This is an original story, inspired by the U.S. cult T.V. series BEAUTY AND THE BEAST, originally written in 1998 and published in a fan zine in the UK. I am the original author.
Copyright refers to the author of this original material, and is not meant to supersede any copyrights held by Ron Koslow, Witt-Thomas Productions, Republic Pictures, CBS.
Mood Indigo.
With grace and agility, Vincent pulled his large, sturdy frame up the last few feet of the outside of the building, and hastily scaled the low wall to Catherine's terrace balcony, roughly dragging his long, flowing black mantle free from where it had caught on the rough brickwork of the low wall, then steadied himself, as his gaze was drawn to the darkness beyond the closed French windows.
Vincent knew that Catherine was there, somewhere inside, sitting in the darkness.
He could feel her emotions.
His whole body was being pounded by wave after wave of grief and pain and sorrow, buffeting him like a relentless rip tide, and so overwhelmed was he by this tide of emotion coming from the woman that he loved, Vincent could not sift through each layer, each individual feeling, to identify the true reason for Catherine's pain, regret, disappointment and despair.
All Vincent knew was that it surrounded him.
Engulfed him, threatening to drown him ...
To drag him down into a deep, black, swirling vortex of despair ...
Breathless from his hurried journey from Below, Vincent dragged air into his starving lungs, using the brief moment of inactivity to explore the delicate threat that was the invisible link between himself and Catherine, reaching out with his mind and his senses to the woman that he loved, gauging the depth of emotion that she was feeling, trying to send back to her, along that invisible thread, an aurora of peace and tranquility, of comfort, understanding and well being, of reassurance that he was close, and that all would soon be well ...
Vincent took several more deep, steadying breaths, then slowly walked the short distance to the French windows, his hand raised to tap the glass, but he hesitated, briefly, swallowing hard, as beyond the scraps of white lace draped across the windows and doors, he could see his beloved Catherine.
Caught in the eerie silver glow of moonlight which bathed the room beyond, Vincent could see that she was clad in a soft, loose fitting grey track suit, tiny feet encased in thick, snow white socks, her hair caught up in a simple pony tail, looking for all the world like a teenager, sitting there on the end of her dinky couch, knees drawn up into her chest, the soles of her feet planted firmly on the cushion, her head bowed despondently, forehead rested against her bent knees, as her shoulder shook gently with silent sobs.
Catherine Chandler did not need to hear the soft tap at the glass in the French windows, to know that her beloved Vincent was out there on the terrace balcony. Something in her soul responded to his nearness, and she quickly unfolded herself from the couch, crossing the darkened room on long strides, before pulling open the French windows, and threw herself into the comfort of Vincent's welcoming embrace.
"Catherine ..."
"Vincent ..."
She clung to him, very much like a drowning man would to a life belt, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder.
"Oh Vincent, hold me, please ..."
She choked out between sobs, heart wrenching and soul destroying to Vincent, as his strong, sure arms cradled her slender body against the solid wall of his chest.
Vincent had not seen Catherine quite so distraught since the sudden and unexpected death of her father, when she had sobbed in his arms for hours.
"Catherine, please, tell me," he implored huskily, as she buried her face deeper into the rough material of his cloak, her arms coming around his waist, her tiny hands clasping together behind his back to draw him closer, moulding her slender body closer to his stockier one, seeking warmth and comfort and a sense of security.
A furry, half gloved hand reached up and rhythmically began to stroke Catherine's hair softly, the rich, honey gold fullness of it suddenly falling free of the elastic that had trapped it into a simple pony tail, and cascaded down in a soft curtain around her narrow shoulders.
"Catherine, I am here now. Hush, hush, I am here now, my love ..."
"Yes, yes ..." She sobbed raggedly. "Oh Vincent ..."
"Tell me ..." He beseeched again.
"Just hold me tightly, Vincent," Catherine begged, reaching up with one hand to twine her fingers in the velvet softness of his flowing red/gold mane, then stroked gently, as he was doing to her, as she pressed her small body even closer to his.
They stood locked in each other's arms for several minutes, without speaking, both wrapped up in the very sight and feel and smell of each other.
To Vincent, Catherine's scent was familiar and unique to her, a subtle blend of the things that made her what she was, consisting of many components, easily identified by his powerful olfactory senses, soap, the lemon shampoo that she favored, the delicate fragrance of the expensive French perfume that she loved to dab behind her ears so alluringly.
He could also detect the subtle hint of garlic and red wine, from her meal earlier in the evening, and a hint of the floral detergent that she used in her laundry, caught up in the material of the soft grey track suit, and most powerful of all, the very natural scent of warm woman ...
To Catherine, Vincent smelled of soap, and soft warm leather, rich damp earth, candle wax, candle smoke and warm wool, the subtle hint of musk that was unique to him, very masculine, very potent, very Vincent ...
And he felt so good in her arms.
So strong. So vibrant. So alive ...
She could feel the ripple of every muscle beneath her hands, as he breathed.
He was so warm. So muscular.
So ...
Beautiful ...
His body pressed close to her own, closer than they had ever been before.
It felt so heavenly ...
So good ...
So right ...
This was where she belonged ...
This was her true home, folded against his solid chest, with his strong, reassuring arms wrapped tightly around her.
When she continued to sob brokenly, against his chest, seemingly finding little or no comfort or consolation in either his words,or his proximity.
Vincent found that all he could do to comfort her was to continue to hold her close, stroking her hair and pressing soft kisses into the down soft hair on the top of her head, murmuring softly, nonsense words, anything, keeping his voice soft and low and reassuring, as she continued to sob.
Her sorrow made Vincent's heart ache.
Holding her, like this, knowing that something dreadful was preying on her mind, but unable to get her to open up to him .
This was a new experience for Vincent.
Swamped by her feelings, he could not discern the root cause of her agony and distress.
What on earth could be so terrible, to illicit such a reaction from her? He thought with a heavy heart.
Catherine had cried in his arms before, many times, it seemed, craving his embrace to find the comfort that she needed.
When her father had died, tears of relief when he had saved her from some near brush with death, tears of anguish, when they had thought that their love for each other was so impossible ...
Tears of anger ...
Tears of bitterness …. Hopeless tears ... futile tears ...
Tears of utter despair, caused by her work, or their seemingly impossible situation.
But, on each of those occasions, Vincent had been aware of the underlying cause of her sorrow, of her need to weep.
This time was very different, in so much as there was just so much emotion, so much turmoil, that he simply could not find his way through her feelings, to discover the underlying cause, even as he continued to search their empathic Bond.
He could not even begin to guess at what had caused this particular storm of tears.
He would simply have to wait for Catherine to regain a measure of her composure, and tell him.
That was also an entirely new experience for him.
"Catherine? Are you unwell?" He quizzed, experiencing even as he spoke, a gnawing ache in his lower abdomen and back, and an unfamiliar heaviness in his thighs and groin.
He was suddenly very fearful that Catherine had learned that she was suffering from some terrible terminal illness, and did not know how to explain it to him.
"Catherine, please, tell me ..." He begged, his heart lurching in his chest, as he tried to hold her even closer. "Tell me, so that I may help you ..."
"Oh Vincent," She sobbed raggedly against his broad shoulder, reluctant to draw away, even to look up into those compelling, expressive cobalt blue eyes that she adored, the windows to his equally compelling and beautiful soul.
"Tell me, Catherine! What am I to think? My mind is full of possibilities, full of dread ..." He groaned in anguish. "Please ..."
He let out a deep, shuddering breath then, as her misery continued to crash through him, tearing at his heart, and presenting his mind with all manner of horrendous scenarios that always ended the same way, no matter what he did, no matter how much he prayed, no matter how much he loved her ... they all ended with her death ... in his arms ...
"I am so very frightened ..." He confessed in a low, ragged voice, made husky by his own powerful emotions. "Tell me ..." He said again, in a low, deep voice. "You are not alone, Catherine ... Whatever it is, we face it together. There is nothing that we cannot endure, if we stand together ..." He assured in soft, velvet tones, trying to keep a tight rein on his wayward thoughts and frayed emotions. "I am with you, always, always, together, my love, we are strong. Whatever it is, Catherine, share it with me ..."
His voice suddenly caught in his throat then, and something in his manner, and tone of voice, and the way that his arms suddenly tightened a little more around her body, alerted Catherine to his genuine distress.
She suddenly felt very ashamed of herself, but still she could not stop the soft hiccoughing sobs from escaping from her lips, or the tears from rolling unchecked down her cool, pale cheeks.
She had a vague suspicion about the direction in which Vincent's thoughts were leading him, and she knew that she had to disabuse him of that notion, immediately, before he got swept away on a tide of grief ...
"Oh Vincent, I am so sorry ..." She sobbed softly, trying to regain control over her emotions. "I didn't mean to scare you, love. I am all right, really ..."
She drew away slightly now, gazing up into those familiar, beautiful china blue eyes of his, now full of agony, torment, anguish and fear, for her.
"Really?" He breathed the word, studying her face, illuminated by soft beams of silver moonlight and ambient light from the surrounding buildings, pale and ghostly, her big grey eyes wide and bright with tears.
"Really." She assured, sniffing loudly, as she ran her hand lovingly up and down his muscular upper arm, hoping to reassure and comfort him.
However, Vincent did not look convinced.
He looked as if someone he loved had died.
He looked as if he were afraid that she might die, in his arms, right there and then.
She really had frightened him, Catherine realized with a heavy heart.
Poor love ...
If ever she needed convincing that he loved her more than life its self, that he feared losing her, it was written all over his face at that moment, unmistakable, the fear, the devastation, the hopelessness ...
All there, on his unique leonine countenance ...
And it tore at her heart ...
He was so very ... vulnerable ...
"Vincent ..." Her voice was low, and very deep for a woman, made so by her own turbulent emotions and her regret that even inadvertently, she could cause him such pain and anguish.
She felt guilty, wretched and utterly ashamed as she saw shock and pain and anguish in his dear face.
"Listen to me, love," she pinned an over bright, forced smile on to her lips, and took a long, deep breath before continuing. "I am perfectly well," she told him slowly and patiently. "I don't have cancer. I don't have a brain tumor. I don't have Leukaemia, or any other life threatening illness ..."
She reached up and gently pushed a stray tendril of his silken golden mane from his cheek, where it had caught in the rough ginger whiskers.
"I don't even have a head cold ..." This time her smile was a little more real. Only a pain in the guts, and a lot of unwanted hormones! She thought silently and humorlessly to herself.
You idiot Chandler! You've scared the living daylights out of the poor man! She admonished herself sternly.
Vincent said nothing in response to her reassurances, exploring their Bond for any sign that she was merely trying to protect him from the worst, cushioning him by delaying the revelation of something that she felt that he could not cope with.
"Vincent," she let out a long, ragged sigh. "I promise you, I am fine."
Catherine now had a little more self control, although it was a great struggle to keep her composure.
"I would never lie to you, my love, or mislead you. You know that. How could I, when you know so keenly what I am thinking and feeling ..."
Vincent remained silent, continuing to regard her with forlorn, cobalt blue eyes that were bottomless pools of misery and uncertainty.
Until ...
At last, with a long, shuddering sigh, he seemed to accept her words, gathering her to him as he let out a low moan of relief.
Catherine wound her arms tightly around his waist again, nuzzled the rough material of his woolen waistcoat, where his cloak had parted beneath her cheek, and buried her face in his chest, fresh tears filling her eyes, despite all her good intentions to pull herself together, and she silently chastised herself for her stupidity and lack of self control, knowing that Vincent would automatically sense her turbulent emotions once more, and react to her actions, her weakness, rather than the words of reassurance that she had tried to instill in him, the simple need to draw comfort from his nearness, undoing all her good work of a few moments before.
"Catherine," her name was wrenched from him. "Please, tell me ..."
His voice was very low and very intense, gravel and velvet mingled together, sending a delicious little shiver down Catherine's spine, which, of course, Vincent, being Vincent, completely misinterpreted.
"Catherine, please! I am not a child to be protected, wrapped in cotton wool. My mind is in such turmoil ..." He moaned in anguish. "I know what you have said, but, I also know what you are feeling ..." He reminded. "Please. do not keep this from me. I need to know. I cannot guess. Catherine, ease ..." He entreated in a small voice filled with such pain and dread. "My mind is full of possibilities ... None of them pleasant ..." He whispered softly.
"I'm sorry, Vincent," Catherine snuggled closer to him, breathing in the familiar scents of Below that he always brought with him, all that he was, scents that would forever bring him to mind, no matter where she was.
C'mon Chandler, pull yourself together. She told herself sternly. Can't you see how worried he is? Can't you see how frightened he is ...
This isn't fair to him ...
You have to be honest with him, no matter how ridiculous and foolish it might sound.
Or how embarrassing it might be.
For both of you!
Catherine drew away, reluctantly, and swiped impatiently at her tears, as Vincent regarded her with an expression of such anguish and love, that her heart constricted painfully in her chest.
Once again, she had hurt this tender, gentle, compassionate, beloved man, accidentally, unintentionally, unconsciously ...
But ...
Hurt him she had, nevertheless ...
By compounding his very real fear that he would lose her, one day, either to death, or to a man from the world Above ...
Despite her numerous assurances that he was the only man that she would ever love, forever ...
And, that she had no plans to 'fall off the twig' just yet, although, she had no control over fate, and death, or destiny. No-one did ...
Wasn't it also true that he could just as easily be killed? In a rock fall or roof collapse, Below? By a car, or a drunken maniac with a gun, Above?
Losing her was still his greatest fear. She knew that.
Losing him was her greatest fear too, but she did not allow herself to dwell on it. She could not allow herself to dwell on it, else she would be a gibbering wreck every time he ventured Above to visit with her on her balcony, fearing for his safety during the journey here, the climb up to the eighteenth floor, the journey back ...
She would be a nervous wreck ...
Catherine knew that she would have to try to convince Vincent that he too must stop dwelling on the more negative aspects of their love for each other, their relationship, the peril, the impossibility of it all, the fear of losing her ...
But that was for another day ...
Another time ...
Right now, she had to put right the damage that she had caused with her foolish lack of self control, her misery and her tears, hitting home, right at the heart of his very real fears.
"Vincent, I am so sorry ..." She said, drawing in a long, ragged breath, having gained control over her sobs, but still the tears flowed freely, rolling relentlessly down her pale cheeks.
"Tell me ..." He whispered hoarsely, almost choking on his own tears of fear and anxiety.
"You'll ... you'll think I'm being ... silly ..."
"Catherine ... I could never think you silly ... ridiculous ... foolish ..." He felt a sudden sharp stab of pain in his lower abdomen, and frowned down at Catherine, as she tried to hide a grimace of pain, her eyes holding a hint of resignation, he noted with dread ...
"Catherine ... please ..." He begged.
"Vincent ..." She breathed through the sharp stab of pain, then gazed up into his beloved leonine face, reaching up to cup his ginger whiskered and down covered cheek with a cool hand, the caress soft and intimate, as she stared back into those exquisite soulful blue eyes.
"I am sorry that I hurt you, my love. I am sorry that I scared you. I didn't mean to ..." She explained through lips that were quivering uncontrollably now.
"Catherine ..."
"Vincent ..." She stroked his rough, dear cheek gently. "Oh Vincent, didn't you ever just want to sit down and bawl your eyes out for no particular reason?"
A small sob escaped her lips then, and fresh tears welled up into her beautiful, stormy grey eyes.
No, he couldn't say that he had ever been consumed by such a need ….
Vincent thought in confusion, watching as Catherine once again succumbed to tears and soft sobs.
He blinked rapidly, several times, in confusion, a frown tugging at his heavy brow, as he stared back at Catherine, watching this new crop of tears roll down her beautiful moon-kissed cheeks.
"Catherine?" He was completely at a loss to understand her mood now.
"I told you that you'd think that I was being silly ..." There was a note of belligerence in her tone now, which only served to confuse Vincent even more.
She was ticked off with him?
But why?
Wasn't he trying to console her?
Wasn't he trying his best to understand?
"Go on, Catherine ..."
"Oh Vincent ..." Catherine wailed, her beautiful face crumpling, as she sobbed. "I'll never ... I'll never ..." She stammered. "I'll never be ..."
"Never be what, Catherine?" Vincent implored, his heart coming up into his mouth.
So-o-o-o ... it had begun ... Vincent thought to himself miserably.
The regrets, about what she could never have, or do, or be, so long as he was in her life ...
He had known that it would come, eventually.
It was inevitable.
The limitations that she was forced to put on her life, the restrictions that they were both subjected to, because of their precarious situation.
Vincent had known that Catherine would eventually succumb to the pressures.
And that he would have to be the strong one, allowing her, no, encouraging her, to go back to the life that she had been born to live.
A life without him ...
Above ...
With someone who could give her everything that her generous heart and compassionate soul deserved.
Vincent hated himself for being the cause of her present unhappiness.
He loved her so very much.
And she brought such warmth and joy into his life.
But, it seemed that all he brought to her was pain and uncertainty and unhappiness.
"Catherine ..." He spoke in a low, rough voice, but Catherine was in full flow now, caught up in her own pain, and his voice did not penetrate her misery.
"Oh Vincent, I'll never be ... an Astronaut ..." Catherine sobbed brokenly. "I'll never be an air stewardess, I'll never be a doctor, a trapeze artist, a tight rope walker, a cordon bleu chef ..." She choked out.
As her words penetrated his brain, Vincent blinked, then stared back at Catherine in utter disbelief, his bottom jaw dropping open, just a fraction, to reveal his very sharp, very white fangs, as the woman that he loved more than his own life, continued to rattle off a long list of all the things that she would never have, never do and never be, all of which were utterly ridiculous, or totally unattainable.
Things that she had not contemplated since childhood.
How could she have such deep regrets about these things? Things that she had never really been serious about, even as a child?
Vincent pondered silently.
His mind was in a whirl of confusion and astonishment, as Catherine threw herself at him once more, and continued to break her heart, sobbing out her regrets against his chest, all of which were utterly absurd.
Vincent felt Catherine move against him, and looked down to find her looking up at him. She looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her before, face bathed in silver moonlight, utterly adorable, despite the tears that were dripping off the end of her nose and chin.
Vincent could feel his heart breaking for her.
The loss of hope that childhood dreams could still be fulfilled was something that he had been forced to face a long time ago.
Surely Catherine had too? He thought silently.
So-o-o-o, she was grieving for the dreams of childhood that she feared would now never be accomplished.
And yet, sis heart suddenly felt lighter than it had for a long time ...
Soaring ...
Rejoicing ...
Relieved, and free of the heaviness that had seemed to settle there permanently.
For not once, in all her ramblings about what was lost, or would now never be, did Catherine mention one regret about him, about them, about the love that they shared.
Despite it's perils, dangers, turmoil and limitations ...
Not once did she voice a single regret about having him in her life ...
About loving him.
Catherine reached out for him and pulled him close, thus missing the smile that slowly softened his leonine features, as she buried her face in the broad expanse of his chest, wrapping surprisingly strong arms around his sturdy waist, clasping her hands behind his back, and squeezing him hard against her, as she sniffed and sobbed and hiccoughed, alternately drawing in long, shuddering breaths.
"Catherine, I did not now that you wanted to be an Astronaut ..."
Vincent spoke at last, his voice soft and warm, edged with just a hint of a smile, as he recognized the absurdity of the situation, his hand coming up to gently stroke her honey gold fringe from her eyes, Catherine now having moved to lay her cheek against his chest, snuggling close, nuzzling him gently, and he blinked away his own tears.
Of relief ...
For one awful, heart stopping moment there, he had thought that there was something dreadfully wrong with Catherine, that she had discovered some terrible malady, that she was just too shocked and afraid to share with him.
Instead ...
It was ...
What was it?
A storm in a teacup?
Utterly incomprehensible to him.
The storm of tears had been about the most ridiculous things.
But her pain and misery had been very real.
So had her regret.
And Vincent was at a loss to understand.
"I did," Catherine replied in a small voice. "For about a week, when I was about thirteen, and I saw Neil Armstrong walk on the moon ..." She sniffed softly then let out a ragged little sigh.
Vincent smiled softly to himself, resting his chin lightly on the top of her head.
"Better?" He asked softly, after a lengthy silence, savouring the warmth and the feel of her in his arms.
She seemed calmer now.
The sobs had stopped, and all he could feel was the gentle movement of her breathing against his chest, and beneath the hand that gently spanned her shoulders, supporting her.
"Mm ..." Catherine sighed softly, leaning into him, her hands now running soothingly up and down his broad back. "Oh Vincent ..." This time she let out a deeper sigh. "Whatever must you be thinking of me?" She shifted her head just enough to look up into his beloved face. "You must think that I am completely mad ..."
"I have to confess that I am a little bemused ..." And a whole lot relieved! He added silently.
Now that the storm of weeping had ended, and Catherine was in better control of her emotions, Vincent could more clearly define what she was feeling, through their Bond.
She was still feeling a little sad, but at that moment, her strongest emotions were those of regret, for causing him unnecessary heartache, and irritation at herself, for giving into the tears in the first place.
Shame.
Guilt.
Catherine was feeling bad, because she had hurt him, unintentionally, of course, but she was also feeling foolish for her irrational outburst.
She was also feeling tired, downhearted ...
The word blue suddenly popped into his mind, and Vincent knew that it had to have come from Catherine, via their Bond ...
Yes. She was feeling ... blue ...
"Catherine ..."
"Yes, Vincent?"
"Can you tell me now, what that was all about?" He asked softly, wanting only to understand.
"I'm not really sure myself," Catherine sighed raggedly, looking up into his beautiful cobalt blue eyes, and finding them full of love and understanding, which she did not really deserve, but thanked him for silently, nonetheless. "I guess I just felt ..." She faltered then, her voice trailing away.
"Blue?"
"Yes," she regarded him with surprise for a moment, then wondered why she should react that way, when he knew everything that she was thinking and feeling. "Blue ..." She sighed deeply again, then felt another small stab of pain in her lower abdomen, and could not prevent a small grimace of pain from touching her lips, and knew from the slight raising of his heavy golden eyebrow in enquiry, that Vincent had felt it too.
Explanation time!
"It happens ... sometimes ..." Catherine sighed softly.
"Catherine, you are unwell."
It was a statement this time.
"No love, not unwell, not exactly. Oh damn ..."
She closed her eyes then, and counted to ten silently, feeling an embarrassed heat settle over her cheeks.
When she opened her eyes again, it was to find Vincent, regarding her curiously, with his head tilted slightly to one side, birdlike.
"Catherine?"
"Oh well, here goes, 'cos, I guess, if you are going to be around me, Vincent, you are going to have to get used to it ..."
She captured her bottom lip between her small white teeth, and nibbled pensively, wondering how to explain to this incredible man.
"Because, Vincent, it happens sometimes ... About once a month. It's called PMT ..."
"PMT."
"Pre mens ..."
"I know what it is, Catherine, I just never experienced it first hand, before!" Vincent cut her off quickly, but gently. "I may be an innocent in certain areas, Catherine, but matters medical is not one of them ..." He smiled softly then. "There are a number if woman and girls, Below," he reminded gently. "And Father will not tolerate ignorance. He felt it necessary that I understand, everything, so that I could be more tolerant and sympathetic with my female friends ..." He explained with a wry smile now.
"Of course. I'm sorry, Vincent. I didn't mean to imply that you were ignorant, or unsympathetic ..."
"You simply did not wish to embarrass me," he said softly, stroking her hair in a comforting rhythm once more.
"I'm sorry, Vincent. It's not always like this, wanting to cry my eyes out for no good reason ..." Catherine explained softly, gazing up into his understanding face. "Sometimes, I just want to scream and yell and throw things ..."
She threw him a lopsided grin then, and Vincent returned her smile, realising that she was beginning to feel more like her usual self now.
"So-o-o, my love, you had better be warned. Sometimes, I can be a real shrew ..." She sighed softly.
"Oh Catherine ..." Vincent sighed too. "You could never be a shrew ..."
"Well, that's very nice of you to say, sweetheart, but I know how I feel, and I feel like a shrew!"
This time, she actually chuckled softly, then nuzzled his chest with her cheek.
"But, there is a short term solution, you know, and ..." She looked up at him somewhat sheepishly then, and he tilted his head on one side, and frowned, sensing her reluctance, but something more too. Amusement. "It's in your hands, Vincent ..."
"T.L.C?"
"Mm, I could sure use a little tender loving care, true enough, but ..."
She looked up at him, her big grey eyes sparkling with amusement now, as she gazed up at him with all the love that she felt for him, and her gratitude for his comfort, support and understanding at this time, shining in her eyes.
"I was thinking more along the lines of you ... getting me ... pregnant ..."
Vincent's eyes suddenly grew wide, he swallowed hard, his large, prominent Adam's Apple bobbing up and down in his throat.
"Catherine …."
The word came on a soft breath, as he sensed the truth in her words and the need, her need, for his body, and for his child, and he was filled with amazement and awe.
"Of course, I don't mean right this minute ..."
Catherine grinned wickedly up at him, noting the shock in his eyes, and then the thrill, the wonder, the exhilaration, the sheer joy ...
"But soon, my love. Very soon ..."
Her voice held the promise of the wonder to come, and again Vincent swallowed hard, feeling his knees grow weak, and his heart somersault in his chest.
"Catherine ..." He breathed huskily.
Lord how he loved this woman ...
"I love you, Vincent."
"I ... love you too, Catherine ..."
"Even if I am a shrew, and cry like a baby about the most ridiculous and absurd things?"
"Even then, my love ..."
"Good."
Catherine snuggled closer to him, feeling his wonderful arms tighten about her, moulding her slender form to his strong, athletic frame.
"What would you like, Vincent? A son, or a daughter?"
"A daughter ..." He responded without a moment's hesitation. "A golden haired, grey eyed daughter, just like her beautiful mother ..." He said, in a very low, very soft voice that sent tiny shivers of pleasure darting down Catherine's spine, astounded by his need to voice the dream that he had harbored for so long.
A child.
Their child.
Born of love, and innocence.
He had longed for it for so long that he could almost picture her, lying cradled in his strong arms as he rocked her to sleep, bouncing on his knee, laughing and gurgling happily, dragging him after her as she flew down a rough rock walled tunnel, hair streaming out behind her, a smile on her lips, eyes shining with laughter, as she headed into some new mischief ...
"Okay," Catherine sighed. "Okay good ... okay fine ..." She mimicked their very good friend Mouse. "But, I was thinking of a boy, myself, with red/gold hair and deep blue eyes, like his father ..." She paused, looking up to take in Vincent's startled expression. "That's right sweetheart, just like his father ... But hey ... why stop at one? Maybe we should start with twins ... triplets, even? What do you say, Vincent?" She grinned cheekily.
"I say that you are a remarkable woman, Catherine Chandler, thoroughly beautiful, thoroughly unselfish and selfless, thoroughly adorable ..."
"Thank you, kind sir ..." Her cheeks colored becomingly then, and her eyes were sparkling, but not with tears, with laughter, and with all the love that she felt for this unique man. "But I'd rather be thoroughly kissed ..."
She wiggled her eyebrows in a most suggestive and provocative way, and Vincent could not fail to get the message.
Catherine then reached up, cupping his beloved face with infinitely gentle hands, and slowly guided it down towards her own.
"Your wish is my command ..." Vincent breathed huskily, his heart pounding against his ribs, thundering in his ears, as he sealed his fate with his lips to hers, and proceeded to kiss Catherine, softly and tenderly, until she was thoroughly breathless.