you well?”

She smiled and bent her head to kiss the crease at the top of his nose. “Yes, I’m fine. What about you? How do you feel?”

Vincent looked around with semi-focused  eyes, obviously trying to retrace events in his mind. “Mary…I must go to her…” He started to rise, but Catherine put a hand on his chest and pushed him back gently. “I’ve just been to see Mary and everything’s fine. Father’s with her and he’s very  pleased with her condition so you’re not to go back there until you’ve rested some more. There’s absolutely no need for you to get up. It’s early. No one will expect you to be anywhere but in this bed.”  

He didn’t look convinced, but he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, and wisely remained silent. 

“Now, as long as you’re okay I just wanted to explain why I have to leave because I didn’t get a chance to tell you last night.” Vincent nodded and, making a supreme effort, looked at her as intently as he was able. “Joe was shot a few days ago…” 

“Joe? Joe Maxwell from your place of work?” 

“Mmm hmm. Well, he was badly wounded and it was touch and go for a while. I stayed with him  most of that time. I didn’t know what had happened down here,” she explained, “and how much you  needed me, Vincent.”

He raised a hand to her face and stroked her cheek. “How could you know?” he soothed. “You were where you were meant to be. Joe was alone…he  needed you.” 

“And I would have spent some time with him,” Catherine replied, leaning into his hand. “But you  are my first priority, Vincent, and you always will be. I’ll never forgive myself for letting you go through all  this alone. You should have sent someone with a note…I managed to pop home a couple of times.” She  looked at him sadly. “Our connection doesn’t work for me in quite the same way as it does for you.”

Vincent tilted his head on the pillow. “Its strength is growing, Catherine…you came anyway.” 

“Yes.” Catherine’s reply matched Vincent’s whisper. The look exchanged between them said more  than any words, and they were silent for a moment, each counting their blessings. “I should go. I promised Joe I’d get right on this case and I’ve done nothing yet.” 

“Then that is what you must do.” 

“Are you sure you’ll be all right? You don’t mind me leaving for a few hours?”

Vincent offered a  token, sleepy smile. “I will be quite all right…and no, I don’t mind in the least. I will be forever grateful that you were  here…with me…last night.”

Catherine leaned over him and lay her hands on his shoulders. Slowly, she  lowered her head until their lips were no more than a breath apart. His hands crept around her back and he held her, waiting to see what she would do.  

“I love you,” she whispered, but before he could respond she opened her mouth a little and kissed him deeply, a warm spiral of pleasure curling inside her as she felt his reaction. His hands raked her hair and his mouth moved under hers. It was just a kiss, but Catherine hated herself for having instigated it knowing she had to leave. How could she have forgotten how much kissing him excited them both? With a supreme effort of will, Catherine pulled back and Vincent released her immediately. “Sleep, Vincent…I’ll be back before you know it.” 

“I’ll be here.”

They exchanged a small smile and Catherine left the chamber.   

Despite his conviction that he’d never be able to go back to sleep after a kiss that had made his head spin, Vincent found he’d again miscalculated the true extent of his fatigue. He sighed once, turned over in bed and promptly fell sound asleep again. 

* * *

Joe was propped up against a pile of pillows when Catherine pushed open the door of his room.  He turned his head and it upset her to see the stark pallidity of his complexion. She reminded herself that it was only to be expected considering the severe blood loss and trauma he’d suffered, and would soon  return to normal. 

“Hi,” she smiled, drawing up a chair to sit beside the bed, “how’re you doing?”  

“Oh, well now, let me see…” He drew his brows together into a frown and glanced up at the ceiling as if gaining inspiration. “Someone tried to blow me away…I wake up in here to find I’ve been out  of it for four days…I’m either pumped so full of drugs I can’t remember my goddamm name, or I remember everything but can’t even draw breath without feeling like somethin’s trying to tear me apart from the inside. I’m doing just great.” He glowered at Catherine. “How d’you think I feel?”

Her heart plummeted. She’d heard Joe stressed, cranky, mad as hell, and everything in between, but she’d never heard him feeling sorry for himself.  “Come on, Joe; what happened to the famous Maxwell sense of humour?”  

“Well the problem is, Radcliffe…see, having a bullet hole in your chest kinda takes your sense of humour and shoots the hell outta that as well!” The effort this display of temper had cost him showed plainly on his face, and he closed his eyes in agony as the pain lanced through him, pinning him back against the pillows. 

“Joe…” Catherine spoke gently, leaning forward in her chair to squeeze the fist clenched at his side on the bed. “All that matters right now is that you’re alive and you’re going to get completely well, but it’ll take time, Joe, and you have to be patient.” 

“So, I should just be grateful that I’m alive… is that what you’re telling me?”  

“It wouldn’t be a bad start.” 

“Yeah…right.” 

Catherine wanted to cry. She’d been so relieved when he’d recovered consciousness. Now, to see him so bitter was poor reward for the knowledge that he wasn’t going to die. Still, her feelings weren’t the important ones here. Joe didn’t need her tears; he needed her strength. Just asVincent did. For a moment Catherine felt a shaft of panic clutch her heart. Was she strong enough to give them both what they needed or had she been whistling in the dark? Forcing herself to clamp down on the sensation for  fear that it would reach Vincent, she managed a wan smile. “Can I get you anything? Some magazines…fruit.” 

“A telephone. You can get me a telephone.” 

“What, so that you can call the office and get all your work sent over here? No way. You need to rest and you need to stay calm.”

Joe gripped her hand with surprising strength. “I need to know this guy’s gonna get caught, Cathy. Help me, please.” 

“I will, but you’ve got to learn to delegate, Joe. Leave it to the rest of us.” He tried to lean forward, one finger jabbing the air, but the pain forced him back panting against the pillows. Knowing he’d never rest until she gave him some kind of guarantee she was on top of it, Catherine relented.  “Okay. What’ve you got?”

When he could speak again he turned grateful eyes in her direction. “Not much. Just that his name’s ‘Stuart’ and that he’s somehow connected to Erica Salvin.”  

“Family maybe? Brother?” 

“Could be. Or a boyfriend who found out she lost her job because of me.”

Catherine pulled a face. “Trying to kill you out of loyalty to her is kind of extreme, don’t you think?”  

“Yeah. But there are some crazy people out there on the streets, Radcliffe. Who knows what she might have told him.” 

“That’s true. Okay, I’ll get right on it.” She stood up. “I’ll see you in a couple of days, okay? And next time I’ll bring you some grapes.”

In spite of himself, Joe grinned. “Yeah, you’ll probably eat them too. Get outta here.” 

“Bye Joe.” 

“Hey, Cathy…”

She turned at the door. 

“I’m counting on you, kiddo.” 

 “I know. Get some rest.” 

* * *

Vincent opened his eyes almost five hours later, remembering nothing at first of his earlier conversation with Catherine. He had no trouble in recognising his own chamber, but in that first moment of consciousness, didn’t remember even going to bed. Then the traumatic events of the last few days hit him like a sledgehammer between the shoulder blades and he groaned at the memory. Mary! 

He sat up in bed and swung his legs to the floor, realising with some surprise that he was still wearing his pants from the previous day. Of course…Catherine had been there. Vincent had a curious sensation of her being with him as he slept, but she was nowhere to be seen now. He wondered if he should go to the hospital chamber to see Mary, but, catching a whiff of his hair as he moved his head to read the time, he remembered he hadn’t bathed for four days. Vincent hated to be unclean, and the  decision was made. Mary would be his first priority after a bath. 

He sighed, mentally berating himself for having slept until well past one, and padded into the bath chamber where he ran a tub of hot water and stripped off his pants. 

After his bath Vincent felt more refreshed, but still light-headed, and he realised he needed to get some food inside him if he was going to be of any use to Mary. Father had been right, he admitted as he dried himself and dressed. Father… A fresh pain lanced through Vincent as he recalled their last parting. He would have to seek out the old man and apologise yet again for worrying him when he had so much more on his mind than Vincent’s health. Angry with himself for his selfishness, Vincent tugged a comb through his hair and tossed it back on the nightstand. He pulled on his boots and made his way to the kitchen. 

Lunch was over and William was tidying away the last of the dishes as Vincent arrived. He looked up and his round face broke into a broad grin. “It’s good to see you, Vincent. How’re you doing?”

Vincent inclined his head and crossed the room. “I am well, thank you, William. I, ah…I realise I have not eaten for some days. Would you perhaps have some cheese and bread in order that I could make myself a sandwich?” 

The cook clapped Vincent on the shoulder. “No need for you to do that. Sit yourself down right here and I’ll fix you something.”  

“Truly, there is no need. You must have other duties to…” 

“Believe me, Vincent, it’s a pleasure. I was beginning to think you couldn’t stand my cooking.” 

Vincent reassured his friend as the big man moved around the kitchen slicing bread and cutting off wedges of cheese from a large hunk he took from his most prized piece of equipment; a huge refrigerator which probably dated back to the 1960’s. It had been reconditioned by Mouse and hooked up to the supply of electricity which the young man had managed to divert from the mains Above into the kitchen. It hadn’t been possible to bring it into any other part of the tunnels for fear that their feeding off one of the power supply sources would be discovered if they used too much. William had been overjoyed at the arrangement. Too often, precious food had been wasted in the past by not having anywhere cool enough to store it. Now, that had become a thing of the past. 

William placed a bowl of vegetable soup before Vincent, alongside his sandwich. It was the same kind he had made the night that Vincent had found Catherine. They both looked at it, remembering. “There. That will give you the nourishment you need and put some color back in your cheeks. You know you’re looking kind of seedy, Vincent.”

Golden eyebrows raised in faint amusement as Vincent began to eat. “Thank you William.” 

He ate quickly and was surprised at how quickly he felt the benefit of the wholesome food. Feeling stronger than he had in days, he took his bowl, plate, and spoon to the sink and washed them as William peeled a mountain of carrots for the evening meal. 

“Good?” the cook asked, watching as Vincent dried the dishes and put them away.   “Extremely. I had forgotten the restorative powers of your cooking, my friend.” He patted his  stomach and hung up the tea towel on its hook.

William beamed at the compliment. “Will we see you at dinner tonight, Vincent?” 

“Yes. I will not be so foolish as to refuse meals again. Thank you for your trouble, William.”  

“No problem, pal. Are you ah…are you going to see Father?” 

“I had planned to visit with Mary first, but yes, I do intend to speak with Father. Do you know where he is?” 

“Last I knew, he was in his study with Dr Peter. They’d both been to see Mary and were going to have a glass of something together ‘to keep out the cold’ as Father puts it.”

Vincent smiled and thanked William again before leaving the kitchen. When he reached the hospital chamber, Olivia was pouring Mary a drink of water. She looked up and smiled as Vincent came in. “Hello, Vincent; it’s good to see you. How are you?” 

“Thank you, Olivia,” he replied, touching her shoulder. “However, I am not the patient. How is Mary this afternoon?” 

“She’s doing well. See for yourself.” Vincent crossed to the bed and knelt down beside Mary. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Vincent…have you slept, dear?” She lifted her fingers for him to take and he held them carefully  between both of his hands. 

“Yes, Mary, I have slept. How are you feeling?” 

“Better. I’m so sorry to have frightened you.” 

“Oh, Mary…” The knife in Vincent’s heart twisted and severed another artery. That she should be so concerned about the man who had attacked and almost killed her was too much for him to bear. He raised her hand and pressed it to his forehead while he composed himself. 

“Vincent, if you don’t stop this nonsense, you and I are going to fall out.” The admonition was delivered weakly and lovingly. “Now, pass me that water, would you, dear?”

Vincent looked up to see  Olivia holding out the glass. Replacing Mary’s hand on the bed, he took it and slipped his hand carefully under her head, raising it just a little to trickle a few drops of water into her mouth. She sighed and closed her eyes, tired again. 

“I’ll sit with Mary, Olivia,” Vincent offered. “It must be almost time to collect Luke from the  nursery.” 

“Oh, but I told Father I’d stay until he returned.” 

“Well, I’ll take full responsibility, so do not let Father worry you.”

Olivia smiled. “Well, if you’re sure. It would save me having to do that long walk back to our chamber twice. I can pick Luke up on the way. Thank you, Vincent. Mary, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Mary smiled her thanks and Vincent nodded. 

After Olivia had left, Mary seemed to doze, so Vincent pulled up a chair and sat back to resume the vigil Catherine had dragged him away from the previous evening. She had been right to do so, he now admitted. They had all been right. He had gotten himself so upset and agitated that he had almost lost his grip…become irrational. If it hadn’t been for Catherine… 

Vincent reached out along the thread of their bond and opened himself to her. She was tense and tired. Working. Putting everything she had into the task she had set herself. Oh, how he wanted t  hold her close; to inhale her sweet fragrance and smooth her hair away from that beautiful, angelic face. To run his fingers over her brow and assure her that she was safe and that all was well. 

In his mind, his hand tipped her face upwards and he bent to place his lips softly on hers. She smiled, opening her eyes a little and drawing him closer; winding her fingers in his hair and pressing on his back. Encouraged, he boldly ran a finger down the side of her neck until he reached the opening of  her blouse. The look in her eyes was an invitation, expressed as clearly as if she had spoken. Slowly,  tentatively, he moved his fingers inside the pink silk and opened one button. He drew back the material  and saw the top of one breast. He could feel his heart racing, but somehow he found the courage to bend his head. He was just about to kiss the breast she offered him when suddenly… 

“Vincent.”

He jerked back to reality as if he’d been shot. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I told Jacob I would sit with Mary for a little while.”

Vincent jumped up and gestured to the chair.  “Peter…it is good to see you. Please, have a seat.” 

“Thank you.” The doctor gripped Vincent’s upper arms affectionately as he reached him. “You’re looking better than the last time I saw you. I hear you’ve had something to eat at last.” 

Vincent felt unreasonably irritated. Was even the smallest thing public knowledge down here?  “You heard correctly, Peter. Although what possible interest that could be to anyone is quite beyond me.” 

“Mmmm. Well, just you start taking better care of yourself. I don’t want to be summoned down here because you’ve collapsed from malnutrition.” 

“For Heavens sake, Peter…I hardly think…” 

“All right, all right. How is our patient?” 

“Sleeping. She seems to be in good spirits and has had some water.” 

“Good. That’s good. Jacob and I have agreed that we will take her off the drip tomorrow and see if she will take a little food in pureed form. If she is able to, then her rate of recovery will increase quit  significantly.” He paused. “You have nothing to worry about any more, Vincent.” 

“Oh, you think not? Well I’m grateful to you for trying to make me feel better, Peter, but you cannot understand another man’s fears until you have stood in his shoes…and no man can ever stand in  my shoes.” He turned to leave before Peter could formulate a reply. “If you will excuse me.” 

* * *

Catherine sighed and looked at her watch. Seven-fifteen. She promised she’d give it two hours;  that had been at 3:30. The office was empty now except for the cleaners rattling their carts around,  emptying waste paper baskets, flicking a duster between piles of books and files on some of the desks and spraying the phones with deodoriser. 

Wondering why on earth she hadn’t become a detective since she seemed to spend all her time  these days trying to assimilate and co-ordinate facts and information, Catherine had gone through the  telephone directory for the Manhattan area. She studied every ‘Stuart’ and ‘Stewart’, since they didn’t know the correct spelling. They didn’t even know if it was a first or last name. She felt she was looking for the  proverbial ‘needle in a haystack’ and was beginning to think she was just too damn tired to even be able to recognise a break if she found one. And that was what this case needed. If only there had been a witness. But ‘Stuart’ had seen to that. Catherine still couldn’t understand why Joe had arranged to meet the man in such a dangerous part of the city. He knew he should have asked the NYPD for back-up. 

Catherine rubbed the back of her neck and pulled back her shoulders. Her mind went to Vincent,  as it always did if she wasn’t deep in concentration on something else. She wondered what he was doing.  She hoped he wasn’t tormenting himself and that he was rested. Coming to a decision, she slammed all her books and folders shut and picked up her purse. Just as she was about to rise, the phone on her desk  ran. Puzzled, she picked up the receiver. 

“District Attorney’s office…Catherine Chandler speaking.” 

“Catherine? It’s Greg Hughs.” 

“Hi Greg. You only just caught me. I was just leaving.” 

“Yeah, well I didn’t really expect to hook up with you, but I just had a call and I thought you’d like to know about it.”

Catherine leaned forward, listening. “Go on, Greg.” 

“Woman just called. Said it was about Joe Maxwell’s ‘murder’. Claimed she had some  information that might help our case.” 

“Really? What else did she say?” 

“This is the good part. Said she was married to the guy she thinks may have hit Joe. Her name’s Sandy Kershaw…old man’s Stuart Kershaw. That name mean anything to you?” 

“Not a thing. But Joe said the guy who shot him was called ‘Stuart’. This might just be the kind of break that only happens in movies, Greg. Does this guy have any priors?” 

“Not a thing. Anyway, I’m on it and I’ll get back to you as soon as I hear anything else. Okay?”

“Terrific, Greg. Thanks for calling, I really appreciate this. Joe’s climbing the hospital walls over this one.”

Greg laughed. “Can’t say I blame him. Cases don’t come much more personal than this, I guess. Ciao, Cathy.”  

“Bye Greg.” 

Catherine gathered up her belongings, fuelled with a new enthusiasm after the phone call. Anxious now to get back to Vincent, having been away for much longer than she planned, she bit her lip  in consternation. Should she call in at the hospital to tell Joe they might have a lead? Yes, she probably should, but it would have to wait until morning. She would put nothing else before Vincent tonight. 

* * *

Vincent found Father in his study. He was standing in the middle of the room looking as if he was about to leave. 

“Father, may I speak with you?” 

“Vincent! I was just coming to look for you.” 

“You were?” Father nodded and Vincent saw a glimmer of tears in the old man’s eyes. He walked straight over to him and took him in his arms, feeling Father tremble against him as he fiercely returned  the embrace. 

“Vincent, can you ever forgive me?” he muttered into Vincent’s shoulder.

“Nothing to forgive. At least, not on my part. I came to apologise to you…most humbly…for making a mockery of all the love and concern you’ve given me all my life, because I was so full of self-pity and guilt. It made me…irrational, Father.”

They drew apart and Father touched Vincent’s face with his hand. “Oh, Vincent, you are so very precious to me. You can be extraordinarily tiresome sometimes, but  I should never have spoken to you the way I did.” 

“It is forgotten, Father…over. We have no need to forgive when we love.” 

“You should have been a poet, my son. Although I’m not sure that I necessarily agree with that statement.” He took Vincent’s arm and led him to his usual chair; the chair he always sat in whenever he was here; whether talking, planning, arguing or simply beating Father hollow at chess. “Sit down. We’ll have some tea.” As Vincent complied, he put his hands on his son’s shoulders, studying him in an attempt to read his expression. “How long did you manage to sleep?”  

“About twelve hours I think.” 

“And how are you feeling?”

Vincent sighed. Was this a conspiracy? “Father, do you ever stop being a doctor?”

The old man frowned. “Not when I see signs that something is wrong with someone; especially when that person is someone I love.”

Vincent capitulated; his parent would never allow him a moment’s peace if he didn’t.   “Emotionally, I confess I am still a little fragile. That is not something your pills and powders can cure, as you well know.” 

“I understand. Just so long as you talk to me, Vincent. Talk to me…talk to Catherine…and talk to Mary. No matter what time of the day or night, I’m here for you, Vincent.” 

“I know that. Thank you Father.”

Jacob nodded. “Very well then. And physically, how are you? I can see you’ve lost a little weight, but that’s  nothing too much to worry about. Have you been able to eat something today?”

Vincent nodded. “I believe I have put that foolishness behind me. But it was impossible to eat when it was as if I was being choked. The grief, Father…the grief and guilt I felt. To know that Mary was lying in that hospital bed because of me.” He hesitated, expelling a breath and giving himself a few seconds to compose  himself. “The pain was, and is still…so very real, Father. As real as if I had been stabbed…” He put a hand  over his heart. “…here.”

Father pulled Vincent’s head against him and roughly stroked his hair. “I know that pain very well, Vincent. I have felt it many times in my life. And I felt it again after I  walked out of that room after telling you I didn’t want to hear anything else that you had to say.” Vincent  nodded in understanding. “It will ease, Vincent. With the love and support of Catherine and all of us, believe me, that pain will ease.” 

“I know. Catherine has helped me. Father, she truly is a remarkable woman…she doesn’t care if I can’t be strong for her sometimes…she simply holds me when I feel weak…encourages me to talk…to cry even. I have always believed I should show no sign of weakness to anyone. That they look to me for  strength.” 

“And so they do in many ways, Vincent.” 

“Yes, I still believe that is true, but with Catherine…”

Father smiled and eased himself into the chair opposite his son. “Ah…well, now…that is a very different kettle of fish.” 

“How so?” 

“Because, Vincent, women like men to be sensitive as well as strong. Ever since time began, powerful men have drawn women like magnets, but never so much as if they show vulnerability sometimes. Women like to fuss over the men they love, Vincent. Heavens, you must have noticed that even before Catherine came into your life. You’ve never lacked for attention from the ladies down here whenever you’ve needed something; even if it was just a button that needed sewing on!” 

Vincent frowned, thinking back over the years. It was true he realised; as a child the women in the tunnels had always seemed to enjoy hugging and comforting him if he was hurt or upset. And as he grew up, while they didn’t perhaps scoop him into their arms quite as readily as they once had, they still seemed to enjoy waiting on him, shopping for him, and generally catering to his needs. And if ever he had sustained some minor injury not worth troubling Father with, there was never any shortage of female volunteers to bandage a finger, plug a nosebleed, or bathe a cut. 

“It seems I am learning a lot about women, Father…and Catherine in particular.”  

“We’re all learning, all the time, my son. Catherine…does she enjoy…touching you? No, no I’m not asking you about private matters between you and Catherine alone; I just mean generally…does she enjoy  touching you? When you’re walking, when you sit together, that kind of thing?”

Vincent felt himself blush  with what could only be described as the smallest hint of pride as he answered with what he knew to be the truth. “Yes, Father. She does.” 

“Good. I would have been extremely surprised if you’d said anything else. Then let her, Vincent. Let her touch you…help you…heal you in whatever ways you both find comfortable. She loves you so very much.”

Vincent looked up in surprise. “You believe that…now?”

Jacob smiled broadly. “I do indeed. Make no mistake, Vincent…Catherine is the lady for you. Now, let’s have that tea.”   

* * *

 By the time Catherine arrived Below, it was well after eight o’clock. Because of the younger children, dinner was never later than seven, and not wanting to abuse William’s hospitality, she stopped off en route at a diner for a shrimp and cream cheese bagel and a mug of decaff. 

To her disappointment, Vincent’s chamber was empty. Catherine guessed he was probably with Mary and she knew she really should join him there, but she suddenly felt so terribly weary and it was such a long walk to the Hospital Chamber. Hating herself for her laziness, Catherine slumped onto Vincent’s bed, telling herself she would just close her eyes for ten minutes and if he hadn’t returned by then, she would  go look for him. In less than thirty seconds she was sound asleep. 

When Vincent returned to his chamber about nine fifteen, it warmed his heart to find her curled up on top of his bed, her arms hugging a pillow and a contented smile on her lovely face. He had been engrossed in a game of chess with Father when he realised she was Below, and had waited for the first opportunity to escape to her without hurting Father’s feelings. Now, watching her sleep, he wished that moment had come sooner. He would have loved to have held her in his arms as she drifted off to sleep the way she had held him the previous night. He gazed down at her, mesmerised by the way she clutched the pillow. Was it possible that she had pretended it was himself? He sat down carefully on the edge of  the bed, unsure what to do. He wanted, more than anything, to be close to her, but was wary of actually laying down beside her. Yearning warred with wisdom in his head until the decision was taken out of his hands as Catherine stirred and sleepily opened her eyes. 

“Vincent, I’m so glad you’re here. Hope you don’t mind me making myself at home like this,” she murmured, reaching out her hand to touch his. He shook his head in wonder at her question. “How can you doubt the joy I feel at finding you here, Catherine? But I had hoped not to wake  you. You looked as if you were enjoying a beautiful dream.” 

“I was. You and I were lying on our backs in a meadow. It was full of buttercups and cornflowers the color of your eyes and we were chewing sweet blades of grass.”

Vincent smiled. “Was the sun shining?” 

“Oh, yes. It was so hot you were wearing an open-neck denim shirt with the sleeves rolled up to your elbows.”

Vincent allowed himself a small smile at the picture he would make. “And you, Catherine…what were you wearing?”

She smiled, her eyes glowing mischievously. “Oh, I was in a pink and white cotton dress with buttons down the front. It had a low neckline and you, Vincent…” She drew his hand closer, “were undoing the buttons very, very slowly.”

He pulled  back his fingers as if he’d been burned. “Please, Catherine…do not speak that way!” He would have sprung up and gone to sit as far away from her as possible, but Catherine was too quick for him. Coming to her knees she held him down by  the shoulders with all her might. 

“I’m sorry, love, but you did ask. Oh, Vincent, you have no idea how much I want you to touch me that way, but it was wrong of me to have mentioned it, especially…the way things are with you right now. Forgive me…please?”

Vincent bowed his head and his words came with a shakily expelled breath.   “Catherine, if you knew of my own dreams, you would not say such things, believe me.” 

Catherine leaned her face against his back, her arms clamped firmly around his chest.   “Won’t you tell me, love? It was only a dream…however bad it was.”

He made no reply.  

“Vincent…was the dream about me? About…us?”

His whispered “yes” was barely more than a release of breath. 

“I see. And…something in the dream…something you did…upset you?” His chin was almost on his  chest and Catherine had trouble hearing his reply. 

“It…terrified me. I – I…Catherine, please, I beg you…do not ask me to explain.”  

“All right, Vincent. Don’t worry. I won’t ask you again, I promise.” Catherine hugged him tightly. “Come on, lay down. We could both use some sleep. Let’s just hold each other and enjoy this time  together. Okay?” Vincent nodded and, at her gentle urging, lay back stiffly on the bed. Catherine wriggled under his left arm. In an effort to get him to relax, she draped her arm across him and rubbed his right shoulder, talking gently all the time.  “I think we may have gotten a break in Joe’s shooting. That’s why I’m so late. I had a call from Greg Hughs at the precinct just before I left; there’s a woman who thinks her husband may be involved.” 

Making a deliberate effort to put aside his personal dilemma, Vincent tilted his head on the pillow to look at her. “That is excellent news. But how sad that this woman should need to betray her husband in such a way.” 

“Sad for him?” 

“For both of them. That she feels he is capable of such an act…and that he has not inspired the loyalty and trust that he might have expected in his wife.” 

“Do you think loyalty and trust should be given whole-heartedly and without question, Vincent?”  

“Not if it is undeserved. Only the two people involved know the truth. If this man is a danger to others, then…perhaps she has a duty to see that he does not go unpunished.” 

“What he did was unforgivable,” Catherine replied. 

“What constitutes a crime of passion, Catherine?” Vincent asked.

Catherine wrinkled her nose. “A spontaneous act, I guess. Something done when a person is emotionally distraught and temporarily unable to distinguish between right and wrong…usually done in the name of love.” 

“Or disguised as love. Supposing someone felt that he or she had been betrayed or used by the one person they thought they could rely on…the person they thought truly loved them. What then? Would that not also be a crime of passion even if it was not done on impulse?”

Catherine raised herself  on one elbow to look down at Vincent. “What are you saying, Vincent? I can’t believe you would defend this man in what he did?”  

“No. Whatever his reasons, he had no right to take another life, as he obviously intended. I am only saying that no one knows how much he suffered to drive him to such a terrible act. Even if the police cannot bring him to trial, Catherine, he will have to live with his crime for the rest of his life.” His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “Perhaps the prisons of your world are less binding than those of the soul.”

Catherine held Vincent tighter and pushed her nose into the warmth of his neck.   “Something tells me, my love, that we’re no longer talking about the man who shot Joe.”   

Vincent didn’t reply, but he returned her embrace as would a man clinging to a life raft, alone in a  stormy sea. 

* * *

For the second morning in succession Catherine again woke before Vincent and prepared to go Above. This will definitely become a habit if I have any say in the matter, she thought, wondering how soon she could verbalize her request to move Below. The one unappealing aspect of the current situation was leaving Vincent’s warm – albeit heavily clothed – body when all she wanted to do was burrow beneath  those frustratingly protective layers and love him the way no one had ever done before.

One thing at a  time, Chandler. Somehow it seemed wrong to be formulating plans for their future at a time when the people close to them were suffering. Catherine berated herself for her selfishness but it didn’t stop the wanting. Vincent couldn’t know how hard it was becoming for her to be with him and try and protect  him from the true extent of her feelings without closing off the bond completely. She had been patient  with him for so long now, although Catherine was the first to admit that on some occasions her patience was less evident than at others.

She picked up her purse to leave and took one more look at him sleeping. A bittersweet shaft of love and tenderness sliced upwards through her whole body. He was lying on his back with one arm flung out to the side; his other hand…the one that had held her so possessively all night, was resting on his stomach where she had placed it when she wriggled out from his side. Somehow Vincent’s head had slid off the pillow during the night and his nose was now pressed into it, obscuring his face from her view. A few strands of hair fluttered as he breathed. His vest had come  undone and his shirt was in disarray; the drawstring neck having loosened in the night to reveal a tantalising glimpse of burnished gold hair at the top of his chest. Catherine swallowed hard. Maybe all this patience and tiptoeing around the subject of making love was doing neither of them any favours. 

Careful not to wake him, she put down her purse and lifted his head gently back onto the pillow. Not trusting herself to kiss his mouth after the previous morning, she touched a finger to her own and pressed it softly against his lips. Even so, his eyes fluttered and half opened. “I’ll see you later, my love,” she whispered and before he had time to respond, fled from the chamber while she was still able to retain a degree of self-control. 

Greg Hughs was straightening the knot in his tie when Catherine knocked and opened the door of his office. He looked unsurprised to see her. Never one to waste time on small talk, he acknowledged her almost curtly. “I’m on my way to see Sandy Kershaw. You wanna come?”

They were already moving through  the door again as Catherine replied, “I thought you’d never ask.” 

Sandy was a thin, pretty woman of about twenty-eight. She would have been more than pretty if her dark chestnut hair hadn’t looked unkempt and the beautiful eyes had been sparkling with life instead of betraying her emotions with a haunting sadness. She was obviously ill at ease as they talked, twisting her wedding ring about her finger and apparently unable to remain sitting for more than a minute or two  at a time.

“I probably should never have called you,” she said. “Stuart will never forgive me.”  

“Why did you call, Mrs Kershaw?” Greg asked.

She gave a humourless laugh. “Maybe I’m just a good citizen.” 

“I don’t think that’s the reason.” 

“Does your husband mistreat you, Mrs Kershaw?” Catherine asked. 

“He’s never hit me, if that’s what you mean. But then that’s not the only way you can mistreat someone, is it?”

Sensitivity not being his strong suit, Greg chose to ignore this comment. “So, can you tell us about this conversation you overheard the day Mr. Maxwell was shot?”

The  woman shrugged. “Stuart told him he had information about the body in the East River; that he’d give him a name if Joe Maxwell would meet him at the old Beaumont building in Broome Street.”

Greg was furiously writing  in his notebook. “And the meet was arranged?” 

“Yes. At midnight. Stuart left here about twenty minutes before that.” 

“What time d’he get home?” 

“A little after 12.30.” 

“Why were you suspicious? I mean, I know midnight’s kind of an unusual time to meet with someone, but why’d you figure he’d shot Maxwell? Did he have blood on him? Did you see a gun? Was he acting weird when he came home?”

Sandy Kershaw shook her head impatiently and again rose to  pace around the room, hugging herself with both arms. “Nothing like that, but as soon as I heard on the TV that Erica Salvin had killed herself I knew Stuart would do something.”

Catherine frowned. “Why, Mrs Kershaw? What did Erica Salvin have to do with your husband?”

The other woman turned around and her eyes brimmed with tears. “Because he was in love with her, that’s why!”

Catherine and Greg Hughs exchanged glances.

“He and Erica dated for about a year before I knew him. Oh, he told me all about it; how he’d loved her right from the start, and then suddenly she’d dumped him for Joe Maxwell. Stuart never really got over that. He tried.” She gave a brittle laugh. “He even married me. But when he found out Maxwell was responsible for her having to quit her job in disgrace, and then didn’t even have the guts to stand by her,  well… Stuart swore he’d even the score; make Maxwell pay.” Sandy Kershaw walked to the window and stared out onto the brick wall of the adjoining building. She seemed almost to have forgotten she wasn’t alone; speaking softly, as if to herself. 

“He told me I was beautiful…that I reminded him of her. I think he thought maybe he could make me into Erica if he tried hard enough. I know now he never loved me for myself.” Suddenly she turned around and Catherine saw that this wasn’t just a simple case of a wronged wife out for revenge. This was a woman who’d loved deeply and been used…humiliated…by a man she honestly believed had committed a serious crime. “What will happen to Stuart now?”

Greg closed his notebook and stuck out his bottom lip. “If he’s guilty, he’ll go to prison.”

Sandy’s expression was pleading. “He’s not really a killer! He just loved her so much that he couldn’t bear the thought that anyone had hurt her the way Joe Maxwell did.”

Catherine didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth…that Joe was the one who’d been hurt, compromised, framed, and betrayed by a woman whose attraction to him had  been motivated by greed and power. 

“Not a killer, Mrs Kershaw?” Greg sneered at the woman’s passionate declaration. “Your husband enticed a man he didn’t even know to the most dangerous part of this city. He waited until he was sure Maxwell was alone…then he walked up to him and pumped a bullet into his chest from less than two feet away. No, you’re right; Stuart Kershaw isn’t a killer…because Joe Maxwell’s not dead. City Hospital managed to cut him open, grope their way through the blood, lacerated bone, and tissue and somehow  get to that bullet. And when they finally sewed back everything inside his chest that your husband’s gun had rearranged…Maxwell was still alive…” 

“Greg, stop this!” Catherine was shocked that Greg could be so callous, but he ignored her. “Where is he, Mrs Kershaw?” 

“At w-work. He’s a department Manager at B-Bloomingdales.” 

Furious with Greg, Catherine shook off his arm as he grabbed her elbow and propelled her firmly out of the room where Sandy Kershaw had slumped onto a couch and begun to sob uncontrollably.   

* * *

As soon as he woke, Vincent dressed quickly and hurried to visit Mary. He sat with her for a few minutes, talking softly and holding a cup to her lips while she sipped a little water. She assured him she was just fine and teased him about his ruffled hair, telling him it looked as if he’d just gotten out of bed. Vincent blushed furiously, realising he’d neglected to brush it, so anxious was he to reassure himself once again that Mary was, indeed, recovering. She scolded him gently and sent him packing, though not without her usual smile and a weak squeeze of her fingers against his. Vincent dropped a kiss on her forehead and promised to return later. 

He knew he really should pull himself together and pick up the reins of his regular duties again now that the immediate danger to Mary seemed to be over. He told himself this repeatedly as he strolled along the amber-hued passageways, but somehow Vincent still found himself back at his chamber. He sat down on the bed with a sigh. It wasn’t like him to be lazy. Perhaps, he admitted grudgingly, this whole ordeal had taken more out of him than he realised. The intense mental strain had certainly produced a feeling of exhaustion he thoroughly disliked, and although his sleep had been deep, it had not been particularly restful. Unlike the night before, he’d been plagued with dreams that hovered just on the edge of his sub-conscious; not threatening enough to make him restless and afraid exactly, but disturbing nevertheless. He’d seen shadowy figures that resembled himself, closing in on something he couldn’t quite distinguish and he felt uneasy. 

Vincent realised his muscles had tightened again, and straightening his back, rotated his head a few times in an effort to loosen those in his neck. He glanced at the clock…ten thirty. There was really no reason why he shouldn’t pamper himself a little and enjoy a long soak in a tubful of hot water. He suspected Catherine wouldn’t return until well into the afternoon. Vincent knew how involved she became with her work, and when it concerned something as important as an attempt on Joe Maxwell’s life, then she would probably lose all track of time and arrive Below feeling tired and guilty. He imagined the expression on her beloved face as she apologised; her hair swinging wildly about as she hugged him tightly, all the while making her excuses as to why she was so late…excuses that were entirely unnecessary as Vincent would hasten to reassure her. 

He wandered into the bath chamber and turned on the tap, offering up a silent prayer that there would be enough hot water left in the antiquated system to soothe his aching mind and body. He was in luck. Within minutes, the bath was three quarters full and Vincent undressed, uncharacteristically discarding his clothes on the floor; he really was feeling most disagreeably lethargic today. With a sigh he stepped into the claw-footed iron bath, the hot water embracing and caressing him up to mid-chest with delicate, invisible fingers. 

He lathered and rinsed every part of himself and then leaned back in the water to try and relax and banish the image of Catherine which had sprung unbidden into his head as he’d reached to soap between his thighs. Vincent was ashamed but no longer surprised at the feelings such thoughts evoked in the supremely male parts of his body. It happened more and more now, sometimes up to three times in a single day, and was causing him considerable distress. To his eternal shame, and despite the trauma and  circumstances surrounding Mary’s injury, this particular feeling hadn’t abated; something which had only added to Vincent’s anxiety, compounding the guilt and self-disgust. And while he didn’t seem to have the ability to prevent the onset of an embarrassing arousal, usually he was able to control it. If it happened in public, as it sometimes had recently, he had no choice. A strict self-disciplinarian, Vincent only ever gave in to the sensation as a very last resort, but since the alternative always left him with a nagging pain in his groin and an unreasonable anger at the world in general, he reluctantly submitted to the inevitable more often these days. 

Feeling the softness between his legs beginning to expand and stiffen, Vincent tried in earnest to calm himself. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, bringing his arms to rest along the rounded metal edges of the bath, taking comfort in its smoothness. Sometimes this technique worked and sometimes it didn’t. Today it didn’t. 

Vincent discovered that fighting the sexual tension which had awakened and stiffened the essence of his masculinity was futile, and in despair threw his head back over the rolled edge of the tub as the unwelcome sensations surged through him; the swiftness of their assault literally stealing his breath. His  treacherous heart began to pulse faster and harder in his breast and his breath came rasping through his  teeth. 

As Vincent reluctantly acknowledged the inevitable, his hands began to creep slowly back below the surface of the water when suddenly, to his horror, Catherine was on her knees behind him. Her breath was warm in his ear and she nipped gently on his lobe as her palms slid over his shoulders to caress his upper chest; her lips a heartbeat from his own. 

“Let me,” she whispered, her voice thick with the desire she could no longer control.  

“No…!” he began, but was swiftly silenced by Catherine’s lips covering his, allowing him no breath and no words to fight her. In an instant his heart was vibrating wildly against the wall of his chest as if it was about to burst from its prison of flesh and bone, while one small palm tried to contain it; stroking the wet, silky whorls that heaved beneath her touch. Catherine’s other hand quickly dipped below the surface of the water and seized the throbbing length of his torment, and he gasped at the sensation, feeling himself swell to capacity within her hand. He vaguely wondered if he had fallen asleep and was dreaming, but her fragrance was very real in his nostrils and the feel of her massaging hands was the physical culmination of every private fantasy to which he had ever yielded. 

 She gently worked her tongue between his teeth and explored the softness of his mouth. The sensation this produced made him jump, and she released him for a moment, allowing him to draw a  ragged breath. 

“Catherine, you should not be here! This is all wrong! Please…!”

Her eyes were smoky green as she leaned over him, and, with agonizingly sensual movements, she let one hand travel back up over the  prominent pectoral muscles to his neck, where, with a touch as soft as summer breeze, she massaged his vulnerable, exposed throat. “Oh, Vincent,” she breathed, “you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to touch you like this…to feel your bare skin…to see you…this way. I’ve imagined it so many times. Don’t say no, Vincent. If you love me even half as much as I adore you… 

please, please don’t deny me now.” 

“I can’t believe this is real,” he panted. 

“Oh, it’s real. I’m here, and I love you and I want you to tell me if you like what I’m doing. Don’t be afraid, my love.” Vincent felt his eyes roll in his head as the hand underneath the water cupped the soft roundness below his penis. “How about this? Do you like me holding you like this, Vincent?”

He couldn’t have spoken if his life depended on it, but words weren’t necessary. He knew he was very close to completion and wasn’t sure what he should do. How could he know…no woman had ever been with him at such a moment. Could Catherine really be planning to stay with him while he….? But somehow, to his amazement, the embarrassment he thought he’d feel when Catherine first touched  him, evaporated and he began to move his hips, splashing water everywhere and soaking Catherine into  the bargain. She moved her hand upwards and grasped his length firmly. “Is this what you need from me, Vincent? Answer me, please.” Her voice was a husky whisper, his  responses to her touch, stimulating her in the extreme. 

“Y-e-s…” 

“And this?” With her mouth poised above his, so close he felt as if he was drinking the sweet fragrance of her breath, she slid her other palm slowly downwards, pressing firmly over his heart for a moment to feel its throbbing, before tangling the water-laden silk on his chest as she caressed him. When her circling hand dipped lower to massage his belly, Vincent felt his stomach muscles contract. He arched  backwards, his chest rising out of the water as his body reacted. His only reply was a groan and he reached up to clutch her head. 

Suddenly his heart seemed to stop beating altogether, and a myriad of stars exploded in his head. Catherine filled every part of him; almost as if she were inside his body, experiencing every feeling with him. He felt as if he’d climbed to the peak of a snow-covered mountain, paused for an instant to look out over the edge; then, casting all caution to the winds…leapt with every bit of strength he possessed, to sail off the summit in slow motion. He seemed to hang, suspended, for several seconds before starting to descend, until eventually…gradually, he became aware of his surroundings again and the need to resume breathing. Vincent slowly opened his eyes and found Catherine on her knees beside the tub, kissing his chest and gently splashing water over his belly to wash away the trail of what might have been the gift of  life, had it burst forth inside her. The experience had been shattering…almost surreal and…he hardly dared to believe…real. 

“Catherine?” She looked up, her eyes shining with love as she whispered. “You see, my love, your fears were unfounded. You have no more need to worry about hurting  me when you’re aroused.”

But Vincent shook his head. “You were doing all the touching, Catherine…things might have been very different if you had been naked beneath me.”

She smiled and stood up. To Vincent’s astonishment she began to peel off her sweater and jeans, revealing an exquisite combination of satin-smooth slender limbs and enticing roundness which he always knew would be there and tried, with little success, not to think about. 

Watching his blink of amazement, she grinned. “Well, let’s find out, shall we? You didn’t think you were just going to lie there and let me do all the work, did you? Vincent, think about it…I’ve been touching you in ways I’ve only dreamed about. It’s  been incredible…almost enough, but you must know how it’s made me feel.” She leaned over the bath again; so close her breasts were almost touching him; inviting him to unhook her bra. This time her voice was slightly slurred when she spoke. “I need you, Vincent. You know how much I love you…but right now there’s an ache inside me that only you can soothe.”

Vincent reached out a slightly shaking hand. He looked at it for a moment before Catherine grabbed it and kissed his fingers. “These were meant to give love, Vincent…to me…only to me, my love. Tell me you believe that.”

Slowly Vincent reached around her back and released the clasp. The tiny lace support fell over her shoulders and Catherine let it drop to the floor. Vincent raised himself to a kneeling position in the still pleasantly warm water and she took his face between her hands. He looked to find her eyes begging him to do what his heart had already told him, and she gasped as he began to place featherlight kisses over the creamy white fullness before taking one hardened nipple into his mouth and sucking gently. He moved his hands on her back and pulled her tightly to him, the springy softness between her legs pressed  against his belly and he felt himself already growing hard again. 

“I believe you,” he whispered, releasing her breast from his mouth. Suddenly he realised with horror, that the floor of the bath chamber was really not the place to make love to Catherine for the very first time. “The bed will be much more comfortable,” Vincent said. “Wait while I…” 

“No! Where doesn’t matter, Vincent. I don’t want you dry…I want you just as you are…right here…right now. I’ve waited so long for you, Sweetheart…don’t make me wait any longer.”   

Remembering words he had once written in a letter to Catherine – your heart is where your  courage lives –Vincent followed his heart. Lifting Catherine in his arms, he brought her into the tub with him. It was quite a squeeze for both of them, but she was clearly happy with the arrangement. Supporting the back of her neck with one hand, Vincent bent his head to trail a path of kisses beginning at the scar below her ear, downwards until he reached her navel, and all the time she squirmed in ecstasy at the feel of his lips and hands executing the ceremony that until this moment, he had only performed in her  dreams. 

Vincent may have been inexperienced in the ways of physical lovemaking, but he knew his actions were exciting her. It was obvious in her eyes and breathing and Vincent quickly learned to tease her gently; allowing his nose to brush her breasts when they rose to beg for his touch and keeping his distance as they fell again; making her cry out softly and seize his head, crushing his mouth against them.  It was clear that Catherine was approaching her climax without him even being inside her. Vincent checked this with an infinitely gentle, probing finger and when he found the evidence he sought, moved carefully so that the tip of his already swelling arousal nudged sensually between her legs. The time for teasing was over. 

“I don’t want to hurt you, Catherine,” he murmured.

Her eyes were glazed with passion when she answered. “Even if you do, don’t stop…I couldn’t bear it. Don’t worry, Vincent. Hurry, please.” His own passion had flared again the moment Catherine had started to undress, and as her hands clawed at his  back, he began to move inside her with increasing speed. 

Vincent was a man who needed space, and he disliked the restriction the tub presented, but the feel of warm water lapping over his thighs and the slippery feel it gave Catherine’s breasts against his chest compensated for many things. As Catherine gasped and gripped his skin between her fingers, Vincent  threw back his head and gave one final thrust. The gift of each one to the other was given and received. 

When Vincent became aware of his surroundings again, Catherine was sitting up. Both arms were wrapped tightly around him and she was pressed against his chest, kissing his neck and shoulders as he fought to regain his breath. He looked down at the top of her head in wonder. Tenderly he clasped her to him and couldn’t distinguish whether the slowing heartbeat he felt was hers or his own. Suddenly he felt better than he had in years and he found himself smiling against her hair. A quiet peace he’d never known, was stealing over him and he knew it was Catherine’s love that had triggered it. 

She shivered and Vincent realised they had been in the cooling water for longer than was wise. Gently disentangling himself from her, he climbed out and lifted her in his arms. “What are we going to do now, Vincent?” she asked. Her face looked like a child’s; the glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes entreating him not to send her away or leave the room himself. Setting her down for a moment, he wrapped her in a huge, fluffy towel, threw one around his own shoulders, and then carried her into the main chamber.  

“We,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head, “are going to get into my bed and sleep.” 

Catherine blinked in mock horror and genuine amazement. “Vincent! Are you actually suggesting that we should go to bed in the middle of the day?”

He  had the grace to blush and his shy smile belied the bravado of his words. “I do not expect to be disturbed, and anyway…Father has been bullying me to rest for days.” Her beam of pleasure as she peered under his bangs to see his expression, warmed his heart. Pulling back the comforter he placed her in the bed, where she stretched sensually. “How perfectly wonderful. I’m exhausted, Vincent.” 

“You deserve to be.” He rubbed himself dry while she watched him from the bed. Suddenly she whipped the towel away and flung her arms wide. “Come to bed, my love, before you catch cold.” 

Cold was the last thing Vincent felt as he climbed in beside Catherine and found himself enveloped in her arms, but it was the most wonderful feeling he had ever experienced. He realised with some surprise that he was tired again already, but it wasn’t the sick, draining exhaustion he’d felt before. This was a warm, sated weariness. The all-consuming tiredness which stems from the physical effort of  loving and being well-loved in return by someone without whom life is merely existing. Holding each other close, they drifted off to sleep. 

* * *

Joe received the news about Stuart Kershaw with typical acceptance of a job well done by his colleagues, although he’d have given a year’s supply of chocolate cheese nuggets to have been involve  in a “hands on” way instead of drumming his fingers exasperatedly against a hospital mattress. And even he was surprised by the turn of events which had led so quickly to an arrest. To Catherine’s surprise, he even apologised for his earlier bad temper, but she brushed this off with a grin. 

“Let’s just say the next time I need an hour off for something special, you’ll look the other way, okay?” 

“You got it, kiddo.” Joe had to admit he was curious about the man who had tried to kill him. “So, Kershaw admitted everything?”

Catherine nodded. “Greg said when he interviewed him that he got the impression Stuart was relieved the whole thing was over.” 

“It’s a little worrying to know there’s people out there on the streets that hate your guts enough to kill you.” 

“I know,” Catherine agreed. “I’ve had the occasional ‘incident’ along those lines, myself.” 

“Yeah, but this was personal, you know? I mean, it takes a frightening kind of courage to lure a guy to a pre-arranged meet, empty a gun into his chest from less than two feet away and look him right in the eye while you do it.” 

“Yes…I’d say that was pretty personal. But he wasn’t rational, Joe. He still saw Erica as the woman he loved, innocently falling for the persuasive charm of a handsome, high-powered D.A…”  

“Keep it coming Radcliffe.” Joe winked. 

“I told you he wasn’t rational.” 

Joe shifted in the bed, grimacing as the movement pulled at his wound. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” he replied shakily. “Guess I’m almost due for another pain pill.” As if on cue, a nurse entered with Joe’s medication. He swallowed it gratefully and lay still while Catherine quizzed the nurse about his progress. 

“Well, if his recovery continues at its present rate, I’d say he’ll only be with us for about another ten days.” The woman smiled. 

“Yes!” Joe punched the air weakly and immediately wished he hadn’t.

Catherine squeezed his shoulder encouragingly.  “That’s terrific. I’ll bet he’s not the best patient you’ve ever had.” 

“He gets a little cranky,” the nurse smiled, “but then he’s had a rough time so I guess he’s allowed.” She leaned towards Catherine conspiratorially. “There’s a constant procession of nurses through this room…I have no idea why.”

Catherine laughed and the nurse left the room with Joe watching her, a smug grin on his face.   

When they were alone again his expression changed. “I ah…I wanna thank you, Cathy…for coming down here and – and for staying with me and everything. The nurses…they told me you were here for the best part of four days.”

Catherine shrugged  philosophically. “Where else would I be when my best friend gets himself shot?” 

“Am I your best friend?” 

“Sure.” 

“What about…” 

“What about you getting some rest, Joe, huh?” 

“What’s up, Radcliffe? Conversation getting too personal already?”

Catherine hesitated. If what she planned to say to Vincent was received the way she hoped it would be, Joe would have to be told a few things. Maybe this was the right time. After all, Joe could hardly leap out of bed and do her bodily  harm, as she’d sometimes visualised he might if he learned about Vincent…and her relationship with him. She strolled over to the window, twisting her fingers around the strap of her purse. “Uh, Joe…I don’t want to make a big deal out of this, but…well…I may have to make some changes in my working life.” 

“Changes? What kind of changes? What’re you talking about?” 

“I – I’ve had enough of the dangerous stuff, you know? I was hoping maybe I could…do more work from…home.” 

“Home! You want to work from home! C’mon, Radcliffe, this is me, Joe, you’re talking to. What  gives?” 

“I may be uh, moving…to a different location.” Taking a deep breath to try and calm her thudding heart, Catherine turned around. “To get married.” 

Joe was rarely speechless; seldom stumped for a wisecrack; but he stared at Catherine for a full minute, attempting to take in her words. He didn’t disappoint her by resorting to any of the clichéd phrases most people used in times of genuine astonishment. Did I hear you right? Run that by me again. You’re kidding, right?

Joe was much too bright, and they had too much respect for each other for that. He seemed to be waiting until he judged his voice would remain even, before he spoke. Catherine noticed that he was breathing faster and wondered if she had been insensitive broaching the subject while  he was still weak. “Joe, are you okay? Maybe this should wait until you’re stronger.” 

“No. No, I’m fine. Just a little surprised. I’m getting a handle on it now. Okay. Is this someone you just met and it’s like one of those…” He gestured with his hands. “…instant chemistry things?”  

“No,” she replied with a gentle smile. “I’ve known him for over two years.”

Joe jabbed a knowing  finger towards her. “The guy who takes you to concerts, right?” 

“Right.” 

“Okay, so people get married…sometimes they move away…but then they leave the job. You’re just asking to do it from home. Why, Cathy? Don’t tell me this guy is so possessive he doesn’t want you mixing with other guys at work. If that’s the reason, then I gotta tell you right now, kiddo, I…”  

“No, Joe. It’s nothing like that.” 

“Then what?” 

Catherine looked up at the ceiling for guidance. She’d never spoken openly to anyone about Vincent before and even though she hadn’t yet mentioned his name, it felt wrong. But Joe was a good friend and he’d been there for her whenever she needed him. In some ways, she thought, he was a little like Vincent.  Strong, courageous, and fiercely loyal; an honorable man with strict morals and principles, whom she was  proud to know. “Joe…this man that I love…Vincent…he trusts me completely; he knows there can never be anyone else for me. The reason I want to work mostly from home isn’t because he’s asked me to…it’s because he needs me to.”

Joe looked bewildered. “So it is because of him?” 

“Yes, but not for the reasons you think.” 

“Radcliffe, you’re giving me a headache here…” Joe threw up his hands and clamped one to his forehead. 

“I’m sorry Joe. I never, ever wanted to lie to you and I don’t now. I won’t now…but some of what I say won’t make a whole lot of sense to you. I just ask that you trust me and don’t ask for more information than I’m able to give. Okay?” 

“Okay…I think.”

Catherine smiled and moved to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. He looked like a man on a TV game show who had to find out the answer to something without ever using certain words. “So…your fiancé needs you to be home, right?” 

“Yes. In a way.” 

“And he doesn’t go out to work either?” 

“No.” 

“Is he disabled?” 

“No way. He’s very fit.” 

“Then he’s on Social, right?” 

“No!” Catherine laughed at the image of Vincent standing in line to collect his benefit each week. “He works very hard.”

Joe suddenly brightened. “I got it! He teaches kids…maybe with learning difficulties …in uh, a private home.”

Catherine  smiled. “Yes…you could say that.” 

“Oh, well in that case don’t ever ask him to fix a leaky faucet or get his hands dirty unblocking a drain. Guys like that have it all up here…” Joe tapped his temple, knowingly. “Trouble is they’re just no  practical, you know? I bet this Vincent of yours is…how shall I put this…kind of flaky. No offence, Radcliffe,” he added quickly. Joe stared at Catherine as if she’d lost her mind as she fell back on the bed crying with laughter. He reached for a Kleenex from his nightstand and hesitantly passed it to her. Maybe this case had tipped her over the edge. Sure she worked hard. He’d see if he could swing it with the DA to see she got a lighter case load. Hell, he’d even ask if she could take the godammned work home. She was much too good to lose prematurely. Until she went the way most young, married women did and got pregnant. Joe hoped that wouldn’t be for a long time yet. There was something weird about this Vincent guy. 

“Cathy, maybe you should have a coupla days off, you know? All this has been kind of a strain, and if I offended you…well, I gotta big mouth. I apologise, okay?” 

“Oh Joe, I’m sorry.” Catherine sat up and dabbed at her eyes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d laughed so hard. At Joe’s words, she’d deliberately set herself the impossible task of struggling to conjure up a mental picture of Vincent, 40 pounds lighter and reed thin, maybe with a hollow chest and buck teeth; peering through thick, prescription spectacles as he read aloud an instruction booklet on how to fix a leaking pipe Below. “Oh God!” Catherine shook her head helplessly as tears of laughter mingled with mascara and formed an inky trail over her cheeks. In an effort to pull herself together, she leaned forward to kiss a totally confounded Joe on the cheek, and stood up. 

“You haven’t offended me, Joe, I promise. And I’m fine. I have to go now. I promised Vincent I wouldn’t be long. I’ll see you soon, okay?” She walked towards the door, paused with her fingers on the handle and turned. “One day I’m going to introduce you to Vincent. Then all this will become clear; all the  mystery…everything. Bye, Joe. Be well.” 

“See you, kiddo.” 

After she left Joe rested his head back against the pillows. Jeez, she’d really lost it this time. He hoped she wouldn’t introduce him to ‘Vincent’. He was obviously a geek, as his young nephew would  put it. The tragedy was, a great-looking girl like Cathy could have anyone. Joe expelled a disgusted breath through his teeth. Hell, it was none of his business. He felt suddenly tired. He shouldn’t have gotten himself so worked up. Joe closed his eyes. 

* * *

 Vincent was reading to Mary when the precious silken cord of his bond with Catherine tugged gently inside him. She was coming. He glanced at his favourite patient and whispered softly. “Mary, are you asleep?” When he received no response, he replaced the crudely embroidered linen bookmark – a product of the children’s craft classes – into the volume and stood up. Before leaving, he tapped out a message on the pipes and then touched Mary’s brow with his palm. It was warm, but not  unusually so, and for what seemed like the five hundredth time, Vincent offered up a silent prayer that she did, indeed, appear to be recovering surprisingly well from her injury. 

In the last half hour, Vincent had been receiving the strangest sensations from Catherine and he was anxious to go and meet her. When Jamie appeared in the doorway several minutes later, he was  profoundly grateful and touched her shoulder lightly as he often did to express his thanks to people.   

“Catherine’s here, Vincent,” the girl announced cheerfully. 

“I know. Take care of Mary for me, Jamie.” 

“Sure. Don’t worry.” 

Vincent sped towards the entrance Catherine usually used when she came Below. He was so eager to see her he actually ran, his long hair lifting from his shoulders as the air whisked through it. He skidded to a halt as he rounded a corner. Catherine stood grinning at him, her face strangely grubby. If  she hadn’t looked so happy, he would have sworn she’d been crying. 

“Hi, Sweetheart.” She’d recently begun calling him that and Vincent felt his heart swell with love and pride. He’d foolishly told her one day that apart from Mary, who sometimes called him ‘dear’, no  ne had ever used a pet name for him before, even as a child, and Catherine’s face had crumpled, hurting for him at every stage of his development. He’d crushed her against him, reassuring her that he really hadn’t minded. He’d known he was loved by Father and Mary, and in any case, he’d grown up not expecting anything from anyone, so it hadn’t mattered that no one had called him ‘Darling’ or ‘Honey’ or… ‘Sweetheart’. Catherine had sobbed and hugged him so hard he could barely breathe, and he’d felt her love warming every single part of him from his head right down to his toes. Since that day she often called him ‘Sweetheart’. 

“Catherine…I was becoming anxious.” He held out his arms and she moved into them, pressing her face against his breast. After a moment he held her away from him and, with a finger beneath her chin, tilted her face up to look at him. “What have you been doing?” he scolded gently, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “I am reminded of the younger children when they have been playing in one of the tunnels near the surface.” 

She laughed and rubbed her face with her sleeve. “It’s mascara. Joe made me laugh so much I cried. I must look a wreck, Vincent, I’m sorry.”   

He shook his head in wonder. It didn’t matter how many times it happened, he still couldn’t quite believe it when she apologised to him for the way she looked. Vincent reached into his pocket and produced a snowy white handkerchief which he moistened with his tongue and applied to her cheek, gently rubbing at the dirty marks. What was meant to be a tender gesture produced a much stronger reaction in Catherine than he’d anticipated. Vincent felt it surge through her into him, and she gasped. Her lips parted slightly and she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “If you can feel what I’m feeling,” she whispered, “you know that I want to make love with you.” He nodded slowly. “Vincent, as much as I want that, I have some things I need to speak with you about first. Could we please go somewhere we can be alone?”

He tilted his head to one side, unsure how to respond. “I believe Father is hoping to see you this evening, Catherine. He suggested we join him for tea when you returned.”

Catherine’s face fell. “Vincent, would he mind terribly if we took a rain check? I just want to be with you tonight. I know it’s selfish of me, but I’ve been screwing up my courage on the way here and I need to say some things to you right now.”

The furrow between Vincent’s eyebrows deepened in concern, and he took her hand and began to walk towards his chamber. En route he stopped and rapped out a message on a pipe.  Catherine’s knowledge of the system was scant, but she managed to distinguish the words, Father and apologise. “You sent a message to him making our excuses?” 

“Of course. I can sense that your need to speak to me is urgent, Catherine. Father will  understand. Come.” She flashed him a grateful smile and they hurried through the twisting passageways.   

When they reached Vincent’s chamber, Catherine refused his invitation to sit, and moved around the room nervously, fiddling with the buttons on her knitted jacket. Vincent perched, half-sitting, on the edge of his writing desk, watching her patiently, as he rested one foot on the wooden rail of his carved chair. “Catherine, I am at a loss to know what it is that makes you so uncomfortable. Surely you know you can tell me anything.”

She attempted a small smile. “I know, but this is really hard, Vincent. I don’t know how you’ll take it.” 

Vincent put a hand to his midriff. “What you are feeling, Catherine…these churning emotions, are affecting me also. What you wish to say to me; is it…are you afraid it might…upset me? Catherine nodded slowly and Vincent felt his heart stop beating. Was this the moment he and Father had dreaded for him from the moment he and  Catherine had met? She still loved him deeply; he knew that; could feel that. But had she finally come to realise their dream was a beautiful, impossible one? If so, he had to submerge his own feelings and make this as easy for her as possible. Summoning all his strength, he reached for her hand and drew her to stand in front of him. 

“Do not be afraid to say the words, Catherine. I pledged my love and support to you long ago. I pledge them again now. Say the words Catherine. Please, delay no longer…say the words.”

She stood very still, took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eyes as her words tumbled out. “Okay, here goes. I love you, Vincent…so much that I don’t ever want to leave you again. I want to live here with you for the rest of our lives. I want to marry you, go to sleep with you at night and wake up with you in the morning…have beautiful babies with you that look just like you, so that someone can love them one day the way I love you.” Her voice broke and she put one hand on his thigh. “Please  don’t tell me it won’t work, Vincent, because I won’t listen to that any more. And don’t tell me to find someone else either because if you do, I swear to God I’ll strangle you with my bare hands. I can be just as stubborn as you, Vincent, and the only way this won’t work is if you don’t love me as much as I love you. Tell me you do, Vincent… tell me you love me.” 

He felt as if he’d been drowning; slowly sinking to the bottom of the ocean and Catherine had suddenly dived in and pulled him from the water, enabling him to breathe again. His heart restarted with all the force of a pile driver and he clutched his chest in an involuntary action. 

“Vincent? What’s wrong?” Her face was filled with anxiety. She thought he was ill. She’d just given his life back to him…made it a celebration instead of a tragedy, and all he could do was cause her to worry over him. Clutching her to him, he gasped. “Oh, Catherine…I do love you…you’ll never know how much.” Her arms went around his neck and she stroked his hair, whispering words of love in his ear as she kissed first one side of his face, then the other, pausing halfway to kiss the tears from his eyes. Vincent held her tighter than he knew he really should, unsure which one of them was supporting the other, but since he was sitting on the desk anyway it didn’t really matter. 

How could he ever have doubted her? He would never, ever tell her what he thought she had come to say. Just days ago, he’d told her he trusted her with all that he was, but he hadn’t trusted in the strength of her love for him. He would take that shameful secret to the grave. They cried and trembled in each other’s arms for the longest time. Eventually, Catherine pulled back and took his face between her  hands. 

“I take it that’s a ‘yes’ then?” she gulped. Vincent forced down the knot of emotion in his throat and saw his own reflection in the glistening pools of her eyes.  “How long have you been thinking about this, Catherine?” he asked, his voice huskier than ever  before. 

“About two years…on and off.

He blinked and a tear shimmered and fell from his right eye, but before it even reached his cheek, Catherine had absorbed it with the tip of her tongue.  

“Two…years?” Her reply had stunned him. 

 “Mmm hmm.” 

“I cannot…I don’t…” 

Catherine placed a finger to his lips. “Don’t struggle, Sweetheart. You don’t have to say anything. I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to make you feel good about yourself. I want you to see what I do when I look at you.”

Vincent  dropped his eyes and ran the tip of one claw down the cord covering his thigh. “‘Love is blind,’ may be a cliché, Catherine, but you are a living testament to its truth.  

“Sounds like now would be a good time to start,” she rebuked him softly. He raised his head to meet her gaze. She put her hands on his shoulders, close to his neck and rubbed his throat with the pads of her thumbs. “Do you realise we’re engaged?” 

“I-I suppose we are. I…don’t have a ring for you. I wasn’t expecting…” 

“It doesn’t matter. I have you. You’re all I need.” Vincent could see and feel Catherine’s need building. Her hands began a gently sensual massage on his shoulders. She was asking him to make love to her as clearly as if she’d spoken the words. His own turbulent emotions began to change direction and he shifted position so that both feet were on the floor and she was positioned between his legs. Vincent sensed that Catherine wanted him to take the initiative and he put his hands on her waist, drawing her closer still. Somehow his palms found the back pockets of her jeans and he stroked the curves which fitted so snugly beneath them.

Arming himself with all his courage, Vincent took a deep breath. “Feel my heart, Catherine,” he murmured. “Feel the way you affect me when we’re this close.” She  moved one hand to the front of his vest and started to slip it between the laces, but Vincent shook his  head, never taking his eyes from hers. “No, Catherine. You can’t feel it like that.” Her eyes widened and he felt a little shiver of excitement and delight at his undisguised invitation. How incredible that those few words should fill her with such pleasure. Catherine used both hands to unlace his vest and her fingers trembled slightly as she slowly began to unbutton his shirt. Vincent opened his mouth a fraction to take more air into his lungs as Catherine’s exploring hands moved inside his shirt. Almost of their own volition, his palms slipped beneath her sweater, reverently caressing the warmth of her back with his fingertips. The combined sensations of her hands caressing his bare chest, and her warm, silken skin beneath his own, made Vincent gasp and he closed his eyes against the fear that he was dreaming. 

“Your heart is beating very fast, Vincent,” Catherine whispered softly against his ear.  

“I know.” He hardly had breath enough to speak. 

“Mine is, too. Feel it, Vincent.” His eyes flew open to meet hers, needing to be certain he hadn’t misunderstood. She touched her lips to his so briefly he might almost have imagined it. Catherine raised  her arms and Vincent slowly drew her sweater upwards over her head. Neither one of them knew where it fell. Vincent dared to lower his eyes to where the satin fullness of her breasts rose with every ragged breath. They stood as one; Vincent inhaling deeply to help Catherine pull his shirt free and slide it over his shoulders; Catherine leaning towards him so that he could see over her shoulder to release the clasp on her bra. As they stood, naked to the waist, Vincent stared for a moment absorbing Catherine’s beauty so that this one moment might remain frozen forever in his mind. Then he groaned and pulled her into a fierce embrace, his head falling back and his chest swelling with a freedom and joy he’d never known, at the feel of her breasts crushed against it. 

As if she’d read his thoughts, Catherine spread her hands possessively on his back as she stood on tiptoe to breathe into his ear. “It’s the same for me, too, Vincent…the sight of you…the feel of you. I want you so much…love you so much…” 

“Catherine…” he panted, “my…control…is slipping.” 

“Don’t be afraid, my love. Wasn’t it wonderful last time?” 

“Yes, but…” 

“No buts.” She opened her mouth against his breast, gently nibbling the small hard nub she found secreted among the thick honey-soft hair. With gentle, insistent hands she unzipped his pants and reached inside to free his distended length from its corded prison. She fingered him gently for several seconds, stroking and massaging his throbbing flesh, while Vincent, unable it seemed, to speak or breathe, tossed his head back and forth in exquisite agony. Suddenly the blue eyes turned wild with panic as he  realised the true extent of his stimulation. “Catherine!” he gasped, the word a choked whisper. “I can’t…!” 

“It’s okay, Sweetheart. Don’t fight it. It’s okay.” Catherine slipped her hands inside the back of his jeans, urging him closer. He resisted at first, then…overwhelmed by the sudden onslaught of physical and emotional sensations…began to move against her, grinding his hips against her belly. Unused as he was to such intimacy, his release was swift and powerful. They both gasped as the warm stickiness flowed from him. 

Vincent was distraught. What should have been beautiful and exciting for him had turned shameful and wretched. Wrenching himself from Catherine’s arms, he turned away to clean and cover himself as quickly as he could. “Catherine, I’m sorry! I – I’m…so ashamed. What can I say to you?” 

“Nothing!” Catherine grabbed his arm and, almost roughly, twisted him back to face her. Ignoring the soiled handkerchief he clutched tightly, she raised his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles, showing white through the golden hairs. Wrapping her arms protectively around him as he trembled against her, she rubbed his back, trying to soothe him. 

“I – I wanted this time t-to be a…celebration of our love,” he whispered hoarsely. “But what  happened was the inexperience of an…adolescent!” 

“Oh, Sweetheart I understand, truly I do. It doesn’t matter…it’s no big deal. Soon, when we’ve  made love so many times that you’re bored with me, then you’ll be able to…” 

“Catherine I’ll never…” 

“Sssh,” she smiled, silencing him with a kiss pressed softly to his lips. “That was a joke. You’d  better not get bored with me.” Catherine smiled and pushed gently at the corners of his mouth to encourage him to give her one of his own cherished half-smiles. “I meant…when we’ve practised and practised together, you’ll be able to hold back until the perfect moment for both of us, although to be honest, Vincent, the way you make me feel, I don’t think you’re going to have to wait long. Now…” She  stroked his shoulders tenderly and placed the softest of kisses over his whole face, from his eyebrows,  deeply furrowed in distress, to just beneath his chin. “Do you feel ready to start practising yet?” 

Vincent shuddered and inhaled deeply through parted lips. “I want to, Catherine. I believe this time I will be able to…hold myself in check until the appropriate moment.” He ducked his head, blushing furiously as he recalled with sudden clarity, the  circumstances preceding the only other occasion they had made love. “Catherine…I have not known this kind of love until…until yesterday when you…” He expelled a breath raggedly. “If you remember, Catherine, my overwhelming…need… 

then…” To his immense relief, she came to his rescue so that he did not have to voice the words which made him so intensely uncomfortable. 

“Was released, when I invaded your privacy in the tub?” He nodded; his velvety, golden cheeks flushed and hot to the touch.” Catherine tilted his chin to look into his anxious eyes. “Are you feeling warm, Vincent?” He nodded. “Then I think we should take off the rest of these hot clothes, lay down on your cool sheets and just hold each other until we want to take things any further. Is that okay with you?” By way of a reply, Vincent held out his arms and she linked her hands behind his neck as he lifted her and crossed the chamber to the bed. Very carefully he set her down and seated himself on the edge to remove his boots and socks. As he stood up and moved his hands to his waistband, she rose on her knees before him. “May I?” she murmured. 

“If-if you wish.” Hesitantly, Vincent moved his hands away from his body and watched as Catherine peeled his pants over his hips and down to where he was able to kick them off. Maintaining eye contact the whole time, Catherine unzipped her own jeans and lay back on the pillows. Hardly daring  to believe what he was doing, Vincent eased off the tight-fitting denim and with fingers that shook almost as much as his heart, removed the wisp of lace that had covered her most secret of places. 

“Lay down, love,” she suggested, and when he did, she curled into his side, burrowed under his arm and lay her head on his shoulder. From this delightful position, all Catherine could see was the convex musculature of his breast, golden and haloed in the candlelight. The only sound in the chamber was every rapid heartbeat which emanated from her silky-furred pillow. She made no attempt to touch him; just lay very still, listening, waiting. 

After several minutes had elapsed without a word being spoken, Catherine frowned and laid her left hand on Vincent’s chest. “Your heart’s still beating way too fast, Vincent,” she remarked. “Don’t you feel any calmer yet, Sweetheart?” 

“No, Catherine. I do not feel the least bit calm.” Catherine froze, her breath catching in her throat  as Vincent took her hand and slowly placed it between his thighs, to feel the part of him that spoke far more eloquently than Vincent himself could about such matters. Stunned into momentary silence, Catherine stroked the length of him lovingly, pulling her head back to look at him. A hint of mischief  sparkled in the zircon-blue eyes. 

“Vincent! I-I don’t know what to say!” 

“Then say nothing, Catherine. I believe it is common knowledge that actions speak louder than words.” He raised himself on one elbow and leaned over her, long strands of corn-coloured hair falling  ver his shoulders to touch the tips of her breasts. “I believe…everything…will be all right this time, my love.” His lips travelled over every inch of her breasts until she was no longer sure of the time, date,or if  life even existed away from Vincent’s arms. 

Vincent was maintaining supreme control, rubbing sensually against her belly, but Catherine knew she could wait no longer. Her plea was a shameless croak of passion. 

“Now, Vincent..I need you now…” 

Catherine continued to hold her prize gently, massaging and kneading as Vincent moved his leg over hers, guiding him to the spot demanded by his burgeoning masculinity. Its tip nudged softly at her silken doorway and was welcomed hungrily. Both gasped and Vincent threw back his head as he began to pump slowly at first but with increasing speed as the bond told him Catherine would not be denied any longer. Through lids that wanted to drink in his magnificence but which kept threatening to close, Catherine settled for kissing his chest, tasting with erotic pleasure, the salty perspiration that glistened on the fur of his breastbone. 

Their two souls, physical and spiritual, collided and fused, sending them soaring in a dizzying, simultaneous climax. The soft, growling sound that Vincent made only prolonged Catherine’s orgasm. There was nothing remotely animalistic about it; just the sound of a man who loved physically with as much unrestrained passion as he did spiritually. It was a sound that Catherine wanted to hear every day of her life. 

When, eventually they lay panting and sprawled across the bed to recover, Catherine  manoevoured Vincent, protesting that he was too heavy, onto his back with his head resting just below her breasts. She smiled contentedly at the feel of his wealth of hair tickling her sensitive nipples and his left arm following the line of her leg, his fingers lazily stroking her knee. She slid her palms over his  shoulders and rested them on his chest, feeling his heartbeat and only half aware that she was pressing him tightly against her. 

“Mmmm,” she sighed, “I love to feel you breathing, Vincent. No one else breathes quite the way you do.”

He tipped his head back in an attempt to see her face. “At this moment, that does not surprise me, Catherine… since it feels as if you are trying to stop me breathing ever again.”

Catherine laughed guiltily, releasing the pressure on his chest and settling instead for the equally pleasurable experience of stroking and smoothing the dampened swirls of hair which she had mussed earlier with her lips. “Sorry. I have favourite parts of you, you know.” 

“You do?” Usually a strict self-disciplinarian and unused to compliments about his outward appearance, Vincent found, in this instance, his curiosity got the better of him. “Catherine, I believe I may come to regret this but…would it be indelicate of me to enquire which ones?” 

“Uh-huh, you’ll get swollen-headed. But I’ll tell you anyway.” Catherine leaned forward and stretched one hand down to cup his still deflating masculinity and its twin companions, ridiculously pleased when Vincent spasmed and gasped. 

“Here…as if you couldn’t guess,” she growled, “just say the word if you want a massage any time.”  

“Catherine!” 

She immediately assumed an expression worthy of one of the Vestal Virgins before burrowing underneath him to squeeze his rump, amused by his wide-eyed expression. 

“And here. You have the cutest buns, Vincent.” He blinked in amazement, apparently unsure whether to be shocked or delighted at her outrageous compliments. In the event he said nothing, but looked unsurprised when she withdrew her hands and brought them back to rub across his chest. “And this part of you…” Catherine purred, dipping her head to press soft kisses over the powerful muscles, “is so beautiful. I just want to kiss it over and over and…” Her voice was lost as she followed her instincts.

Vincent’s chuckle rumbled under her head and he reached around her to pull her down on top of him, massaging her back and shoulders with warm hands. “You never fail to surprise and delight me with your love for all manner of things, Catherine.” 

“My love for you,” she corrected him. “You’ve never really believed how much I love you, have you, Vincent?” He tilted his head in the way that made her insides feel like they had liquefied into honey by bees dedicated to perfecting their art. 

“Perhaps not…until now.”

Catherine’s smile widened into a beam of unadulterated joy, and she  kissed him hard on the mouth. “Well, Hal…lelu…jah! So will you marry me then, Vincent? Please?” 

“Forgive me, Catherine, but I have always understood it is the man who asks that question of the lady he loves.”

Catherine’s expression was childishly mischievous. “Not today. Look at the date, Vincent.” Puzzled, he glanced at the little manually adjusted calendar which stood on his nightstand. Then he smiled. FEBRUARY 29. 

* * *

The wedding, almost two months later on April 12, was a celebration the people in the tunnels had not seen equalled… ever. 

The bride wore a full-length gown of ivory silk and lace which shimmered as she walked and had a Victorian, pearl-beaded, high neck collar. Her only jewellery was a pair of tiny pearl stud earrings and her crystal necklace, and her hair shone like burnished silk, reaching just past her shoulders. She wore no veil and carried one red and one white rose which Vincent had mysteriously managed to acquire for her. The ivory, low-heeled pumps she wore made her look infinitely smaller and almost fragile as she stood beside Vincent. 

The bridegroom looked equally stunning in dark brown velvet pants tucked into brand new boots of the softest brown leather. His shirt, handmade with loving care by several ladies of the community, was pale lemon crepe-de-chine, with full sleeves and deep cuffs; the first time Vincent had ever worn brand new material in a garment made especially for him. An edging to the cuffs of matching lace fell over his hands almost to the base of his thumbs. The magnificence of the shirt was in its simplicity, the only other feature being a long jabot which wound around his neck and lay in exquisite folds over the  swell of his breast. 

The ladies had shaken their heads in fond exasperation when Vincent had refused to abandon, even for one day, his pouch containing Catherine’s rose, and slipped it over his head for all to see. They  thought it rather detracted from the elegance of his outfit but resigned themselves to the fact that Vincent would not be persuaded otherwise. 

His hair had been brushed by Samantha until he thought he would go mad, but he stoically endured it for the look of wonder on the child’s face when she had finished. 

“You look so handsome, Vincent,” she’d said wistfully, on what was the happiest day of Vincent’s life. ‘Handsome’ was a word Vincent had never heard applied to himself, and he’d felt the prick of tears behind his eyes as he’d gone down on one knee to hug the little girl. “Thank you, Samantha.” 

“You promised to wait for me to grow up, you know, Vincent,” she pouted. “I thought you loved me.” 

“I will always love you, Samantha…wherever you are; whoever you’re with…never doubt that for a moment. But my love for Catherine is…different. You will understand that kind of love one day, I promise. You like Catherine, don’t you?”

The child nodded.  “Sure. I guess I understand about that other love stuff.” 

“And you will be happy for us? Because it would hurt me very much if you were upset with me, Samantha.” At that, the child had flung her arms around Vincent’s neck and hugged him hard.  “I’d never hurt you, Vincent! Never, ever!” She pulled back to look solemnly into his face. “Are you and Catherine going to have babies and stuff?” 

“Ah…well, what do you say we get the wedding over first before we start to think about babies?” 

Samantha had shrugged philosophically. “Sure. Okay. We’d better go, Vincent.” 

“We had indeed.” 

They had walked, hand in hand to the Great Hall where Father, checking his pocket watch every few minutes, was waiting to conduct the ceremony. At Catherine’s request, and despite Father’s severe misgivings, Joe had been invited Below the week prior to the wedding to be formally introduced to Vincent. His still pale face had whitened even further, and it had taken all Vincent’s courage to remain under scrutiny by the man whose good opinion meant so much to Catherine. He’d had the protection of her arm around his waist and this had helped to quell the pounding of his heart as Joe Maxwell gave him the familiar, what the hell is this guy and what does she see in him, look that Vincent had expected. Eventually, after the initial shock had abated,  Vincent had been able to win Joe’s respect, and the latter was now standing, a chair at his side, waiting impatiently for the ceremony to begin. On Father’s immediate left sat Mary, much stronger now and already looking as if she was about to cry even before the vows were made and exchanged. 

Vincent whispered to Catherine as they stood together waiting for Father to begin.   “You take my breath away, Catherine. You look so beautiful.” She gazed up at him tenderly. “I can’t believe this day has actually arrived. I’ve loved you for so long, Vincent.”

Before he could  respond, Father cleared his throat. “Now, Vincent and Catherine…it gives me the greatest pleasure I’ve known for many years, to perform this very special ceremony. Have you made your individual vows?” They both nodded. “Then will  you, Vincent, please speak them aloud to Catherine and all of us who will be your witnesses to this joining.” 

Vincent took a deep breath and lifted Catherine’s left hand, holding it over his heart.  

“Catherine, you are the light in my darkness…the warmth in my soul…the joy in my life. I will love you until this heart is silenced forever. I commit to you publicly… 

exclusively and…forever.”

Father swallowed hard and turned to Catherine, speaking quietly. “Will you make your vows to Vincent now, my dear?” Never taking her eyes from his, Catherine drew Vincent’s left hand towards her and touched her lips to his fingers. “Vincent, you are more precious to me than the air that I breathe. My love for you is absolute and without end. I will honour you, protect you, and love you until the day I die. I commit to you publicly…exclusively and…forever.” 

The Great Hall was silent for a full minute. It was as if the moment and their words had been frozen for eternity. Then, slowly, began small sounds of people releasing breaths they hadn’t even been aware they were holding; and little sniffs as almost everyone in the room blew into handkerchiefs. Even William blinked several times and complained to those around him that the candle nearest to him was burning unevenly, causing smoke that had made his eyes water. No one was fooled. 

Vincent and Catherine exchanged gold wedding bands and Father made his pronouncement. “My children…because you have proclaimed your love for each other in front of all present, it only remains for me…in my capacity of elected leader of our community… to declare that you are joined as husband and wife by all the laws that govern our world. Vincent, you may kiss your wife.” 

“Oh Vincent, I wish…” 

Only he heard the whisper and she didn’t even finish the sentence, but he knew what she wished.  During their time together, Catherine had shown him photos of several weddings she had attended. He knew she was bitterly disappointed that she would have no photos of their own to display and proudly thrust upon friends. 

Vincent discovered that touching his lips to Catherine’s for the first time ever in public, was the proudest moment of his life. As she raised her face to receive his kiss, he didn’t need the bond to know what she was feeling. Her love and happiness literally cascaded over him, filling his heart until he thought it might burst. 

“Come along, you two, plenty of time for all that,” Father scolded, moving forward to embrace first Catherine, then Vincent. They laughed and the spell was broken for the moment, but Vincent’s eyes ha  promised, later, to Catherine before they broke apart. This was the signal for everyone to move in with their own hugs and congratulations. Suddenly, Vincent turned and, making his excuses, covered the  distance between himself and Mary, in three strides, dropping to the floor on one knee beside her chair. 

Eyes glistening with tears of happiness, she opened her arms and Vincent held her close. “Oh, Vincent, this is a happy day for me,” she cried, patting his back. 

“It would not have been so happy for me, had you not been here,” he replied, his heart aching afresh at the reason behind Father’s insistence on her remaining seated throughout the festivities.

“Now let’s not start all that again, Vincent.” Mary took his face between her hands and shook his  head gently. “I love you dearly…you were the most special and precious child; and now you’re the most special and precious man. Thank the Lord you’ve found a lady to love you as you’ve always deserved to be loved. You and Catherine are going to have a wonderful life together.” Her voice broke and she leaned forward to kiss his golden nose. “You’re like a son to me, Vincent, and I’m selfishly grateful that  you’re not moving out.”

He smiled, blinking back his own tears. “No, Mary. I will always be here with you…for you.” 

Catherine appeared, an apologetic expression on her face. She put a hand on Vincent’s shoulder and bent to kiss Mary’s cheek. “I’m afraid I’ve come to take my husband away…he’s needed to cut the cake…but I promise to send him back soon, so you can talk.”

Vincent coughed to cover the knot of emotion that seemed to have lodged in his throat. “It’s wonderful to see you looking so well, Mary.” Catherine smiled. “Can I bring you  anything?” 

“No, dear, but I wanted to thank you for delaying the wedding until I could persuade that stubborn old man to let me attend.” Catherine squeezed the older woman’s hand.   “Mary, there is no way that Vincent would have agreed to get married until you were able to be with us. And I certainly wouldn’t have tried to persuade him.” 

“Thank you, Catherine dear. Now off you go, you two. You have to circulate on these occasions.”  They both rose and Vincent touched his fingers to Mary’s cheek. 

The cake was a glowing tribute to William’s prowess as tunnel chef, and rather than adhere to the formal tradition of having two or three tiers, he’d made one huge cake which could be cut up into small pieces for not only the residents but the Helpers, every single one of whom was in attendance. Vincent and Catherine’s wedding was the highlight of the year, and had been circled on calendars all over New York since its announcement. 

Vincent stood behind Catherine with his arms around her to steady the knife. Together they made the first incision and everyone cheered. They helped to cut several pieces and Catherine picked up  a plate. “I want to take this to Joe,” she said. “Come with me, Vincent.” With a nod he followed her to where Joe was standing with Peter Alcott. 

“Here, Joe.” She grinned. “Bet you never thought you’d see this day, did you?”  

“Ah, no. No, I didn’t. After all my hints and suggestions were ignored, I was beginning to think you maybe weren’t interested in men.”

Vincent remained behind Catherine but at that point put his hands on her shoulders. 

“Only one man, Joe,” she said, handing him his plate of cake. “Only ever one man…this man.” She glanced up at Vincent briefly and leaned her head back against his chest. It was a casual gesture of intimacy and possession, and he felt a swell of pride. Studying Joe’s expression he knew that this man envied him; was jealous of him. Vincent had never been the recipient of such emotions before and he realised, somewhat guiltily, that it felt good. He was so proud of Catherine; she was publicly  demonstrating to Joe and anyone else who might need convincing, that she was his and his alone. She would never belong to anyone else.

Taking a deep breath, Joe held out his right hand and Vincent took it firmly. “I apologise, Vincent; I haven’t congratulated you guys properly yet. I hope…no…I know you two are gonna be deliriously, nauseatingly happy. Just don’t keep her shut away down here forever, Vincent,  okay?” 

“Catherine is free to come and go as she pleases, Joe. If she has indicated a wish to spend more time here, I assure you that is her decision.”

Catherine put her hands on Joe’s shoulders and pecked his cheek affectionately. “My constant coming and going would be too dangerous to this world, Joe. Security is  paramount to its existence. There are strict rules by which those of us who live here must abide, and I will do nothing ever again, that will threaten Vincent’s safety. If you can live with that, then I’ll stay on with the DA’s office. If not, I’ll have to quit.”

Joe grinned, and was once again the friend and mentor Catherine  had grown so fond  of. “We’ll work something out, Radcliffe. Trust me, it won’t be a problem.” 

“Thanks, Joe. Now, if you and Peter will excuse us, my husband and I must circulate. There are a lot of people here I haven’t spoken to yet.” After Catherine had kissed Peter and he and Vincent had exchanged a hug, the bride and groom swept around the room to make sure no one had been left out of their greetings before they planned to leave the reception at six o’clock. But before then, Vincent had a surprise for Catherine. 

At exactly ten minutes to six, Vincent excused himself from the group of people he was with and crossed the Great Hall to an armoire which stood against the far wall. Opening the lower cupboard, he took out a bag. When he looked around for Catherine, she was deep in conversation with Jamie. Both women looked towards him as he approached them. 

“Hi, Vincent,” said Jamie, an enigmatic smile on her pretty face. “Is that it?”  

“This is it,” he confirmed, handing her the bag. “You know how to use it of course?”

Jamie gave Vincent a withering look, but this was his wedding day and he refused to ‘wither’ for anyone.   

“What’s going on, you two?” Catherine watched as Jamie dove into the bag and pulled out a  Polaroid camera. “What…?” Suddenly she realised a crowd had gathered around them. “What’s going on, Vincent, tell me.”

With a small smile, he took her right hand and drew her close. “Smile, my love, this is your wedding day.” Catherine’s mouth fell open in amazement.  

“Catherine,” Jamie complained, “you’re supposed to look romantic…like you love him, you know?” 

Catherine began to laugh excitedly.  “I do love him! You mean like this?” She composed herself and looked up into Vincent’s eyes, telling him everything that was in her heart as he entwined his fingers with hers and pressed them to his cheek. 

“Great. Perfect.” The mechanism of the camera whirred and the undeveloped photo appeared. Jamie tore it off and popped it into the bag. “Now, both of you look towards me.” 

“You mean we’re allowed another!” 

“Yeah, but Father said two only.” She depressed the shutter for the second time and again the white square emerged. By the time this had been placed into the bag, Catherine was almost hopping up and down in her eagerness to see if the first had developed. Vincent had rarely seen her so excited. He’d never in his life had his photo taken and wasn’t sure he really wanted to see what had developed, but for Catherine’s sake, he steeled himself as Jamie placed the photo in her hand. 

“Oh Vincent, it’s beautiful!” Catherine held it up to show him as she hugged him. The photo, Vincent had to admit, was very good. Catherine was a vision of loveliness. He looked at his wife’s beautiful face and then at his own and a remnant of the old fear and insecurity twisted his gut. Catherine, on the other hand, seemed to be inexplicably thrilled with the result. The second photo proved to be just as accurate and everyone that had clustered around to see, mirrored Catherine’s approval, commenting on what a perfect couple they made. Vincent winced inwardly at some of the compliments, but Catherine just hugged him harder and kept on smiling. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, looking up at him. “Thank you, Sweetheart.” Vincent knew then that his own feelings were unimportant. He had made the right decision. Catherine had her wedding photos,  and the fact that they would never be taken out of their chamber, didn’t matter. Every woman had a right to a photo of herself and her husband on their wedding day, and who was he to deny Catherine that pleasure? She had given up a whole life for him. Gazing down at her, he took her in his arms to dance. 

Mouse had rigged up a music system which had proved surprisingly efficient in distributing sound evenly around the Great Hall; sound which they had tested and knew, could not be heard on the surface. At that moment the deep brown tones of Nat King Cole were proclaiming When I fall in love, it will be  forever, and Vincent waltzed Catherine around the floor to the delight of all their family and friends. 

Eventually, much later than planned, and with music and laughter ringing in their ears, Vincent and Catherine managed to extricate themselves from the thong of people all calling out farewells, good wishes, and even the occasional risqué comment. Waving their goodbyes, they moved under an archway of human arms through the huge double wooden doors and out into the chilly ante chamber. Vincent had asked Mouse to make sure his cloak was brought to the Great Hall that morning, and he now wrapped it around Catherine as they began their journey up the long flight of steps.

She snuggled against him happily. “Where are we going now? To your chamber?” 

“Not tonight. I have a surprise for you.” 

“You do?” Her eyes sparkled mischievously and she rubbed her hand tantalisingly across the front of his pants. 

“Catherine, please!” 

“Oh what, you don’t like it?”

He bent to kiss her forehead. “I do like it, but I would prefer to wait until we are alone and in private.”

She shrugged. “Okay. Vincent, it’s freezing, I wish you’d come inside your cloak with me.”  

“I am fine. We don’t have too far to go, and in any case, if I am cold, I shall look forward to having your arms around me.” 

“Mmm,” she agreed. “So will I.” 

When they reached the top of the steps, it took them another fifteen minutes to find the chamber that Vincent had prepared. As they approached the entrance, he stopped Catherine and covered her eyes with his hands. “Let me guide you. I won’t let you trip.” Holding on to him, she allowed him to lead her inside. “Now you can look.” Vincent removed his hands and Catherine gasped. 

The chamber was almost an exact replica of the one Kanin had fashioned for himself and Olivia, and which Catherine and Vincent had helped to adorn with candles and flowers. 

“Vincent!” she breathed, “there must be a hundred candles in here.” 

“One hundred and thirty two…I counted them.” 

“Oh God, it’s wonderful. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful, Vincent! When did you arrange all  this?” 

“Kanin and I have been working on it for three weeks.” He jerked his head around the room. “The candles I brought myself last night and Mouse left the wedding an hour ago to light them for me.” He ducked his head. “Do you…like the bed?”

Catherine spun around. She had been so riveted by the sight of so many tiny lights in a chamber that was their weekend honeymoon cave, that she hadn’t even taken in the huge, king-sized bed draped with a coverlet of gold brocade. Her hands went to her mouth as she saw bunches of fragrant white lilac blooms arranged on a pile of matching cushions. Vincent took the two wedding photos from his pocket and moved to place them on the small table beside the bed. 

“We’ll move them to our own chamber when we leave. Perhaps we can frame them.” He held out his hand. “Say something, my love.” When she took her hands away, he saw she was crying. Instantly he drew her into his arms and anxiously stroked her hair. “I wanted only to make you happy, Catherine. If this is all too much, we can return to my chamber.” 

“No!” Catherine pulled back to look up into his eyes. “Vincent, what you have done here is breathtakingly, incredibly beautiful. I adore it…I adore you. You are the most wonderful, romantic man I’ve ever known and there aren’t enough words in the world to tell you how much I love you. Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Reassured, Vincent relaxed and realised how cold he was. He shivered involuntarily and Catherine immediately began to rub him through his shirt. “I told you it was cold.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his nose. “Let’s go to bed, Vincent.”  

“Yes.” 

They scooped all the lilacs off the bed and piled them into waiting vases of water in a corner of the room. Catherine lifted off the cushions and found her own nightgown. Picking it up, she paused, wondering if she should put it on. “Would you like to see me in this, Vincent?” she asked. 

“It’s very beautiful.” 

“That’s not what I asked.” 

“No.”

She dropped it on the bed and walked towards him again, reaching for the tails of his jabot in order to untie the bow at his throat. With painstaking slowness, they undressed each other, Catherine unbuttoning Vincent’s shirt in order to gain access to his chest. She stroked and kissed, pausing briefly to allow him to slip her wedding dress from her shoulders. She had chosen to wear the briefest lace bra and panties underneath, and Vincent removed these with ease. He looked down at the blue garter she wore around her thigh. 

“Something blue…for luck,” he said. She raised her leg, inviting him to remove it. “I think I’ve had about all the luck due to me,” Catherine responded. “I met you…you fell in love with me…and now you’ve made me your wife. I don’t need any more luck. Just time…to spend making you happy, Vincent.” He hooked one finger between her inner thigh and the garter and slid it  downwards. Catherine gasped at the feel of his warm finger moving down her leg. She was naked before him and he helped her remove the rest of his clothes. Then he lifted her in his arms and climbed into bed with her, pulling the covers over them both. 

“What about the candles? Should we blow them out?” Catherine asked. 

“No, they are quite safe. They will have burned themselves out by morning.”

Catherine pressed herself along the length of Vincent’s body, pushing one leg between his. She wriggled sensually against  him, hearing the rhythm of his breathing accelerate as she felt him swell and stiffen against her belly.  “What about us? Will we have burned ourselves out by morning, do you think, Vincent?” she  purred. 

“I think that is entirely possible. Catherine…” 

“What is it, Sweetheart?” 

Vincent felt for her hand and placed it against the part of him that begged for her attention. His voice was  hoarse when he spoke. “Do you remember that massage you offered me?” 

“The one that embarrassed you?” 

“Mmm hmm.” 

“What about it, Vincent?” she teased. “Would you like it before or after?” Her fingers rubbed him gently and Vincent’s eyes fluttered. “During!” 

 He rolled her beneath him and all teasing was forgotten as Catherine, wishing she had a dozen hands, massaged him everywhere she could reach. He loved her tenderly yet with tremendous passion, kissing and stroking parts of her no one had ever paid such attention to before. But then no one else had ever existed. Vincent surrounded her; he was above her; beneath her…and then, suddenly, he was inside  her. 

They reached their point of no return together this time; Vincent gasping and shaking at the power of his release; Catherine clinging to him, kissing his heaving chest until the exploding stars around her had faded into the candlelight and they collapsed into each other’s arms again. 

“I never knew,” Vincent panted. “I never knew that physical love could be so beautiful. Thank you, Catherine, for showing me.” 

“You didn’t need any instruction, Sweetheart,” Catherine soothed, cradling his head against her breasts and stroking his hair. All you needed was someone to give you the confidence to prove what a wonderful lover you are.”

He raised his head to look at her, and his eyes were the deepest blue she had ever seen them. “You have been so patient with me.” 

“You were worth waiting for. I’d have waited forever if I’d had to, but I’m awfully glad we managed to overcome your fears.” 

“No one else would have endured everything that you have, Catherine. Know that from this moment on, I will try never to look backwards. I will take care of you, cherish and love you for the rest of  my life.”

Feeling as if she might cry at any moment, Catherine wound her arms tightly around him and kissed him deeply. “Whatever happens…if you have bad days, times of self-doubt, I’ll be here… with you. I swear to God, you’ll never have to go through anything alone again. I’ll never leave you…not now. Happy Wedding  Day, Vincent…my love.”