Spoiler Alert! This story contains a major spoiler for Season 2. I read it accidentally and knew I had to incorporate it into this story for things to continue to make sense. Please read at your own peril.

As usual, I do not own the characters or the premise. Those belong to the CW…

"Though lovers be lost, love shall not, and death shall have no dominion." –Dylan Thomas

"Love Shall Not"

Catherine was speeding. She didn't care. As the glare of streetlights made star trails across her moon roof, she furiously swiped at her eyes. Rolling through another light, she hoped the traffic cam over the intersection caught the insignia on the side of her vehicle, NYPD. She had a portable strobe light just above her driver's side door, too, but hadn't turned it on. Yet. She would if had to. Breaking rules didn't matter just now. She had to get to him.

Sensing her imminent arrival and agitated state, Vincent opened the door before she even knocked. "What's happened?"

"Vincent, I need you!" Catherine threw herself at him.

Rather than staying the night at her apartment, as he frequently did these days, he'd returned to the club last night because his best buddy was having 'female problems' and needed a friend. Apparently, Sarah wasn't buying all of JT's excuses for why she couldn't visit him at his place and they'd had a little tiff. Being the good friend he was, Vincent had ordered a pizza and put a game on the big screen. Now he wished he'd never left.

Though the game was long over and JT had bid him good-night hours ago, Vincent's night-time restlessness had kept him awake. It was his fault JT couldn't invite Sarah over; his fault his best friend, who'd literally given up his life for him, couldn't carry on a normal relationship with a woman. Even over the three months he'd gone missing, JT had never given up hope of finding him and had refused to move on with his life. And then there was Catherine. He felt split between the two people he cared for above all. Catherine was his future; JT was his past. But they were all in the present, caught between worlds.

He swept Catherine up in his arms, bewildered. It wasn't like her to be so distraught. Although she'd cried when he first came back after his three-month ordeal, he learned from Tess that that had been one of the few times tears had fallen. Now she was sobbing so hard she could barely speak. The last time he'd seen her so broken up had been after Evan's sacrificial death. He shuddered to think what caused this now. He murmured to her soothingly. "Sweetheart, tell me. What's wrong?"

"He's gone!" Saying it out loud sent her into another tailspin.

"Who?"

Finally, she dried her tears on his shirt and tilted her face to his. "My dad, Vincent. He—he-he had a-an aneurism or something. They think it might have been related to the accident. One minute he was talking to Brooke in the family room getting ready to take her to dinner and the next he just collapsed! They rushed him to the hospital, but he didn't make it!"

Vincent absorbed the news solemnly. He'd lost so many of his own friends and family that death, over the years, had become an almost constant companion. He understood her grief only too well. He carried her over to the big easy chair and pulled her onto his lap. This was too cruel. First her mother, now her father, although she now knew and had accepted the fact that Michael Reynolds, not Thomas Chandler, was her actual biological father. But there was no closeness between them, nor would there likely ever be. Thomas Chandler was the man who had raised her, had seen her through the loss of her mother so many years ago, had been the one constant in her life. To have lost him now was devastating.

He soothed her with soft kisses to her hair, her cheek, her lips. "I'm so, so sorry, Catherine. What can I do? Tell me what I can do."

Catherine sucked in a ragged breath. "I just need you to hold me."

He obliged, cradling her close. "Did you just come from the hospital?"

She nodded. "I've been there all night. I have to go back. Brooke is still there, but I had to see you."

If only he could have been by her side. How frustratingly complex their lives had become that they couldn't even be there for each other's most difficult moments. He cursed his situation and the wretched experiments that strengthened his body while making him less of a man. At least, comfort he could do. "What about Heather?"

"They sent us both home to rest, but I can't sleep. I'll go back in a little bit; not that there's anything I can do."

"Let me take you there. You need to be with Brooke and Heather when she returns."

Catherine was calmer now, but not quite ready to leave. "They kept him on life support until we all got there," she said. "Then, one by one, let us go in to say good-bye. All the machines were beeping and his chest was going up and down, but I knew he was gone. I was too late. I meant to go and see him this week; I really did."

A fresh stream of tears rolled down her cheeks. He ached with her. "Catherine, don't torture yourself. You couldn't have seen this coming."

"But I should have been there more often! He wanted me to come. I-I-I just didn't make the time."

"You've had a lot to deal with in the last few months, not the least of which was finding me, then learning about Michael Reynolds. It's understandable."

Her large eyes were red and puffy, her face streaked with tears and what little make-up she normally wore. But to him, even in her sorrow, she'd never been more beautiful. The look she gave him was so heartbreaking; he felt his own eyes tear up. "If I could take this away from you, you know I would."

She sought his eyes. "I wanted him to know you, Vincent. One day, we were going to find a way. Now that will never happen."

He tucked her head back against his chest and let her cry until she had no more. 'One day' would never come, and he felt the loss nearly as sharply as she.

When JT came through the apartment an hour later, ready to leave for his morning classes, he stopped. Catherine was curled up asleep in Vincent's arms. He started to ask what was up, but Vincent put a finger to his lips and whispered, "Her father died."

"Reynolds, or-or-or—"

"Thomas Chandler."

"Oh, my God. Was there foul play? I mean, I thought he was getting better."

"I don't think so. Brain aneurism. Unexpected."

JT nodded, soberly. "Is there anything I can do?"

Vincent shook his head. "Thanks, JT, but I'm going to let her rest a little longer then I'll take her back to the hospital."

"Uh, not such a good idea. I mean, we all know how that turned out the last time."

"No more ex-fiancées to worry about, I promise." JT didn't laugh at his joke, so he promised, "I won't go in. I just want to be with her as long as I can. She needs me right now."

JT nodded. "I'll be in class for a few hours, then at Sarah's later tonight, but if you need me to do anything, just call."

"I will. Thank you." As soon as JT left, Catherine started to stir.

"I need to get back."

"You sure? It's early yet." Vincent gently rubbed away a dark smudge on her cheek.

"Yeah, I'm sure, but I should probably clean myself up a little, huh?"

"You need me?" He helped her stand.

His question brought a fresh spill of tears. She leaned into him and pressed her face to his. "I will always need you. Don't you ever leave me!"


Heather met her at the top of the stairs to the ICU wing.

"You couldn't sleep either?"

Cat wondered what she looked like. She thought of checking her reflection in the mirror, but dismissed the thought. She probably looked just like Heather—worse than a day-after hangover.

"Brooke had to sign some papers," Heather explained, and Catherine wondered how much longer after she left her sister had remained. She tried to feel guilty about it, knowing neither Brooke nor Heather had someone in their lives to run home to right now, but couldn't. She and Vincent had had precious few moments of happiness and comfort, themselves. Those few hours with him had given her the strength and focus she'd desperately needed.

"We gave the hospital the name of the funeral home that handled Mom. I didn't know of any other place. I hope that was right."

Her mother was not actually in the gravesite they had been going to for years, but Heather didn't know that. "That's fine. Thank you. How's Brooke?"

"She's doing as well as can be expected, under the circumstances. I think she's still in shock."

Catherine knew the feeling. "Is there anything left for us to do here?"

Heather pulled a gold ring out of her pocket. "They gave me this, along with his watch. I g-guess we should put them in the safety deposit box or something."

Catherine picked up her father's wedding band and examined it. It was still shiny and new, hardly worn. As saddened as she was, she felt devastated for Brooke, his newlywed bride. They'd barely begun their life together. Twisting it in her fingers, she realized it had an inscription inside. She had to hold it to the light to read the tiny engraved letters, but right away knew what it said. She had a pendant at home with the very same quote: 'Love Shall Not.' It brought on a fresh round of tears. For someone who never cried, she was doing an awful lot of it lately.

"Cat." Heather placed her hand over her sister's closed fist. "What is it?"

She smiled at her sister through her tears. Talking about it right then would be impossible. "It's nothing. I'm just sad."

Heather hesitated. "Do you think we could go someplace and talk?"

Catherine shook herself out of her reverie. Her sister needed her. "Um, sure. How about over there?" A couple of cushioned chairs filled a small, quiet alcove. They sat down facing one another, but close enough to touch.

"Brooke wants us to come to the house, go through Dad's things, see if there's anything we'd like to have."

"Oh, God."

"She thought it might help us heal."

Catherine sighed, knowing for Heather's and Brooke's sake she'd have to endure it. "I'll come. Whenever you're ready."

"We're all alone now, Cat." Heather said starkly.

She knew her sister was no longer talking about their father's belongings. "No. We have each other," she said fiercely. "We always will. Heath, I'll always be here for you. Don't think I won't."

Her sister nodded. "I know. But it's not the same."

Catherine understood only too well. "No, but we'll manage. Together. And someday you'll have a husband and family of your own—"

"—and you will, too!"

"Maybe. And then we won't need to depend on each other so much. But we'll always be family."

"But what will we do until then?"

Catherine took her sister's hands. "We'll go on with our lives, just like we planned. And we'll remember. We'll always remember."

"But we're orphans now. Well, at least I am. You know, Cat, you have another father out there somewhere—maybe he's still alive. You should try to find him."

Oh, God. The hopeful note in Heather's voice made her ache. If she only knew. But Michael Reynolds would never be her father. Even thinking of him at a time like this made her feel like she was kicking dirt on Thomas' grave.


Vincent went straight to Reynolds after dropping Catherine off at the hospital. His dual roles as Catherine's boss and the head of The Company meant there was a chance he wasn't at the farm. Thankfully, today he was. He entered through the downstairs and made his way up through the house to his office, strictly off limits to the likes of him, but today he didn't care.

"What is it?" Michael Reynolds asked, not even bothering to look up and see who'd burst into his office.

"Thomas Chandler is dead. Did you or The Company have anything to do with it?"

Reynolds looked up, surprised more by the question than who was asking it. "No."

"If you're not telling me the truth—"

"Are you here to threaten me again or get information?" He looked Vincent up and down. "Why would I lie about something like that? I'm sorry for her loss. He was . . . a good man. And, as you well know, I would have preferred she never find out about me. That's on your head. Does she think I was involved?"

Vincent actually detected a hint of insecurity in his question. "Not that she's said."

"Well, I wasn't. Now, if you don't have anything else—"

Vincent quit the room while he was still talking. Reynolds sighed. The man was trouble. No matter how his daughter felt about the super-soldier, he didn't have to like it.


"Oh look, Cat. You were so happy."

As Heather pulled yet another family photo from the stack, she inwardly sighed. Yes, those were of course the days when her mother was still living, her dad was still her dad, and Vincent was still a young man trying to make good enough grades to get into med school. A simpler, happier time. Not that she didn't enjoy remembering. She did. But so much had changed.

Brooke seemed to be enjoying the photos, as well. It was such a shame that she felt so much like family already. She'd probably go on to marry someone else someday and move out of their lives altogether. A sad thought. Just then Brooke made a startled exclamation.

"Look at these!" She handed both the girls an envelope with their name on it.

As Catherine hesitated, Heather ripped hers open and instantly burst into tears. "What on earth?"

"Open it, Catherine!" Heather cried. "You won't believe this."

Catherine slid her nail under the sealed flap of the envelope and pulled out the single sheet of paper. "To the man worthy of my daughter's heart," it began.

"He must have written these years ago. Oh. So sweet."

As Heather passed her letter to Brooke to read, Catherine swallowed hard. There, in her father's neat printing, was a letter from him to, she supposed, his daughter's intended. Perhaps it was something he wanted to bring out when they got engaged. She didn't know. In his thoughtful narrative, he told the as-yet unknown young man all about his little girl—her wants, her needs, her dreams and hopes—and then asked him to love her as much as he did.

As the other women whispered and tearfully laughed together, Catherine slipped hers quietly into her pocket. She knew exactly who her letter was written to.


The service was held three days later at the plot next to Vanessa's empty grave.

With the wedding only six months before, Brooke had a current list of all of their friends and family and had contacted most of them with the sad news. With his business contacts and friends from the precinct, there was quite a crowd. Catherine sighed. Everyone was there that should be—everyone except for Vincent, the only person who really mattered to her.

She sat up front with Brooke and her sister on chairs supplied by the funeral home, a temporary awning overhead to shield them from the direct sunlight. The other guests had to stand. At least it wasn't raining. The ground was wet from a good soaking the night before, but the sky was as blue and cheery as she'd ever seen it, and in great contrast to the way she felt. At least the rain the night before had cleared the smog.

The aroma of freshly dug earth wafted up to her. The casket, a shiny mahogany box, was suspended over the open dig site. At the conclusion of the service, after family members said their good-byes and draped cut flowers over the top, the four attendants waiting silently nearby would slowly lower it into the earth, his final resting place.

Catherine pressed her trembling lips together. She had endured the sympathetic hugs and well wishes of her father's co-workers and friends with unwavering strength until now. But as his casket went down, so did her dream of ever telling Thomas about the man she loved and why she loved him. And of getting answers. She'd never learned what was so urgent that he'd asked her to meet him the day he was struck by the car, other than it had something to do with Michael Reynolds. Perhaps that's all it was, but she would forever wonder.

She clutched at the heavy heart-shaped pendant around her neck. There was yet another reception to endure, this one at her father's house, but Brooke would serve as the main hostess for that. As she turned to take her last look, the tall figure of a man could be seen on the far side of the grave site. Reynolds.

Even from that distance, she knew him. What was he doing there? As soon as she caught his eye, he started to approach. Just what she needed. She supposed he could claim to be there as her boss. Others from the precinct had come to offer support. But this was just plain awkward.

She decided to be proactive. Leaving her sister to ride back with Brooke, she slowly made her way across the lawn to where he stood. "What are you doing here?"