GIVE ALL TO LOVE

IN THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT

by Wayne Kelley

".......For who, alas, has lived.

Nor in the watches of the night recalled,

Words he has wished unsaid and deeds undone."

- Samuel Rogers, "Reflections"

Vincent stood on the fire escape landing, pressed closely as possible to the wall of Catherine's building. The shadows were enough to protect him from curious eyes, but he still felt dangerously exposed without his cloak. He let his head tip back, closed his eyes, and blew a deep lung-ful of air through clenched teeth, trying to bring his turbulent emotions under control.

As he'd raced through that distant park, only a couple of hours before, he'd felt the struggling, the terror of what Catherine had believed were her final moments of life. When he'd reached the pond, he'd known she was gone, and the pain of that knowledge had nearly killed him, too. And then the stranger, a man he'd know without ever having met, had said in a smug, self satisfied tone, "Too late ... you're too late."

In that moment, the chains that had held his anger for so long were broken once more. In the next, the stranger had died by his hand. But this time, death could not appease his anger, nor console him in his grief. And so, he'd gambled one more time that he could circumvent the tragedy he had so long feared. And once more, he'd won.

But now, he thought tensely, I must be sure that I need never gamble with Catherine's life again. Ever.

*****

The ride home from Stony Point was fairly quiet. Joe concentrated on the road, and Catherine sat silently as warmth returned to her body, and the numbness of her mind slowly began to wear off. They made a brief stop for gas, and when Joe came back to the car, he handed Catherine a warm, covered styrofoam cup.

"Coffee," he explained, settling in behind the wheel. "Cream and two sugars. And I called Jenny."

"Jenny?" Catherine echoed weakly.

"Jenny Aronsen," Joe clarified. "If it hadn't been for Jenny, I'd never guessed anything was wrong tonight."

Catherine looked at Joe a long moment, still dazed, then turned her attention back to the coffee. By the time they reached her building, she was no longer shaking, and was able to take off Vincent's cloak and carry it up with her.

As they stepped off the elevator, Catherine finally began to feel that it was over, that she could be safe again. Rounding the corner of the corridor, she spotted Jenny standing in her apartment doorway. The worried look on her face changed to one of nervous relief at the sight of them. Jenny grabbed her at the door.

"Are you all right?" she asked quickly. ''Tell me you're all right."

Catherine gave her a quick squeeze. "I'm all right ... I'm fine ... tired," she half-muttered as she turned and headed wearily toward the bedroom.

"Can you stay with her tonight?" Joe asked Jenny.

Catherine turned around just in time to hear Jenny's anxious, "Yes!"

"No ...," Catherine began to object.

"Yes!" Joe shot back, cutting her off. "You really scared me tonight, Radcliffe," he added, his eyes hard, telling her how much he meant the words. Glancing back at Jenny, he asked, "What about the door?"

"They're gonna fix it in the morning," she informed him.

"All right. I'll leave a cop downstairs, " Joe added decisively.

Catherine looked at the splintered door frame where the new locks had been installed only days earlier.

"What happened to my door."

Joe's eyes flicked sideways to look at the door, then back to Catherine. "I kicked it in," he stated flatly. Nodding to Jenny, he said, "G'night."

"Thanks, Joe," Catherine called after him.

Turning again, she headed for the bedroom, dropping Vincent's cloak on her bed as she passed through.

Once inside the bathroom, she slapped the light switch and elbowed the door absently, not noticing when it bumped shut without latching. Standing at the sink a moment, she regarded her disheveled reflection blankly. Then she grabbed the bottom edge of her sweatshirt, and began to pull it up over her head.

With the shirt over her head, she was suddenly engulfed in odors trapped by the cloth, and her mind exploded with images and feelings. There was grease, oil, and the smell of exhaust from the trunk of the car, the constriction, the trapped feeling. There was the stale, musky odor of stagnant pond water, the flood of horror as it had surrounded her, the cold, and the loss of consciousness. And there was the smell of leather, and of Vincent, holding her, kissing her ...

... Vincent rolled his head back again, muscles tensing, a low moan escaping his throat as Catherine's sudden pain washed over him. It took all his self-control to stay rooted in place, to wait until she would be alone before going to her, comforting her, easing that pain ....

She managed to pull her head through the neck hole as tears came. She stumbled, half falling to sit on the toilet, her arms still inside the shirt sleeves, as sobs racked her body.

In the next moment, Jenny was there, kneeling in front of her with her arms out. Catherine fell into her embrace, crying until she could hardly breathe, until the tears wouldn't come anymore. Then, Jenny helped her finish getting undressed and into the shower before leaving her alone again.

Catherine took about half an hour, washing her hair, letting the hot water rinse off the smells, and, hopefully, the fears as well. As she was toweling off, she could feel the fear receding slowly, leaving just the relief, and the love she felt for Vincent.

Oh God, she thought worriedly, Vincent will be here. He won't go until he's sure I'm okay. She took a deep breath and looked in the mirror again, her own green eyes searching her reflected face for an answer to her unspoken question. What do I do now?

Catherine pulled out a nightie and robe, and trudged out through the bedroom. She found Jenny in the living room, standing and waiting for her nervously.

"What can I get for you?" she asked eagerly, trying to keep things chatty.

Catherine sighed heavily. "Oh Jenny, I'm really okay. You don't have to stay. I only wish I could tell you why, she added mentally.

''I know," Jenny replied firmly, "But I am."

"Jen ...," Catherine said more insistently, waiting for her to pause before continuing. "I'm not going to be ... alone," she explained, glancing away in embarrassment.

"Oh ...," she replied, sounding a bit confused, "You're not going to be alone?"

Catherine shook her head slightly, looking up with an apologetic expression.

Jenny suddenly recalled Catherine's mysterious boyfriend. She'd spoken of planning a "special night" with him earlier in the week. She flushed slightly, began to laugh, and said, "Well, um--m--m, what am I doing here?"

Turning around, she grabbed her coat off the couch and went to the door, Catherine close behind her.

At the door, Jenny turned around and hugged Catherine again. "I'm sure glad you're okay," she added.

"Thank you," Catherine replied.

They said their goodbyes, and Catherine chained the door behind her, and shut off the lights. Turning, she stepped over by the couch and looked through the bedroom to the balcony door. It was open now, and Vincent was standing there, just as she'd known he would be, and she ran into his waiting embrace.

They stood for a moment, rejoicing in the contact. To have her back again was worth everything to Vincent.

"I felt you go ...," he whispered, his voice breaking. "I felt you go ..."

Reminded once more of how final their parting had nearly been, Catherine broke into tears again. "Hold me tighter," she begged him, her only safety within the circle of his arms, "tighter ..."

They stood for a long moment, crying together, clinging to one another, neither wanting to feel separated from the other. The feelings flooding through the bond from Catherine now were more intense than any that Vincent had ever felt from her. The embrace only served to heighten the sensations, making rational thought almost impossible.

Vincent did, however, exhibit some presence of mind when Catherine's knees suddenly buckled. Catching her weight, he held her up until she recovered, then led her slowly back over to the edge of her bed. They sat down together, Vincent's arm still around Catherine's shoulder, pulling her close.

In the last hour, Vincent had felt so many emotions, both his own and Catherine's. At any other time, such a raucous uproar of feelings would have nearly driven him insane. But he had experienced, only a couple of hours earlier, a complete loss of her, deep within him. Even while in the lair of Paracelsus, consciously suppressing her fear, Catherine had not been totally absent to him through the bond; he had been certain, at least, that she was alive. But this time, she had been gone, much farther than Long Island, or even Providence.

And he had been alone.

In those long, desperate moments after he had reached the edge of the pond, until his awkward attempts at resuscitation had somehow succeeded, he had been alone, suddenly and totally alone. The stranger's death and his own anger had been, in many ways, part of a rebellion within him against the fulfillment of that ultimate fate.

Two years earlier, when Vincent had found Catherine in the park, left for dead, things had changed. Not just his life, but the very essence of his "self", his perceptions and his dreams, had been altered by her. In a million ways, both obvious and imperceptible, the singularity of his existence had become plural. In two years, he had become accustomed to thinking, feeling, and living a dual life; he had grown selfish, reveling in the daily reality of a dream thought unreachable. And then, it had been wrenched away.

The act itself had been painful beyond any endurance, but the void left in its wake had been an even greater devastation. To know that loss, and to know that it would last a lifetime, was madness unto itself. To have her back at any cost, despite any pain, was the only justification he needed. To keep her with him, safely, however, he would do anything.

Catherine still leaned heavily against Vincent, her face buried against his vest. Almost subconsciously, Vincent began rocking her, swaying back and forth, whispering, "It's all right ... I'm here ... you're safe now ..."

Safety - it was a part of her relationship with Vincent. She'd discovered, very abruptly, that safety was an elusive commodity. Her own safe world had been shattered in one moment, and her self-image had been destroyed along with it. It had been Vincent who had brought her to safety, and had continued to ensure her safety ever since. It was Vincent who had risked himself, and the safety of the tunnel community, over and again, to protect her.

But he had brought a great deal more than just safety into her life. He had shown her the strength that she possessed, and taught her to use it. He had become the best example of compassion for others, and of truth. Through Vincent, the wonder and magic of everyday life had become a cherished treasure. And despite some troubled moments in these past two years, their friendship had deepened into something much more.

Only a couple of months before, when her father had died, she'd retreated Below, unable to face the loss. Vincent had reminded her then that their journey was one no others had ever taken, and that they would have to procedd with courage, and with care. She had asked then if they would ever truly be together. Vincent's reply had been vague, saying they would have to understand the fears and sacrifices, and move through them. Vincent, it seemed, was more conscious of the present than of the future. Every moment spent together, he'd said, was a gift, and a lifetime.

But tonight that lifetime had nearly been cut short. Had been cut short, she thought, curling more tightly against Vincent's shoulder. He gave me my life, again. Reaching around his waist, she squeezed him gently, then relaxed slightly, letting her head rest lightly against him as she looked up into his face. How can we have a lifetime together? she worried, if I keep letting others try to take my life away? Her eyes began to mist over as the walls of her reserve crumbled, her heart flooding with the pain and sweetness of her love for the man in her arms.

"I love you, Vincent," she said quietly.

The words went through him, creating a moment of stillness, as though he'd stepped suddenly into the eye of their hurricane emotions. Catherine had said those same words earlier, near the pond, but Vincent had been nearly numb himself, and had put it down to nervous shock and relief, stress, trauma. Now they came again, but this time the depth of the feeling, the sincerity, the truth of it, was too clear to be denied or overlooked. Catherine's love for him was washing through him, filling him, leaving no room for doubt or self-reproach. He looked down into her eyes, through them to the depth of her soul, and saw two desires, fulfilled by one another.

"And I love you, Catherine," he half-whispered, slowly lowering his mouth toward hers. She craned her neck slightly, and their lips met, tentatively at first. The contact was shattering, destroying any separateness of being in either of them. The kiss lingered between them several moments, and when Catherine pulled gently away, Vincent snapped back into himself like a broken rubber band.

Vincent gasped, his heart suddenly racing, blood pounding in his temples. "Catherine, I ...," he began, panic edging into his voice.

Catherine quickly brought up a hand, silencing him with a hand laid gently on his lips.

"No words, Vincent," she pleaded softly. "Words have kept us apart too long. My heart, my life, are with you." She paused, waiting for a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "Let me be a part of you," she begged him, tears breaking over and running down her streaked face once more.

Vincent hovered in that inner stillness a moment, with Catherine's emotions laid bare before him. There was love, deep and true, totally unconditional; there was hope, for their future; there was trust, and Catherine's own inner light. And beneath, like a dangerous undertow, was a nameless dread, a black fear, not of him, but of a purposelessness, of rejection, of aloneness, growing stronger with each silent second between them now.

Almost imperceptibly, without ever breaking his gaze away from Catherine's eyes, he kissed her finger. The thrill of pure joy he felt from her though the bond disintegrated the last vestiges of self-denial that had remained. A smile broke across Catherine's face as he gently took her hand in his own, turned it over, and kissed it lovingly in the Continental style.

Their gazes remained locked until he turned her hand over again, tenderly kissing the palm. Experimentally, and without warning, he licked her palm, causing her to gasp sharply. Through the bond, he could sense Catherine's encouragement, and felt her fingers flex as she caressed his cheek.

Slowly, he began working his way along the sensitive underside of her arm, brushing the skin with feather-light kisses. The heat of Vincent's breath sent chills reverberating through her, quickening her pulse. Her free hand reached beneath Vincent's quilted vest, feeling the solid muscles of his back beneath layers of cloth and knit.

When he reached her elbow, Vincent abandoned her arm, pulling her close to him. Catherine let the arm slide over his shoulder, reaching up into the thick locks of hair spilling down the back of his neck. Vincent turned his attention to Catherine's neck, his response to her inner longings growing more pronounced.

When their lips met once again, it was open-mouthed, explorative, both tasting the other unashamedly. By now, their souls were no longer merely bridged by their empathic bond; the sensations were a shared experience between them. It was an exquisite completeness, within and around them, extending away limitlessly. Slowly, each iten of clothing was loosened, removed, and laid aside. With each piece, came new revelations, new sensations in which they immediately indulged and luxuriated.

For Catherine, the discoveries were less exotic than she might have imagined, and yet, more arousing because they were subtle. The hair over most of Vincent's body was fine and evenly spread, growing slightly thicker over his upper body, especially along his spine. It extended even onto the tops of his feet. There were also his toenails, thick, blunted, and clawlike, an item overlooked by her fertile imagination. His musculature was as beautifully-sculpted and defined as she had believed it would be.

For Vincent, the revelations of things only read about or imagined, was wondrous. The silken touch and delicate shape of her body surpassed any artistic or poetic ideal. She seemed to combine warmth and coolness, vulnerability and strength, spirit and solid, physical presence without contradition. She'd become completely open to him, and yet retained some mysterious essence that he was compelled to follow to its source.

The clothing and Vincent's cloak were unceremoniously left on the floor as they turned down the covers on Catherine's bed. The bed itself was cool in contrast to the rising heat of two bodies in close quarters. Vincent stretched his brawny frame the full length of the mattress, while Catherine pressed close, curling against him.

For the better part of the next hour, there was a rhythmic flow of contact between them. Hands were allowed to roam freely, caressing, massaging; kisses were exchanged, and some playful nipping took place. Catherine was pleasantly surprised at Vincent's imaginative use of his canine teeth, but not as surprised as Vincent by her reaction to them.

As their attention toward one another grew more intimate, Vincent's inexperience caused him to hesitate, unsure at times of precisely what to do, or how. Catherine's lovingly encouraged him to trust his instincts, guiding him, making the experience pleasurable for both of them.

Their lovemaking began from these simple exchanges of comfort and sensation, rising beyond the confines of pure physical pleasure. The pairing of their bodies strengthened the empathic communion between them, satisfying their deepest needs and dispelling their darkest fears.

When they finally relaxed, the realities of the encounter began to catch up with them. They found themselves soaked with sweat, with Vincent smelling particularly musky. The scent of their mingled essences pervaded the room. The bedsheets were askew, and most of the pillows had either been knocked off the bed, or jammed against the headboard.

It was Vincent who recovered his wits first.

"Catherine," he whispered hoarsely, "I could never have dreamed ..." The thought trailed off into complete amazement.

"Neither could I," Catherine agreed, still panting slightly from the exertion. "Vincent, I've never made a secret of the fact that I have been with other men before," she said breathlessly, "so I hope you understand when I say you are the most beautiful lover I have ever known."

Vincent seemed to fall deathly still for a moment, and Catherine held her breath, waiting for his reaction, hoping he would understand.

He let out a deep sigh and replied, "thank you, Catherine," his voice breaking as he began to cry. She snuggled close and embraced him as he added tearfully, "You cannot know how much your loves means to me."

"I think I can," she chided him softly. "I think know that I know exactly what you are feeling." She gave him a gentle squeeze. "I think you're amazed at your own performance," she teased.

In the darkness, Catherine could not see Vincent blushing, but felt enough heat radiating from him to know that he was red all the way to his toes.

"Perhaps a little," he admitted.

"Well, I never doubted you for a second," she assured him. "I've known all along that no one else could ever make me as happy as you." She gently wiped the tears from his face, stroking his cheek and neck. "I never want to lose you, Vincent," she whispered soberly.

"Nor I, you," Vincent agreed. "It will require us to make many changes, in both our lives. Are you prepared for that, Catherine?"

"I think so," she replied, pulling him into another long, passionate kiss. After a moment, Catherine broke loose again, and said, "I'd better go clean up. Why don't you stay here and I'll bring you a washcloth. You could use a bit of cleaning up, too," she observed. Vincent watched her get up and disappear into the bathroom. There was the sound of running water, and a few minutes later, she returned with a warm, damp wash cloth. Vincent cleaned himself up and handed the cloth back to Catherine, who deposited it in the bathroom.

Picking up a pillow as she returned, she slid into bed and relaxed, contemplating Vincent's expression of pure contentment as he lay beside her.

"Do you think it will always be like this for us?" she finally asked him.

Vincent sloely rolled up onto one elbow, draping his free arm over her stomach. "I intend to see to that personally," he assured her, embracing her gently as he kissed her one final time. "But I think we should get some sleep first," he added.

"Okay," Catherine replied. "Shall I set the alarm clock?"

"No need," Vincent explained. "I will send word to Father in the morning that I am safe and watching over you."

"I think I could get used to that," Catherine admitted. She took his hand, brought it to her lips, and kissed it gently. "I love you, Vincent," she said contentedly.

"And I love you, Catherine," he replied. "Sweet dreams, my love."

"Goodnight."

They both spent about a half-hour reliving their new-found love before drifting off to sleep.

*****

The dream itself was soothingly familiar to Vincent. Catherine and he were strolling through the Ramble, in broad daylight instead of darkness. Catherine wore a light summer dress, and held his hand tightly, smiling up at him as they walked. The sunlight streaked her hair with bronze, and her eyes glittered with pure delight.

As the shelter of the Ramble gave way to more open ground, they continued strolling, completely undaunted. The fear of discovery was gone, replaced by awed curiosity as he moved through her strange and wondrous world. There were passers-by on the footpath - a mother with a stroller, several children on skateboards, another young couple. Families held picnics under nearby shade trees, or played games on the open lawns. They were noticed and even acknowledged by several people, without evidence of the panic which usually accompanied a stranger's first glimpse of him. Vincent took it all in at once - the sights, the sounds, even the smells.

Catherine led him out to the street, turning toward downtown Manhattan. "Come on," she urged him playfully. "I want to show you everything again, in the daytime."

She pulled him along the tree-lined sidewalk, watching his attention wander freely from one source of amazement to the next. The joyous expression on Catherine's face perfectly matched the warmth of her love, flowing through the bond to Vincent.

Spotting a vendor's cart near the curb, Vincent guided Catherine over to it. "What would you like?" he asked.

She eyed the menu for a moment before announcing, "I don't think I've had a Dove Bar since I was in grade school."

"Two Dove Bars," Vincent said to the vendor as he flashed his lady love a playful smile. He was just about to dig out his emergency cash, when he heard the sound of running feet, and a deep, familiar voice behind them.

"There is the creature."

Vincent and Catherine turned to find Paracelsus standing several yards from them, pointing his accusing finger dramatically. Behind and around him were several men in black police uniforms, brandishing a variety of weapons. Another score or so had encircled them from other sides, and dragged away the cart vendor under protest.

"Be very careful," Paracelsus continued, addressing the police troops. "He has killed several dozen people, mostly at the behest of the Chandler woman."

Catherine started to charge forward, yelling, "Now you wait just a minute ...  Vincent grabbed her wrist, halting her gently, as several guns clicked into firing position around them.

"I suggest you let her go, Vincent," Paracelsus chided him smugly. "She cannot protect you here. The time has come, dear boy, to pay for your indulgences."

Catherine suddenly wrenched her hand free of Vincent's grasp, and strode toward Paracelsus. "You have no right ..." she began angrily.

At the same time, Vincent moved to follow her, almost shouting as he called out, "Catherine, no!" Before he could reach her, a deadly hail of gunfire began to ring out all around him. But instead of the searing pain of bullets tearing through him, he felt his heart explode as Catherine's body jerked and spasmed before his eyes. As the shots died away, she fell to the sidewalk heavily, bleeding profusely, dark red pooling beneath her on the grey concrete.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" Vincent roared.

*****

He jerked awake suddenly, silent except for his labored breathing. The panic of unfamiliar surroundings nearly overcame him, but in a moment he began to relax again. The dream had been frightening, but warm memories of their lovemaking were already soothing away the fear. Propped up on his elbows, he twisted slightly to look at Catherine's still sleepiing form. She had rolled to face away from him on her side of the bed, and the covers has slipped down to her waist. Her hair spilled down over one shoulder, the other one shone bare and pale in the reflected moonlight.

It took a few seconds for Vincent's senses to focus enough to realize that something was wrong. Hesitantly, he reached out and lightly touched her back. His outstretched hand began to tremble faintly as he pulled it back, feeling the sticky moisture on his fingertips. As his hand reached his face, his sense of smell confirmed what his eyes were seeing.

Catherine's back and shoulders were criss-crossed with more than a dozen long scratches. Some were still tacky with half-dried blood. It was only now that Vincent noticed several smears of dried blood, matted into the hair on his forearms. Sitting up fully, he also saw stains on the bedsheets between them. He close his eyes, fighting down his growing panic with only partial success. He felt dizzy and nauseated, his mouth was dry, and his lungs seemed to be straining for air. His expression became contorted with pain as he tried to think through the howling storms of terror that filled his mind.

Moving very slowly, Vincent pushed back the covers, swung his feet to the floor, and got out of bed. Catherine stirred slightly, mumbling faintly before slipping back into deeper slumber. Vincent waited several seconds to be sure that she was still, then began padding around the room, collecting his things.

In the living room, Vincent dressed quickly, silently, automatically, willing himself to not fall apart until he was safely gone. Two things gave him pause to reconsider his departure - leaving Catherine unprotected, and letting her wake up alone. He could easily have debated either point with himself until daybreak, but each second more spent in the presence of what he had done to her threatened to unhinge him completely.

Vincent pulled on his cloak and went out onto the balcony thorugh the dining room door. He paused at the railing for a moment, looking back at the bedroom's French doors.

"Forgive me, Catherine," he whispered roughly. "Forgive me for ever loving you."

In moments he was over the railing, down the fire escape, and safely Below. Once the darkness of the tunnels had overtaken him, he stopped and half-choked as tears poured down his face. He sucked in a deep breath, and let go with an anguished, pain-filled roar.

And in her apartment bedroom Above, Catherine awoke with a sudden start.

"Vincent?" she asked the empty room worriedly. As her senses focused, she could feel sharp needles of pain across her shoulder blades. Feeling with one hand, she discovered the sticky wounds on her back and realized what had happened.

"Oh Vincent," she sighed remorsefully ...

*****

It took Vincent almost a full hour to reach his chamber. For some twenty minutes after collapsing in the corridor on the upper levels, he'd simply cried, unable to contain his emotions any longer. And when the tears had stopped, he'd sat and waited for his lungs to stop aching and his heart to stop pounding. Finally, he rose to his feet again, steadying himself against the wall. Numbly, he began making his way toward the home chambers, taking his usual route.

As he trudged through the passageways, his mind echoed with accusations. How could I have done this? he demanded. How could I have allowed myself to hurt her? He glanced down at his hands, unable to gaze long at the smudges of dried blood. These are not your hands, Catherine, he thought bitterly. These are instruments of pain and destruction. They have nothing else to give ...

His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of voices, drifting faintly from the far end of the passage down which he was walking. Vincent suddenly realized that he was approaching the Whispering Gallery. At any other time, the sounds of the world Above might prove enjoyable, or at least provide distraction from his inner turmoil. But just now, he thought soberly, the crevasse beneath might prove too great a temptation.

Turning back, Vincent found a side tunnel and continued downward, avoiding the more dangerous passages and rooms. This was not the first time that Vincent had contemplated ending his own life, but the urge had not been this strong in a very long time. Not since Lisa, he recalled as the painful memories rushed upon him unbidden ...

*****

Lisa was gone. No goodbyes, no warning, she'd simply vanished, her chamber mostly empty, as though she'd never existed. Father found him there, standing near her bed, crying. It had been the same type of unexpected entrance that he had made in the Great Hall, when he'd come upon them a couple of days before.

"Vincent?" he interrupted, concern edging his voice.

Vincent whirled angrily, preparing to strike out again, as he had in the Hall, and was forestalled by the flare of fright in Father's eyes.

"Where is she, Father?" he demanded angrily, lowering his upraised hand.

Father relaxed visibly and breathed a weary sigh, his gaze flicking down to the floor uneasily.

"Gone, Vincent," he answered, finally looking up as he spoke. "Above, to the home of a Helper ..."

"For her own protection," Vincent interjected bitterly.

"To protect both of you," Father countered angrily. "To give you both an opportunity to ... deal with the changes in your lives."

Vincent turned away from Father's gaze, sensing in him a reluctance to be completely honest. "Lisa is a part of my life, Father," he stated flatly. "Separating us will not allow us to 'deal with' anything."

"Vincent," Father began patiently, "Lisa's future is in the world Above, as a dancer. Her gift could never be fulfilled here, and you can never ..."

"Don't lecture me about fulfillment!" Vincent shouted, his voice beginning to rumble. "You sent her away so that I wouldn't hurt her."

"Vincent, that's not true," Father insisted defensively.

"The truth, Father," he roared, "is that I hurt Lisa, and Lisa is gone." His shoulders began quivering as he continued. "Just like Devin, only you decided not to wait until she ran away."

Father froze for a moment, dumbstruck by Vincent's accusation. He almost didn't react when Vincent made a move toward the chamber door.

"Where are you going, Vincent?" he asked finally, worry fresh in his voice again.

"Someplace where I can't hurt anybody," he replied darkly as he strode out.

Father attempted to keep up with him as he left, but hs sore hip made it difficult even to keep Vincent in sight. Guessing quickly, he tapped a message on the pipes, hoping that Vincent was too preoccupied to notice or listen.

In a matter of moments, Vincent had reached the upper landing of the stairs that curved along one wall of the Abyss. He stood for what seemed an eternity near the edge, looking past the toes of his boots into the darkness. A steady current of air rose from the chasm, drying the fresh tears on his face. Only the need to reaffirm his intentions had kept him from plunging immediately over the edge. But now, all the logical arguments against suicide were fading from his mind, blocked by a wall of pain and self-pity.

Suddenly, there were footsteps behind him, and Father's voice calling frantically.

"Vincent, please," he pleaded, "don't do this."

"We all die sometime, Father," Vincent replied quietly without turning. "If living means hurting others ..."

The thought hung unstated for a moment before Father spoke again.

"Yes, Vincent, pain is a part of life, and we are all guilty of inflicting it upon others," he explained. "That is why each of us is given the capacity to love, to heal that pain. You have that capacity, Vincent."

The tension was returning to Vincent's body, this time drawing his entire frame taut.

"And what if I kill someone, Father? How do I heal that?"

Father let out another long sigh before he answered. "I don't know, Vincent. I pray that neither you, nor anyone else in our world, will ever need to answer that question. All I do know is that there is a great deal of love within you, Vincent and that is something our world needs."

By now, Father's love for him, his concern, was breaking through his defenses, destroying his resolve. His own emotions and Father's were running together in his mind, blurring beyond distinction. The floor beneath him began to tilt as he lost consciousness ...

Winslow had been there, fortunately, to literally snatch him from death. From that point, he had spiralled downward into a madness that he could still only partially remember. Father and the others had nursed him through it, had made him believe that his life could have meaning again. And he'd built his life around helping, protecting, and caring for the community.

Catherine had caused him to take those priorities, intensify and focus them upon her, and then she had added one thing he had thought impossible - love. At first he had denied it, fought it, tested it, but finally he had come to accept and cherish Catherine's love for him.

And now, he thought as he reached his chamber, I've allowed Catherine to be touched by the darkness within me. She gave herself over to me, and I hurt her. Shame and anger burned in his face as he dropped down on his bed, not even bothering to remove his cloak as he lay down.

*****

It had taken Catherine the better part of forty-five minutes to clean and salve the scratches, partly due to fatigue, partly because they were difficult to reach. By the time she was finished applying the medical cream to her back, the stinging had subsided.

Catherine's shoulders were still radiating heat as she gingerly pulled on a sweater. Her muscles had already begun to stiffen slightly from the evening's exertions, and the throbbing across her shoulder blades only added to her general achiness.

Over and agin, she'd tried to make sense of how their comforting of one another had turned to lovemaking. In their first kiss, something in the bond between them had changed. Deepened, she elaborated mentally, puzzling it through as she finished dressing. Although Vincent was much more sensitive to their connection, she too, had noticed the bond becoming stronger with the passage of time.

Tonight, it was as if a door had opened in her mind, letting all of Vincent's emotions rush in. Each of them had known precisely what the other was feeling. There had been moments of revelation, crystal clear in her memory. She had been his deepest fears, the rage that he harnessed to protect her, his pain; she also knew his joy and innocence, his intense love for her, and through her, for life itself. She could still recall each sensation clearly and distinctly. By contrast, since awakening, her emotions had been turbulent, with fear, anger, and shame colliding and tearing at her inside.

She sat on the edge of the still unmade bed, pulling on her shoes and mulling it over. Why the anger? she asked herself. Being with Vincent was the most beautiful thing I've ever experienced. I'm not angry with him, or ashamed, and yet ... The thought faded into introspection, as Catherine groped about mentally for the source of the sensations.

Suddenly, she ground to a dead halt, one sneaker half-tied, as the realization crashed over her like a cold, icy wave.

"Vincent," she whispered ...

In his chamber Below, Vincent stiffened at the sudden flood of Catherine's emotions through his mind. Mired in the depths of his own shame and self-denunciation, he had effectively tuned-out his sense of her through the bond. But just now, she had willfully broken through to him, and he knew with dreadful certainty that she could feel him, as he felt her, even now.

From Catherine, he sensed amazement at this discovery, concern for him, but stronger still was her love for him, stronger than ever before. It burned through him like salt in an open wound ...

Catherine winced, her eyes misting as she felt Vincent's pain, his hatred of himself, deepening, cutting to his very soul.

"Please, Vincent, don't ...," she pleaded aloud, finishing with the shoe lace and rising quickly to go ...

Vincent rolled to the edge of the bed, nearly falling as he rose to his feet. Still blinded by tears, he began moving about the room quickly, trying very hard not to think about what he was doing.

The next few minutes turned into a race of sorts between them - Vincent to escape, to bury himself in the tunnel depths, and Catherine to reach him first, to let him know that everything was all right.

Moving quickly, Catherine went to the threshold beneath her basement and jogged through the storm drains in the upper levels. In the first corridor with pipework that connected to the community's network, she sent word that Vincent had returned Below, but was very agitated. She asked someone to check on him, and continued moving without waiting for a reply. There was a return message saying that Vincent was not in his chamber, that a search had been started, and asking her to meet Father in Vincent's chamber.

In fifteen minutes, Catherine strode through the familiar doorway, and found Father waiting for her.

"Hello, Catherine," he greeted her curtly. "Please, sit down."

Catherine settled onto the edge of Vincent's bed, still feeling a bit winded from jogging where possible through the corridors. Father stood near the writing table, facing her.

"We have Vincent's path of travel narrowed to three possibilites, all of which are being checked," he reported. "As soon as we know where he has gone, a sentry can escort you to the area and help you find him. Vincent was in something of a hurry, as he only took a canteen, some candles, and matches, but no clothing."

"Where do you think he is?" Catherine asked worriedly.

Father shook his head impatiently. "I cannot say for certain, although he could go anywhere or be gone indefinitely, if he so chose." He hesitated a moment before continuing. "Catherine, I realize that you have both been through a rather traumatic ordeal tonight ..."

"You do?" she interrupted, sounding faintly astonished.

"Vincent sent word of his wherabouts on his way to your building earlier," Father explained. "When I got the message, I contacted a Helper who monitors the city's emergency radio network for us, and he filled in some of the details."

Catherine sat in stunned silence as he continued.

"At any rate, you were the last to see him. Can you tell me why he became so upset?"

Catherine flushed hotly for a moment, her mind scrambling for an answer. "He was upset because he felt he couldn't protect me," she replied, focusing on her concern for Vincent's safety, rather than the facts she was omitting. "We talked about it, and I fell asleep thinking everything was all right."

Father massaged his brow with his free hand for a moment. "I was afraid something like this would happen eventually," he said worriedly. "Catherine, your relationship with Vincent means a great deal to him, and to me, but ..." His objection was cut off by a rapid burst of pipe code, which Father listened to intently for several seconds.

"He's below the level of the pipework, beneath the Shattered Rooms," he translated. "Mouse is there, and knows the area better than anyone else."

Catherine was already on her feet as Father's attention came back to her.

"Go, Catherine, Mouse will meet you at the Great Hall. And please, be careful."

"I will, Father," she assured him before striding out.

It was five minutes to the Hall entrance, along the Winterfest processional route that Vincent had shown her a dozen times. As she came down the long staircase, Mouse waved to her frantically, urging her to move more quickly.

"Vincent's bad," he reported as he led her toward a side tunnel on the bottom landing. "Worse than worse."

Catherine pulled up short, despite Mouse's tugging. "Is he hurt?" she asked anxiously.

"Not hurt," he explained. "Mixed up. Makes him run, bump into things, don't care."

"Take me to him," Catherine urged.

"Take you close," Mouse offered. "Too many places, rooms ... not sure where."

"Just take me as far as you can," she said determinedly.

"Okay good, okay fine," he answered impatiently.

Flashlights blazing from his helmet, Mouse led her downward through a twisted maze of passages. The corridors showed fewer signs of wear, and after several minutes, even the ever-present pipework was gone. Mouse led her onward as quickly as uneven floors and obstructions would allow.

Finally, however, their pace began to slow, not because of the terrain, but because of Mouse's indecision. At one intersection, he stood for several minutes, deliberating as to which way they should go.

As they had travelled deeper into the tunnels, Catherine had felt Vincent's presence through the bond, always growing faintly stronger. Standing now, as she caught her breath, she could sense his fear, and the shame within him, not only for his actions, but for her knowledge of his feelings. Looking to her left, she could almost see him, somewhere behind those rock walls, in a cold, dark place, alone.

Mouse turned decisively to his right and began to stride away. "C'mon," he urged her.

Catherine snapped out of her reverie, looked about, and said, "No, Mouse, he's this way." She pointed along the left hand side of the tunnel.

Mouse stopped, mystified by the contradiction. Trudging over to the opening, he shone his lights along the walls and floor. He sniffed the air a moment, then ran a hand over a nearby stone.

"Nope," he declared with a firm shake of his head. "Wouldn't go this way." He held up his hand as he explained, "Wet, cold, flooded, maybe. Other way's better."

Catherine collected her wits a second, then began explaining patiently. "Mouse, Vincent is upset ... mixed up. He may not care which way is better. I'm not sure why, but I know Vincent is somewhere over this way," she said, gesturing toward the passage. "You just have to trust me, okay?"

"Okay," he answered with a shrug. "Stay close."

Catherine followed him into the damp corridor, making sure to step where he stepped. The floor began to slope downward, making the footing more treacherous. She concentrated on her sense of Vincent through the bond, trying to use it as a guide.

They rounded a sharp corner several yards into the passage, and found a shallow channel of water running along a cross-tunnel before them. Catherine could feel Vincent very strongly now, somewhere to the right. Vincent had sensed her approach as well, his emotions becoming more and more turbulent despite his efforts to clamp down on them.

"Mouse," she whispered, "let me take a flashlight. Vincent is close by. Go back up and signal Father that we will be returning soon, and not to worry."

"Sure?" he asked anxiously.

"I'm sure," Catherine assured him. "We'll be all right."

"Okay good, okay fine," he said, his tone reflecting his doubts about the situation. He detached one of the lights from his helmet, pressed it into her hand, and squeezed gently.

"Good luck," he whispered, then turned and headed back.

Catherine watched until the passage behind her was dark again, then turned her attention back to the task at hand. Bracing herself, she stepped into the ankle deep water, sucking air through clenched teeth as icy fingers reached all the way to her skin. Ducking an overhanging ledge, she moved into the side tunnel.

Once past the ledge, she straightened and followed the passage as it curved to the right. The floor sloped upwards gently, and after a few yards, she found the spot where the water flowed through a fissure in one of the side walls. Stepping out of the water, she edged past a large outcropping of rock. and stepped into a large empty chamber. The flashlight beam showed the walls and floor glistening with icy moisture. The room felt like a walk-in freezer, and Catherine could see her breath boiling away as steam.

Her light finally fell upon a dark shape in the far corner of the room. Squinting, she could make out Vincent's cloaked form, curled into a tight bundle against the icy stone. Faintly, she could hear his labored breathing. She started toward him, until he spoke her name.

"Catherine," he said hoarsely, "Please go ... forget me ... forget ..."

"Vincent," she interrupted, his pain echoing in her voice. "I love you. I love you more right now than I ever could have imagined."

Vincent shook his head weakly. "I can bring you nothing but pain," he replied bitterly.

"Vincent," she pleaded, "you said we could be together when we knew the risks and sacrifices. I know the risks, Vincent, but your love is worth any risk, any price to me. Don't deny me the chance to know you, to be a part of you."

Vincent's head jerked up violently, the daggers of anguish glittering in his eyes as he spoke. "And what if I hurt you, Catherine? What if I really hurt you? I cannot allow myself ..."

"Let me make that choice, Vincent!" she broke in angrily. "Whether you believe it or not, I wanted you to be with me tonight, and tonight wasn't the first time I've wanted that. You feel what I feel, Vincent, and you know I'm telling the truth."

Vincent sat silently, more looking through her than at her. She could sense the haze of pain slowly clearing from his mind as she forced him to confront the truth of the situation.

"What happened tonight was as much my 'fault' as yours," she continued. "You felt my desire; I led you into it, and you chose, for the first time, not to deny either of us what we really wanted. Don't deny us now," she urged him.

A long moment of silence hung between them in the frozen air, and then Vincent's shoulders began to shake as he disintegrated into uncontrollable sobs. Rushing forward, she dropped the flashlight and threw her arms around him, holding him close as they cried together. Catherine found herself rocking him in her arms and whispering gentle reassurances, just as he had with her, in the apartment. And when the tears finally stopped, she kissed him softly and curled up against him for warmth.

They spent some time talking together, and Catherine assured him the scratches were not serious, and that she was otherwise unharmed. She told him once again how beautiful their lovemaking had been, and of her surprise at the new strength of the empathic bond between them. And most importantly, she told him that he had no reason to be ashamed or afraid.

Finally, Vincent seemed to reach a sort of uneasy truce with himself, and assured Catherine that he would be okay. He insisted, however, that they not repeat the evening's encounter until they had gotten a chance to become adjusted to this new phase of their relationship. As they rose to leave, Vincent grudgingly agreed to return to Catherine's balcony in two nights for their aborted anniversary celebration.

Together, they made their way back to the home chambers, both of them assuring first Mouse, and then the others along the way, that they were all right. Most of those concerned by the incident were tactful enough to refrain from pressing them for details. Back at Vincent's chamber, however, Father made no pretense of being relieved by their return. He curtly dismissed Jamie and several others who were still following, and launched directly into his interrorgation.

"Vincent," he began, "I know that you have been through a great deal tonight, but whatever is wrong, you simply cannot go running into the Catacombs. Do you realize the worry you have caused?"

"Father," Vincent said wearily, "I appreciate your concern, and I wish to apologize for any worry that I have caused you. I do not, however, wish to discuss this until I have had some rest. I promise you, we will discuss this, if you will give Catherine and I a chance to say our goodnights to one another privately."

His thunder somewhat stolen, Father looked back and forth between the two of them a moment, then said, "Um, well, certainly. I think we could all use some rest. I am, um, sorry for not taking that into consideration first." He paused, seeming to wait for some acknowledgement from them, when none was forthcoming, he finished with, "Well, goodnight Catherine, and I will speak to you tomorrow, Vincent."

Catherine and Vincent wished him goodnight and watched him go. After a moment Vincent asked, "You're certain you will be all right returning by yourself?"

"I'll be fine," she replied. "Will you be able to handle Father?"

"It will not be easy," he admitted, "but I think so. Please try not to worry about me, Catherine."

She stepped up and hugged him around the waist, looking up into his deep blue eyes. "I'll worry less, now that I have you in my heart," she assured him.

For a long moment, the urge to kiss was strong in both of them, but in silent unison, they decided not to pressure one another anymore for one night. Catherine simply laid her head against his chest, and they held each other tightly. "I love you, Vincent Wells," Catherine whispered tenderly.

"And I love you, Catherine Chandler," he whispered back.

*****

Two nights later, as planned, Vincent returned to Catherine's balcony to celebrate the anniversary of their meeting. Vincent arrived wearing one of his finest outfits, and found Catherine lighting a score of tapered candles. She turned to him after the candles were lit and remarked, "Someone else could be watching."

"Perhaps," Vincent replied without further comment.

"We can't be afraid, can we?" she continued optimistically. "We can't let that stop us ..."

Vincent looked out over the city, musing aloud. "This balcony is our window ... our vantage point, and perhaps, Catherine," he added, letting a note of mischief tinge his voice, "someone behind one of those lights is watching, and smiling on us."

Catherine smiled and nodded. "Perhaps they are," she agreed.

Dinner was simple, yet enjoyable, and afterward Catherine put some Strauss on the stereo, and waltzed with Vincent on the balcony. When the music ended, the dance became an easy, warm embrace between them.

"How do you feel now?" Vincent asked, needing reassurance of the answer he already knew. "Still afraid?"

"No," Catherine replied, "just very grateful."

Looking into her eyes, Vincent observed, "We have endured much."

"Yes, we have," Catherine agreed, "and I know, in the deepest part of who I am, that whatever happens now, Vincent, we will endure." She gazed up at him, feeling his love mingled with her own through the bond, stronger now despite their recent ordeal. "We will."

Their embrace lingered for several more long moments, until Vincent leaned down and tenderly kissed Catherine on the lips.

END