Prologue

When Adison was sixteen, her mother died. Her older brother was off to university at that time, and since there were no other children and very few staff at the manor house, the funeral was a very quiet affair. She and her father returned home together. The wind blew Adison's blond hair in her face. Her mother had always disliked her having it down, finding it indecent, but her father liked seeing it loose, so she decided to please him, and herself, on this sad day. Her father meanwhile contemplated how much she had come to resemble her mother, with her slender figure and her sweet, beautiful face. The black dress looked good on her, the colour making her look a little pale, though that might be grief as well.

That night after dinner, as they sat together in her father's cosy library, Adison shared some of her thoughts with her father: 'Dad, you know I'm not ever going to be married, do you?' His face lit up by the warm glow of the hearth, her father replied absently: 'You don't have to be married my dear, if you don't want to. We can live together, as we've always done.' Adison objected to this:' Dad, I hope you live to ninety, but what will I do after that?' 'I'm sure your brother will take excellent care of you my dear', he replied, now putting his book away and concentrating on her. Adison wasn't so sure, she had not really known her brother since he had been sent off to school when he was seven:' What if his wife doesn't like me, or I don't like her? What if she wants me to stop hunting and shooting, and start embroidering cushions and singing duets? What if she wants me to stop reading and writing essays and get married to an ancient baronet and raise a brood of children? What if they make me? They could, you know.' The very idea of having to stop studying visibly upset Adison, which surprised her father, since Adison was usually very calm and collected.

Adison's dad, who had always kept her mother from sending her to girls' school, knowing she would be unhappy there, had to admit that his clever daughter had a point. She had a great life now, always present at the meetings he held with his scholarly friends, taking notes and writing essays, testing her theories and asking difficult questions of the writers and scientists they invited to present their latest insights. But if he were no longer alive, and his son had taken over the manor house, Adison would be a beautiful but unfashionable and overeducated spinster living off her brothers charity. Her education would stop, which would mean that for Adison, life would stop. Seeing that her father was finishing a thought, Adison patiently waited for his answer:' You are right, dearest, we cannot count on your brother alone. We will have to make arrangements ourselves, and since I have plans to live to a very old age, we will have plenty of time to fullfill them.'

Her father started by opening a personal account for her, where he saved up as much as he could towards her future. Over their breakfast, they discussed a possible job. 'As far as I know, a noble lady without independence has three career options, 'Adison said to her dad,' marrying a wealthy man, becoming a governess, or studying to be a nurse.' 'If there were no children involved, or parents for that matter, you'd make an excellent governess...,' her father said comically. Adison finished his sentence: '..but since there are, I think it will be nursing.' Her father clearly didn't like the idea of his educated daughter settling for being a nurse: 'You have all the right qualities to become a doctor, Adison, if only they would allow girls to the colleges,' he observed regretfully. Adison, knowing he was right, answered: 'I know dad, I could cut my hair, wear trousers and apply, but then my brother will die of shame. What if I take the nurse's training, and apply to your friend from your Hong Kong days for a solid course in Chinese medicin to top it off. He never objected to answering a girl's questions when he visited, he even seemed to like me.' Her father's face lightened: 'He sure does, Adison, and I think it is a capital idea. With nurse's training and Chinese medicin combined, you will always be able to make your own living, and who knows when you may get the chance to become a real doctor.' And so she wrote two application letters, and within a month Adison had two replies that she was very welcome to study in the big city.

Adison studied hard to combine both courses, and met with succes on both counts. Her empathy with all living beings and scientific accuracy made her well-suited to nursing, and learning to practice Chinese medicin with her father's friend, and all the other teachers he recommended, gave her the challenge she needed. Meanwhile, several expensive heirlooms disappeared from the manor house, sold by Adison's father to have the proceeds end up on Adison's independence account.

But when she came home, the quiet solicitude of the country could not longer challenge her. After two weeks she told her father over dinner:' I'm sorry dad, but the country is no longer my favourite place to be. I feel I'm falling behind in my medical development, and I miss the noise and the entertainment of the city. Her father, though sad, was also understanding:' I can imagine you do love, it is time for you to stand on your own two feet, be independent. I will not cage my little bird, after raising you to be free. I wish you good luck, my dear, I'm sure you will do brilliantly. Use you savings well, and don't forget to write. I'll read your letters to our friends at our meetings.' And the next week, Adison packed her things and was off to the city, to meet her future. She managed to lease the entire attic of a nice-sized house in a middleclass neighborhood, and decided to live of her savings until she could find a position as a nurse in one of the town's hospitals.

Chapter 1

She had only moved into this attic a few days ago, and she was already getting used again to the noise of the large city outside and the muffled sounds of her neighbors. It reminded her of her boarding house in her student days, where it had made reading and studying quite a challenge after the quiet solicitude of their country house. It was the connection to her dad's friend from Hong Kong that had enabled her to lease such a nice roomy attic. It was easily large enough to hold a bed, a desk for writing and a little kitchen. And there was plenty of space left for her collection of books and papers. There was a door to the attic of the neigboring house, her landlord explained to her that it was the way to flee if a fire were to break out on the stairs or one of the floors below her. It was a nice place, and she really liked the feel of it.

On her third evening in the city, a furious thunderstorm shook the windows of her room. Flash after flash lightened up her room, and the roof directly over her head vibrated with the thunder. Adison was sitting at her desk, still dressed but thinking of calling it a day. The thunder started her musing about weather in the country, and she remembered walking out with her father, in the drenching rain with their umbrella's fighting to stay whole in the gusts of wind that a thunderstorm inevitably brings with it. She remembered standing on the hill with her dad, watching the bolts of lightning above the village in the valley nearest to them. It must have been quite a dangerous thing to do but she never felt scared, nor did her father ever show any sign of fear. Her mom never went on any of these excursions, but she didn't try to forbid them either. She trusted her husband not to risk his life or his daughter's.

Suddenly, a different sound breaks through the noise of the thunderstorm. Adison immediately realises this is not a natural sound. It is a humming sound, the sound of something metal vibrating. It seems to be coming from the attic next door. She puts on her slippers and moves towards the door. Listening with her ear against the wall reveals even more noises. Some machine in there makes the humming noise, and nearly covered by the sound of the raging thunderstorm she now hears a crackling sound as well. The air in her room is full of static energy. A deafening crash in the building next door shocks her out of her curiosity into fear. Clearly, lightning has struck part of the building. She wonders whether she'll be safe where she is, in the attic room very close to the striking point, with the windows opening on a three story drop, and a long stairwell her only road to safety. No sounds of a fire or alarming smells follow, so she decides it is safe to remain where she is for the time being. But this thought again is interrupted by the awful, heartrending scream of a human in dire need.

Another such scream follows, and another one. Someone is being tortured on the other side of the wall, maybe dying. And nobody has heard it except for her. She's heard that a weird doctor owns the building next door, and nobody has ever been in his house. She is amazed that can she hear the sounds in the neighbor's property so loudly. Another heartrending scream breaks the noise of the thunderstorm. The screams frighten her, but they also touch that place inside of her where her compassion lies, her pity stirring to life with a vengeance. Why doesn't anybody help this man who is screaming in such need? What is that doctor doing, shouldn't he be curing his patient instead of torturing him?

Her need to do something rising above her fear, Adison examines the door in front of her. A feeling of wonder comes over her when she finds a small knothole a bit higher up than she can reach. Quickly, she fetches a chair, and hitching up her full skirts, she climbs on it. Looking through the hole she sees a rather large, dimly lit space with a lot of weird stuff in it. Some kind of machinery, undoubtedly the source of the humming noise she heard earlier. The smell of ozone is overpowering, even through that small hole. Another scream catches at her throat, grabbing her attention to the victim of the torture. He is standing up, not constricted, but unspeakable things have clearly been done to him. He is naked and covered in blood running from a long cut that slashes his body from right to left and straight down his chest over his stomach, with more bleeding slashes criss-crossing his head. The slashes appear to have been stitched up in a makeshift way. He does not seem to be mortally injured to Adison's trained eye, but the continuing heartrending screams attest to his suffering. He must be injured on the inside as well, is Adison's instant surmise. She can see no-one else in the room, until she follows the tortured man's line of sight and sees a man hiding behind a thick door, peeping through a tiny barred window in it. The weirdness of it all is drowned out by another heartrending scream of the victim, and Adison can no longer stand her own inactivity. On an impulse, she wrenches the door open and runs toward the bleeding figure still standing and still screaming as if his insides are torn loose. Coming ever closer she understands why the other person present might be cowering behind a door, the victim is a powerful man and clearly beyond self control by what seems to be excruciating pain. But Adison was never easily scared, and her strong feeling of pity keeps her moving towards him. She needs to comfort him, and she needs to find a way to end or at least relieve his suffering somehow.

And with no concern for her own safety or for what the blood might do to her dress, she reaches for the man, to let him know help is near and ask him what he is suffering from. As soon as he feels her gentle touch, the stricken man turns to face her, his eyes grabbing hold of her in a strange yellow glare. His bloody hands grope towards her, a terrifying sight, but Adison recognises the need in his gesture and meets him with her arms open, welcoming him, offering him relief. As soon as her arms have closed on him, his frenzy seems to leave him, taking his strength with it. He crumples at her feet, his body spent, his agony silenced. Feeling him breathing heavily in her arms, small convulsions the only other movement in his body, Adison feels his need for another human being to hold him. Her instincts tell her he needs her close and quiet for now, and she decides to follow them and just be with him for now. Treatment can wait a little longer.

Chapter two

Seeing this young girl appear seemingly out of nowhere and fearlessly holding his crazed and bleeding progeny in her arms stirs the other man to life as well. He comes out of his hiding place, watching the scene unfold before him with bewilderment. Where did that girl come from, why isn't she scared out of her mind by his frenzied creation, screaming his birth-pains out covered in blood? And most of all, is his secret out? With his limited experience with people he has little idea how to handle the situation, so he just stands there, waiting and and watching.

Meanwhile, the bloody creature is silent, though from the look in his eyes Adison can see his physical pain is not lessened. He is just holding it inside, suspicious of her she thinks, and not willing to show his weakness. Actually, he is just stunned by everything that has happened. He has just been born in incredible pain and a welter of blood, and the person who has caused him to be has fled from his agony and frenzy in fear and rejection. And this strange person comes out of nowhere in response to his pain and fearlessly holds him close to her, to comfort him in his most vulnerable moment. For some time, nothing changes. Adison holds the bleeding man close, giving him what reassurance she can. When she feels him becoming heavier, giving up the cramped pose of suspicion, or extreme pain, she starts to look around for a bed to put him in and see what really ails him, maybe dress those wounds. She sees the scared man observing her, not so much scared anymore as holding back, maybe thinking of a way to take control of the situation and his attic.

'Can you please tell me where this patient's bed is, so we can help him back into it?' Adison asks the man, probably the doctor in charge. The man points his head at a bare table, set at working height, more suitable to dissecting a corpse or dressing a steak than nursing a sick man. Besides being uncomfortable, it's covered in blood. 'That is not suitable for an injured man to rest in', she says, 'it needs to be comfortable and clean, lest his wounds go bad.'. Incredibly, the doctor just nods and walks out, presumably to fetch a softer, cleaner pallet. Adison looks back at her charge, who seems in less pain already through her steady presence. He watches her, not in a frightened way but with hunger in his eyes, as if she has already given him something he craves, but wants, nay needs, more of the same. No problem for Adison. She holds him and even manages to stroke his poor shaven head. The awful wounds and the blood covering it don't matter to her, nor the intense yellow eyes that keep fixing on her. She holds him where he is not hurt, and gives what comfort she can to this helpless wild creature.

When the doctor returns, indeed dragging a makeshift pallet behind him, Adison lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding. After all, she is in the man's house without invitation, and somebody did horrible things to a strong man apparently in his prime. It may very well have been the doctor.

Sitting on the pallet with her back to the wall, with the injured man settled comfortably in her lap, she witnesses exhaustion slowly taking hold of him. He is still watching her, but wariness and hunger have left his eyes. Weariness has taken over. There is still some pain there, but that is to be expected. It seems that he trusts her enough to mostly let go of his consciousness, and Adison is determined to deserve that trust. Also, she is very curious whether the doctor really is a doctor, and if he will throw her out of the house or let her stay with the victim. Patiently, Adison holds the solidly built man and gently caresses his shaven head and damaged body until he finally closes his eyes and falls asleep. His breathing is regular and his body is relaxed, the wounds have finally stopped bleeding. They need cleaning and dressing, but for now she relishes the quiet.

The doctor breaks the silence first. 'Good day, miss ...' 'Adison', Adison fills in. 'Good day to you Miss Adison, my name is Victor. I was very surprised to see you turn up at this particular place and time.' Adison does still realise she practically broke in to his home and says: 'I live next door, and when I heard your patient scream in agony I used the fire-door in an impulse. I hope you don't mind.' . He replies: 'No, I must thank you for saving the situation. You see I'm not used to living patients, I'm a doctor of pathology, I study the deceased to learn how bodies work. Having such a lively specimen around frightened me enough to flee the room. I was sure he'd kill me in his frenzy. The consequences might have been disastrous.' With this new knowledge Adison looks at the man in her lap with different eyes: the slashes over his body closely resemble the cuts she knows a pathologist would make to examine a corpse. It also explains the sloppy suturing, for a corpse has no bloodflow to staunch. But why would the doctor cut open a man still living? First she answers the doctor: 'The consequences may still be disastrous, for those wounds were not sutured well or they wouldn't bleed. They'll need extreme care or they'll fester and scar horribly and disfigure him for life.'

Now the doctor seems to be getting really uncomfortable, and the reason for this soon becomes clear. 'I need to go to an appointment right now, can I leave you here with him and explain the situation when I get back? Can I trust you to not betray my secret?' Adison considers the situation and replies: ' I will keep your secret, though I don't even know what it is, on one condition: I'm a trained nurse and I want you to let me dress this man's wounds and stay with him until he is out of danger.' 'That is very agreeable to me' says the doctor, 'I'll even pay you for your services, my expertise is clearly with the dead, not the living. And I'll bring you both some food when I return.' With this he grabs a bag from a table and practically runs down a stairs at the back of the attic. Leaving Adison alone with a man she has never met before, who was howling at a storm in a frenzy not half an hour ago. But Adison doesn't feel threatened, she already feels a strong connection to her new patient and she makes herself comfortable holding him as close as she can until the doctor returns.

Her nature cries out against the story the doctor tells her, realizing his total disregard of a possible God and guessing at the arrogance needed to drive a man to cross the boundary of death with science. Still it is hard for her to fault him for his actions, or her patient for being what he is. She can imagine the doctor feeling lonely, being young and full of life, and spending all his time with dead people. She can imagine him constructing a companion for life out of the people he knows and loves best, the deceased, and finding a way to bring life to him. And she cannot fault the resulting man for crying out in the pain of his birth, and threatening to hurt the man who caused him such pain when he brought him to life and then rejected him because of fear of his strong feelings and passions. With her love of people en nature, everything in her cries out against this travesty of life and friendship, but the same love makes her forgive the perpetrator, and love the victim.

Now settled in the attic of the doctor's house, Adison cares for his progeny. What at first sight she took for slashes are actually much deeper cuts, penetrating far into the tissue, wounds that would take weeks to heal even with expert sutures in healthy flesh that hasn't been dead for weeks. And though the doctor's art was brilliant enough to cheat death and bring his subject back to life, it clearly involved a lightning strike, very damaging to the nerves and excruciatingly painful to its victim. A challenge for anyone dedicated to healing, and very well suited to Adison. She brings over some of her Chinese herbs to help her fight infections, and sets to work.

During the task of cleaning and dressing his wounds, the wounded man wakes up from his exhausted sleep and even seems quite lucid. Adison, feeling it is time to think of him by name instead of condition, but supposing he doesn't remember anything before his death, introduces herself: 'How do you do, my name is Adison', she says in a quiet, friendly voice 'what is your name?' As she expects, her patient is confused by her question, not able to recall a name and more childlike in his reactions than anything else. 'Would you like me to give you a name?' she asks. He continues to stare at her with those weird eyes, silently. Slowly he nods, clearly understanding her. Adison has spent some time contemplating a name for this strong yet feeling man and she makes her suggestion, hoping it will please him: 'What would you think of Vincent? With so much strength in you, you may need a friendly name'. Whilst he is contemplating the name, Adison starts to clean the cut on his temple that gives her the most worry. The sutures have almost parted here, making the wound gape, and the edges look inflamed already. She hopes her skills will be enough to prevent further infection, but scarring will be inevitable. Her charge undergoes the treatment quietly, though it must hurt quite a bit. His nerves must also still be raw from the lightning strike. He looks up at her as if he means to speak, and her heart skips a beat. 'Vincent', an unexpected voice says. He has no more words to speak yet, but he looks content. She does not surpress her sudden impulse to hold him close, and why should she? He has only just been born.

Chapter three

A few weeks later, as she is treating Vincent's wounds, she feels very glad that most of the cuts are healing nicely. 'Are you happy?,' her charge asks her with a sonorous male voice, but a child-like inflection. In reply, she hugs him lovingly and says: 'Very happy. Your wounds are almost better.' His strong hand moves towards the only wound that is still not healed well, the one on his right temple. Adison takes his hand in both of her own:' Please try not to touch it, dear. It might get infected again.' He complains:' It..., ' clearly he's thinking hard '..itches, it itches.' Adison kisses his hands:' You remembered the word, excellent! I know it itches, it is healing, and that always itches. I'll put some of that lotion on it, to cool it down.' She lets go of his hand to fetch the bottle, then rubs it on the healing wound. Vincent clearly enjoys the feeling, laying his head on her lap and closing his eyes like a cat that is stroked the right way for as long as she touches the scar. She rubs him a bit longer than is strictly neccessary, pleased that she no longer needs to hurt him to keep the wounds clean. He has been through so much, and he has been so laid-back and patient about it, even sweet, that he deserves a soothing touch as well. The wound is still a bit swollen, making him feverish and sleepy by spells, and Adison is concerned about possible scarring in such a visible place. When she stops, he looks at her and asks:' Will you read to me?' 'In a moment, dear, you go find a book,' she replies, clearing up the materials and straightening the bed. She settles on it, and Vincent hands her a volume of poetry, then reclines in her lap again. 'No, you're going to read to me,' Adison says, 'so you'd better sit up and hold the book.' He does sit up, but as close to her as he can. He clearly needs a lot of physical contact, just like a child. 'Into the woods, the lady ran,' he reads, then looks at her. Poetry seems a strange choice of teaching material, but teaching Vincent is not at all like teaching a child. He can concentrate much longer, and seems to already have a developed taste in literature, a decided preference for romantic poetry. And he seems to remember words and expressions, learning to speak really quickly, and learning to read and write easily too. He must have been literate, even well-read in his former life.

She remembers fondly how she has taught him first to walk, which was not very difficult, his body being rather muscled and his balance quite good. 'Wat are you thinking of?' Vincent asks, 'you're thinking again.' He is studying her with his weird yellow eyes, out of place in his innocent beardless face with its pale skin and hair growing in inky black. She touches his face and says: 'I was thinking of the first time you walked'. He remembers: 'It was easy, walking. Dressing was hard, and washing was cold. Eating is good, except drinking milk, I don't like milk.' 'Luckily you don't have to drink it, my father always made me when I was young, 'Adison remembers. Her father would laugh if he knew she was a governess after all, only raising an adult instead of a child. And no parents either, so maybe he'd count her lucky. But she hasn't written him the entire truth, just that she had a challenging case close to her room. 'You're doing it again, thinking,' she hears the clear baritone, 'let's play.' She has taught Vincent wrestling, to help activate all his muscles after the weeks of healing and to keep the scars supple so they don't heal too tightly. But they love doing it too. She jumps him, pushing him flat on the bed. They struggle and roll, each now on top, now on the bottom. Adison suspects Vincent of cheating, letting her win every other round. For he is clearly much stronger than she is, with his adult body, larger weight and longer limbs. But she admires him for already realising that an even match is more fun than winning all the time. He is such a nice boy, and growing up so fast!

Suddenly, Vincent breaks off the match, and watches the stairs with trepidation. He no longer hides behind her when the doctor comes to check on them and to bring dinner, but he clearly doesn't like the visits. 'The doctor comes, ' he voices his disquiet. 'Why do you dislike him so, Vincent? He's never hurt you. I hurt you a lot treating those wounds, and you like me.' He jumps her, and corrects her:' I don't like you, I love you Adison!' And again he evades the question. 'Try to be nice to him, Vincent, he is as concerned about you as I am,' Adison tells him, and to do her a favor, he tries hard. Sometimes the doctor visits when Vincent is asleep, and Adison and him talk about medicin deep into the night: 'You amaze me, Adison, the way you've gotten those awful wounds to heal with virtually no scarring. How do you do it?' Adison is flattered, and says:' It's part cleaning well, and good nursing, but I also have had the advantage of Chinese medical training. It is quite profound.' He continues:'I know your main interest lies with the living, but when Vincent is ready to either stay alone for awhile, or come along, will you come visit my workshop?' Now Adison is really flattered, and replies: 'Of course I will, doctor, I'd love to see your work. Your research means much to modern medicine, teaching us much we need to know to help people get diagnosed and cured.' He notices her use of 'we', meaning she sees herself as a doctor, not a nurse, and he totally agrees. She has more in her than that. He has been hatching a plan, and he decides to ask her straight away what she thinks of it:' How would you like to start a medical practice with me, treat the living I mean. I diagnose and you treat, put simply.' She looks at him, stunned by his trust in her: 'I'd love that!' From that moment on they make their plans and become fast friends. They get very close, but never intimate. The doctor just isn't the type to love anything but his work, Adison knows. She regrets that only a little, she gets plenty of love from her patient, and she doesn't feel awkward about it, for he is like a child, still developing, and children do need a lot of love.

Slowly, as Vincent improves in abilities, he also improves in looks. Adison catches him looking in a mirror, studying his own face. He touches the scar on his temple, now healed and though clearly visible, not disfiguring. He asks Adison:' This will never fade completely, will it?' Adison shakes her head, not trusting herself to speak.'Will my hair cover it when it is longer?' Adison has spent some thought on that:' I think I can cut it so it will, layer it over your temple, making it look fuller. Do you want me to try?' He looks at her trustingly, and says:' Yes, please, right now?' She agrees and gets the scissors:' Now please sit very still, and do not make me laugh, or you'll regret the results.' He promises, and since he still loves her to touch him with her soft, clever hands, he doesn't mind sitting still at all, enjoying the process and getting a bit sleepy as a result. The new hairstyle is quite a success, covering the scar nicely at first sight. As he checks the result in the mirror, she assures him:' It will look even better when it grows a bit more. It looks good on you.' His gaze moves from his hair to his face, and he asks:' Why is my face so pale? Adison doesn't know, but she says:' Some people have dark skin, some light. Yours is very light. And you have not been out in the sun for months.' He observes:' You have not been either, and you are not so white.' 'Maybe I was browner to begin with,' she retorts. Then his eyes get a good lookover:' My eyes really are an unnatural colour.' This is a statement, not a question. And Adison cannot deny it, so she speaks the truth:' Indeed they are. People usually don't have yellow eyes, they have blue, grey or green eyes. Some even have brown eyes. I don't know why yours are yellow, but I think they look good on you.' And now, looking at her as intently as he studied his own likeness in the mirror, he can see that she speaks the truth.

The development of his body seems to fascinate Vincent, the hair growing back on chest, arms and legs, and his crotch. He has no beard though, making him look younger than the probable age of his body. He is developing muscles, working out on the attic floor and from the beams. He loves to recite the poems from the doctor's and Adison's book collections, but he has no interest in medicin. When the doctor and Adison discuss cases and interpret drawings, he picks up a book. Adison loves his observations:' You used to be my mom, but now you are more like my sister.' She is very happy to notice that he is more willing to talk to the doctor, fortunately they share a taste in poetry. Vincent and Adison explore the doctor's house and library together, they do chores, they cook and clean and still play together.' Why do you always cry when I read to you or play a sketch?' he asks. She protests:' I don't always cry, you often make me laugh, too, but when you play a pathetic scene or read a sad poem, you touch me inside, making me cry. Making me cry in a good way, Vincent. You move me with your interpretation of language.' They still sleep together, and when she strokes his hair, or holds or caresses him, he enjoys it, but he wants to return the caresses as well. Vincent has grown up quickly, and he is now nearly the man that his body looks like.

Of course Adison is completely unaware of this. She has from the first felt a special bond to Vincent, from seeing him suffer so much and trying to help him, to practically raising him as if he were the younger brother she never had in her childhood. But, raised very sheltered herself, she knows little of the world and of the things that go on between men and women. Adison has of course seen that Vincent has all the parts a man should have, and she even asks the doctor if he will ever function as a man, purely out of medical interest. The doctor himself doesn't know, and Adison forgets about it. With her eighteen years of life among her parents and their elderly scientist friends, and her only experience with a younger man the doctor, who is so singlemindedly living in pursuit of knowledge that he is still as pure as she is, how is she to know about men?

Still living together as innocents, without taboos or shame, Adison and Vincent have shared their bed since the first night. For practicality when he was severely wounded, for habit and comfort when he was recovered. Now they are reclining on the bed close to eachother, reading a book together by the light of a candle, dressed casually for the warm night in the attic. Vincent reads aloud, his accent clear, his voice a nice baritone. Adison, listening with appreciation, absently traces the healed scars on his chest with her hand, glad they are fading to white already. She feels satisfaction for a job well-done. Then suddenly, something is different. Vincent no longer feels bonelessly relaxed, his accent has changed. 'Do these still hurt?' she asks. She has hurt him a lot, getting those awful wounds to heal up this nicely. He doesn't answer, and slowly she looks up at him, to read his mind from the look in his eyes. But the expression there is new, she has never seen him look this intense since that first shocking night together, where they formed the bond that makes them both feel so much as one. She has always known he has very strong feelings, she just hasn't seen them since then. What causes them to surface now?

His reading has stilled, the book forgotten. Adison has stopped exploring the scars, afraid to cause him pain. Finally he finds his voice, thick with feeling:' please don't stop...' It seems he can't say more, arousing Adison's curiosity. She complies, tracing the scar down his chest, along his stomach, all the while keeping her attention on his eyes, the fire in them growing. His nice, comfortable smell intensifies, making her feel warm inside. Very warm inside. She realises that they are no longer like brother and sister. Deliberately she moves her hand even further down, stroking the fine curly hairs, expecting to see his male part tensing as well. She is not mistaken, it is clearly functioning just fine, standing out proudly. Still mostly curious, she reaches out for it, just to feel its soft skin stretched tight.

This is all too much for Vincent. His heated tension just cannot be contained anymore and he quickly moves towards her, practically grabbing her in a passionate embrace. His sudden, forceful move does not frighten her, it only flares up the heat inside of her. He is incredibly strong, much stronger than she has ever expected him to be, but his touch is careful and light. She finds herself in his arms, face to face with the man she knows so well by now that she could draw his every feature, every hair from memory. Just before they share a heated kiss she feels drawn to lightly touch the newly healed scar on his right temple. Her touch sends a another shock of passion through him, one she shares when their mouths finally meet.

The heat of their first kiss leaves them both a bit out of breath and stunned by its intensity. They lie on their backs, trying to take in what just happened. But the fire is still there, and soon they are facing again, and touching again. And kissing again, touching at the same time. Their touching intensifies, until Vincent takes a moment to regain his self-control, forcing his passion down, to slow down. He wants to make this last, make it count. And he is instinctively afraid of scaring Adison with his physical strength and his intense feelings. Adison, sensing his reticence, slows down a little too, though not at all afraid of his passion but relishing it. This gorgeous, almost wild creature is focussing all his strength and all his feeling on her, barely controlling it and overpowering her with it. She wants it all, but she does want it to last, to have that passion as long as possible.

Tempering the heat, they find the tenderness. Exploring their intimate places and finding the most sensitive spots, they touch every inch of the other's skin with more than just their hands. They know one another so well, have seen the other undressed so often, have caressed eachother frequently, felt eachother nightly without passion when they slept together for comfort. Now they get to explore the same places, and some others, with intense heat, with a passion so much stronger because it has lain dormant for so long. They drink in eachothers smells, and tastes, exploring with their tongues and mouths as much as their hands. Then at last, her passion nearly sated, Adison wants to experience the beast in him in his full glory, eager to unchain its hot temper and feel herself totally overcome by its sheer strength. So she convinces him to let go of his control by teasing his soft-skinned, but heat-hardened male part with her warm, moist tongue and mouth. She can feel the pressure in him building up to an almost unbearable height. Then Vincent has to let go, and their bodies meet in the ultimate embrace, for the first time, a time they will remember forever.

Afterwards, they lie still, spent, holding eachother close and wondering. How can such passion have taken so long to come out and finally show itself? Why haven't they felt this way before? They have done virtually everything together since the day they got thrown together, have shared every experience. And now, suddenly, something has changed. The next day, they go about their tasks and habits with a delightful new awareness of the other. Of course, most new lovers like to spend as much time together as they can, but they already know eachother so much better than most lovers do, that only the thing that is new, the passion, stands out like a beacon. They know the doctor will spot the difference in them immediately, and hope he will not disapprove.