A/N: In March of 2015, a discussion on the BatB Yahoo! group about how things would have been in the series if Devin had been around got me thinking, and this fic is the result. Thanks to everyone on that thread who kept making such interesting points that I couldn't get this one out of my head. This is for ya'll :)

Also, I own no BatB or related rights, make no money, etc., etc., etc.

XxXxXxXxX

Meddling, by Kuli und Heft

"…but don't let your act of kindness destroy you."

Devin paused in the tunnel when he heard his father's quiet words. The sentries had tapped out his arrival, which usually meant that there would be tea and something from William's kitchen waiting in the library by the time he got all the way down, but the old man's tone said quite clearly that there would be no levity, only weary happiness in place of a joyful homecoming, and Devin was walking right into the center of it.

A moment later, it was Vincent who said, "Maybe I have no choice."

Those words, spoken with such resignation, got Devin's legs working again. This wasn't a matter between tunnelfolk he should steer clear of. This was family.

Both Vincent and Father looked startled out of their respective reveries at his approach.

"Devin," Father said. "What a surprise. We weren't expecting you."

"I can see that. What's wrong? Is it something serious?" He looked between the two men, judging body language.

Vincent was tense, sullen. He smiled over words of welcome and embraced his brother warmly, but there was a despondence in his eyes that said his heart was somewhere else, somewhere lonely and painful.

Father regained more of his usual bluster within a few moments, and Devin was ushered into a chair to tell the tales of his most recent adventures, six months he had spent as a pilot based out of Anchorage—with a real pilot's license, he was quick to remind everyone. Devin hadn't exactly taken to the straight-and-narrow since his first return home nearly ten years ago, but he made a point of keeping within sight of it.

Vincent leaned one hip on a table to listen, never settling in, his hands distracted with an old copy of Great Expectations and his smile honest, but perfunctory. It was hardly a surprise when he claimed some vague errand that had to be accomplished and disappeared with a promise of sharing the evening meal with his brother.

Devin waited a few moments before dropping his façade of eager story teller and sliding easily into son and brother. "What's wrong?" he asked his father.

Father's own attempts at good spirits crumpled under the question, and he looked older and wearier than his years.

"It's this woman from Above."

Devin shook his head; no one had mentioned a woman from Above in their letters to him.

"This Catherine, whose life Vincent had saved the last time you were here."

"Oh. That woman from Above." He glanced down the tunnel Vincent had taken. The gossip of Catherine Chandler's disappearance, sudden reappearance, and all the hush-hush about where she'd been and what had happened to her had just been starting to fade from the newspapers the last time he'd come home. It was clear that Vincent was reeling from losing the close connection he'd developed with her, but that wasn't so unusual for anyone Vincent put his heart and soul into. By now, it must have been, what, seven months? Either, even? "Still?"

Father nodded. "Still. He says he can still feel her, that he's still connected. After all this time. It's driving him mad."

Mad wasn't the word Devin would have chosen, after only a few minutes with his little brother. Desperate, maybe. Lost. But he very much had his wits about him.

"Well, as they say," Father continued, "this, too, shall pass. You didn't come home to hear our troubles. Tell me more about the Aleutian Islands."

As a younger man, Devin would have been hurt and angered by the dismissal, taking it to mean that he didn't have a place in their lives anymore, not really, but he and his father had worked to understand one another better over the last ten years. And indeed, Devin still had to remind himself not to infer and unintended barb. This was a conversation Father couldn't really have, not right now. And that was fine, really. The person who really needed to talk had promised to have supper with him.

XxXxXxXxX

"So," Devin said over their empty plates in the dining hall. "This Chandler woman." He met and pinned Vincent's eyes. "Spill."

"Devin…"

"Spill, little brother. Something's going on. Something's eating at you, and you can't even fully explain it to Father."

Vincent passed the bowl of mashed potatoes along as it came to him, without taking a second helping. It was often his way to have thirds, cleaning up anything that remained at the table before the bowls went back to the kitchen. Devin tried not to smile at the observation; how much more textbook could this be?

"Not here," Vincent said, indicating the busy dining hall.

A few minutes later, the two fell into easy strides down familiar tunnelways. Devin didn't need to ask where they were going; this route led most logically to the Whispering Gallery, where many boyhood conversations had taken place, and many more since boyhood had been left behind.

"I can feel what she's feeling," Vincent said as they left the centers of tunnel activity.

"Even now?" Devin asked. "So far away?"

Vincent nodded. "Tonight, she's…tired, but contented." He cocked his head, as though listening to the pipes. "She's on her way home. I think she must have started a new job recently; her hours have changed."

"That's incredible. After all this time, and you're still connected. Has that ever happened before?"

"Only with Father. And with you. But even then…"

"It's not this strong," Devin finished. He knew. Across vast distances, Vincent had occasionally had an inkling of his brother's very strongest emotions, usually when Devin had gotten himself into something truly life-threatening and was terrified out of his wits. Within a few days, he'd have a letter begging for news that he was all right. They had all thought these abilities were quite extraordinary themselves, but Vincent had never been able to pinpoint him in the city, or check in on his current emotional state from across the tunnels. And the same went for Father. This…this was something completely new. "What do you think it means?"

Vincent didn't answer. His pace picked up speed; it was an unconscious reaction to the discomfort of his thoughts. Devin kept up.

They entered the Whispering Gallery without slowing, and they were halfway across the bridge before Vincent stopped abruptly, his head bowed.

"Her heart beats next to mine, Devin. Every day, I feel it. I feel her struggles, her triumphs, her joys, the moments when she loses herself. I can…tune it out. Set it aside. But it's there when I reach…and I can't help myself from reaching more and more. I'm…stealing something from her, something intimate. I'm a voyeur in her life. But this closeness…it's the most wonderful thing I've ever known."

"You're in love with her."

Vincent's whole body went rigid; he looked away with a sound like he'd been burned. He stared out into the black; Devin didn't need any empathic powers to know that strong, conflicting emotions were wreaking havoc on his little brother. Finally, after long minutes, Vincent nodded. "Yes."

XxXxXxXxX

Devin got his first glimpse of Catherine Chandler as she strode into the office late in his first morning at the DA's office, her briefcase bulging with files and legal pads and a box lunch in hand. She dropped everything on her desk, selected a couple folders out of her case, and disappeared into Maxwell's office. She was well-dressed for a city employee, but her shoes were sensible for days spent travelling to meet witnesses, and she navigated the busy office with efficient intent.

It was two more days before he had the chance to exchange more than an introductory handshake with her. She filled up on coffee in the afternoons between two and two-thirty, and Devin arranged to be in the break room right about then. Taking on a distracted air when he was sure she wasn't far behind him, he turned and made a show of nearly colliding with her, only just managing to keep his coffee in its cup.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," he said. "I didn't hear you come up behind me, um, Catherine, is it?"

"Cathy," she answered warmly. "It's all right. No harm done. It's Devon, right?"

He switched the coffee to his left hand to hold out his right. "Devon S. Meddling, at your service. When I'm not bowling unsuspecting folks over."

She shook his hand. "You looked pretty distracted. Is everything going all right?"

Wow, she was making this easy for him. "You know how it is, first week on the job. The workload here is pretty intense."

"I know exactly what you mean. I'm only a few weeks in, myself."

"Really? Because you walk around here like an old pro. I mean. Not that I'm, you know, watching, or anything. I mean. Uh, is this a bad time to ask if you'd like to get a drink sometime? Strictly professional. New kids on the block sharing war stories and all that."

She considered him, and it wasn't the kind of quick once-over a woman used to take in his handsome face and charming smile. He didn't have to fake being just a touch nervous that she would say no.

"I'd like that. Maybe tomorrow night."

"Great. That sounds great. I'll pick you up at your desk."

XxXxXxXxX

Cathy Chandler was a shrewd woman. After most of a week pretending to be a lawyer in a brutally busy office, Devin was already mentally and emotionally spent, and the intensity with which Cathy listened, interpreted, and commented was not helping him at all. He did his best to divert attention to her and her first few weeks, chiming in to say he'd felt the same way here and there during his first few days, and he was certain she was noticing. Damn. She probably assumed his hopes weren't as strictly professional as he claimed, and that was all right, but she was sure putting his backstory and legal knowledge base through the wringer. So he steered the conversation more toward the whys of the work. He'd done his research on this former debutante, and it all looked pretty standard for rich and beautiful. She didn't act that way, though. And if Vincent had fallen for her, there must be depths Devin couldn't see in such a casual setting, but he was going to try.

"Well, I was working for my father's firm before the attack," she told him. Devin had made sure to look suitably aghast when she told him what had happened to her the previous spring, and really the way she told it, it wasn't a difficult acting job. "Corporate law. My heart wasn't in it, but I didn't know what else to do. My life was sort of on this one-way track, and I didn't know how to get off, or what I would even do with myself when I did, so I just kept riding along."

"That's one feeling I can't stand," Devin said honestly. "No, I'll pick up and move when that starts to happen. I can't stand feeling trapped. It's why I had to leave Anchorage and try the Big Apple."

"Yes, trapped. And it took the attack and…everything after for me to realize I had the keys to get out right in my hand. And I realized I had the strength."

"That sounds like something Vincent would say," he answered.

She looked up sharply, something startled and hopeful in her gaze. Aha. "What?"

"My brother," Devin clarified. "Vincent. He's always saying things like that, things people need to hear the most. You remind me of him, just a little."

She seemed to be speechless for the first time since he'd met her.

"That's a compliment," he told her.

She smiled a little uncertainly, but then seemed to come back to the conversation. "Thank you. Your brother sounds like a good man."

"The best," Devin agreed. "I worry about him, though."

"Oh?"

"He's too sensitive. He'll open his heart up to anyone, no matter how many times he's hurt."

"What's wrong with that? I think people in this city are too guarded. Since I've started doing this work, I've become sure of it. If we could show each other more kindness, let each other in to see our hurts and our loves, we'd all be a lot better off."

"Now you really sound like Vincent. What about him, though? He gives everything he's got to everyone. What's left for him?"

"He doesn't have anyone of his own?"

"I think he's afraid. I know our father is. He's sure that if Vincent ever lost his heart to a woman and she didn't cherish him the way that he cherished her, it'd kill the best part of him."

"That's awful." She seemed to realize she shouldn't be passing judgment on someone she didn't know, and continued. "I mean, it sounds awful, to live with that kind of loneliness. Love is a powerful thing. So is trust. When the right person trusts you…you find the best parts in yourself in response. I hope your brother finds someone, Devon. I'm sure she'll be very lucky when he does."

"I hope you're right," he told her.

XxXxXxXxX

On Saturday, Devin retreated to the cliffs across from the falls to relax and think. He was hardly surprised to hear Vincent's voice well before he heard any footsteps. "I didn't expect to see you here. You've been Above every day."

"I have some business I'm trying to work out up top. But everything's closed today."

"I don't think I want to ask."

"You really don't."

Vincent settled in with his feet dangling over the edge. "I'll just brace for Father's anger, then."

"Who said Father'll find out? C'mon, Vincent, give me some credit, here. Besides, this is all for a friend."

"It's not your intentions I'm worried about," Vincent said. "You have a noble heart. Your methods, on the other hand…"

It was an old discussion that didn't warrant repeating. At least, not yet. "Have you decided what you're going to do about the Chandler woman yet?"

"Catherine," Vincent said, and his breath caressed her name.

You've got it bad, bro, Devin thought. Maybe worse than anyone I've ever seen. God, I hope Father's wrong about all those limits.

"I don't see what there is to do." He sighed. "She's a woman of means Above. Even in friendship, I have so little to offer her."

"You're selling yourself short, as usual. Besides, if she's already got everything money can buy, maybe she doesn't need you to offer her anything more than yourself."

Vincent didn't answer right away. He turned a small stone from the cavern floor over in his hands in silence until Devin wasn't sure he'd respond at all. And then, finally, "I don't think I can bear to hope in the face of what is hopeless."

"That's Father talking, not you. You've never bonded with anyone who doesn't feel the same way back. You know what she's feeling. How does she feel about you?"

"It's not that simple. I can't read her thoughts." He tossed the stone out as far as he could; it sailed right over the wide river and clattered faintly on the opposite bank. "She thinks of me."

Devin didn't answer. Vincent was talking; that was enough. And it highlighted just how desperate he must be at this point, holding everything in until he had no choice but to speak or burst; sometimes there was no other way with him, when he felt that what he was feeling was wrong, for him.

"Sometimes, I can feel it. It's…a warmth. A ripple. For a moment, she's closer to me, almost…with me. A couple nights ago…" But he stopped himself.

"A couple nights ago…?" Devin prompted quietly.

"She thought of me. She…missed me. I could feel it. Something…must have reminded her. For the rest of the evening, I could feel her, so close to me that it hurt to reach out and find the chamber around me utterly empty."

"That's gotta mean something. It proves it's not all you in this connection, she's reaching out, too. She's gotta feel something for you."

Vincent shook his head. "How could she, Devin? Why should she? I know what I am."

"An over-educated, melodramatic fuzzbutt?" Devin asked innocently. He got a glare for it, but his little brother knew better than to rise to such obvious bait. "C'mon. Give yourself some credit, for once in your life. She's still thinking about you. That means something." It means she looked stricken, just at the mention of your name by a near stranger, Devin couldn't say. It means she spent the whole rest of the evening thinking about you.

"And if I did…approach her?" Vincent demanded, suddenly vehement. He stood and paced a few steps in each direction. "She would be repulsed."

"Don't harp on that old malarkey. You know I can't forgive the old man for letting you think that way. I don't know how you can."

"Even if what you say is true, I have no…experience, speaking to a woman. Romantically."

Devin stood up, too. "It isn't brain surgery. Believe me, I know."

Vincent looked at him sidelong.

"I may have talked myself into an OR or two," Devin shrugged. "But only as an observer."

"More of those adventures you haven't thought to mention to Father."

"Selective omissions," Devin answered unrepentantly. He'd interrupted the spiral of Vincent's self-defeat, at least for a moment, so the digression had done its job. "But talking to a girl isn't brain surgery. You just start easy and see where things go all on their own. You're connected to her; that's an advantage most guys would kill for. She already likes you, at least a little bit, so you really just have to show up and try at this point."

Instead of answering, Vincent went back to pacing.

"Look, bro, I can't promise you what's going to happen if you go up there. But I can promise you you're going to continue to be miserable if you stay down here. Love is worth the risk. Isn't that what you'd tell anyone who came to you for advice?"

When Vincent finally paused in his pacing, his back was to Devin. He looked out to the falls. "It's been months. Nearly a year. How do I…I can't call her like a normal man. She doesn't know any of our ways of passing messages. I can't…arrive at her home in the middle of the night, unannounced, and just ask to be let in."

"All right. I'm not doing anything this afternoon. I'll carry a message to her. And then I can tell you exactly what she says." After all, the sooner he got Vincent straightened out, the sooner he could have some sudden family emergency that took him back to Alaska permanent-like at the DA's office.

Vincent stood in silence for a minute or more. Devin let him. Pushing wouldn't help anything at all. This had to be a decision Vincent was comfortable with, that he made on his own.

Finally, his great, tawny head nodded. "I'll try it your way."

"Excellent. You won't regret it." All right, Chandler, you'd better not make us regret this!

XxXxXxXxX

After knocking on the white, real wood door, Devin didn't have to wait long for Catherine to answer. She opened the door, but didn't step aside or invite him in.

"Devon. What a surprise. What can I do for you?"

"I came by to drop off a message. I'm not sure we should discuss it in the hall, though."

She looked decidedly suspicious and didn't move away from the door. "I'll decide that. What's this about?"

Devin proffered the book in his hands, the old copy of Great Expectations Vincent had been clutching the day Devin arrived. "Vincent thought you might like to read the last chapter, to remember how it ends." He'd been schooled on those words exactly.

Chandler's eyes grew wide. She reached for the book automatically, staring at the cover. After a moment, she regained her senses. She looked out into the hall for a moment before gesturing Devin in and closing the door firmly behind him.

"Vincent…" she said. "Your brother…"

"The one and only. He couldn't come up top himself, for obvious reasons."

"It's been…months. I thought…"

"You started to think you'd dreamed the whole thing up? Believe me, I've had those dark nights myself. Listen, he sent me because…he doesn't know how to come to you himself, at least not without scaring you half to death."

"Why has he waited this long?"

"Because he's an idiot."

She blinked at him, then shook her head.

"Trust me. He's an idiot. He's convinced there's no way an uptown girl like yourself could have any time for a below-town guy like him."

"Is that what all this was, with the DA's office, drinks after work? Some kind of test?" Her words were full of suspicion, but she was holding to the book with both hands, keeping it close to her midriff.

"I'm not around much. I really have been in Alaska, at least for the last six months. I needed to see you for myself."

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you even a lawyer, then?"

Devin raised his hands in surrender. "I plead the Fifth, your honor."

"I can't believe you," she spat. "Those cases you're working on are important. You botch them up, and criminals go free."

"Hey, I'm a fraud. I'm not a moron. Look, my work is done. Monday morning, Moreno's going to find out my father's suddenly died, and I'm leaving first thing to be back in Anchorage to take care of my sick mother. I planned it that way; half the office already thinks my mother has MS. I'll never darken the DA's doorstep again."

"It doesn't make what you've done any less irresponsible."

"All right, but that's on me. Don't take it out on Vincent; he has no idea where I've been for the last week. He's my brother, Chandler. Maybe not by blood, but we were raised together. We grew up together. Do you have any siblings?"

"I'm an only child."

"Okay, well, take it from me, brothers look out for each other. And I've got to look out for him, especially. There were a lot of times for a lot of years I wasn't there for him when I should have been. My work at the DA's office will all be turned over to other, real lawyers. No one's getting out of jail on my account. The rest is just details, and Vincent is far more important. He looks out for everyone. Someone has to look out for him."

Chandler looked down at the book again, running her fingertips over the cover. She nodded. "All right. I understand. I think I do. Tell him I'd like to see him. Tell him I m…I still think of him, sometimes. Should I meet him somewhere? The tunnel under the building has been closed off."

"He'll come here. Tonight."

"Here?" She glanced at the front door. "How?"

He nodded to the French doors. "He'll come to your balcony."

"I'm eighteen stories up!"

"It's Vincent," Devin said by way of explanation. "Ten o'clock?"

She nodded. "All right. Tell him I look forward to seeing him then."

XxXxXxXxX

Devin yawned over his breakfast. He'd never been a morning person, to begin with, and he hadn't slept well, wondering what was going on in a posh apartment eighteen stories up.

He was startled out of his fatigued reverie by the large form sinking into the seat opposite him. Vincent, looking washed and ready for the day, peered at him steadily.

Devin scrubbed his mouth and chin. "What? Is there jam?"

"Devon S. Meddling?" Vincent asked.

"Oh." Oh. Crap, he'd forgotten the part about swearing Chandler to absolute secrecy. Well, he'd never had a plan yet that went off completely without a hitch. "Well, did it go okay, or not?"

"I'm appalled at your lack of creativity. I used to think you were the clever one, when we were boys."

"Vincent. C'mon. I'm dyin' here." It was then that Devin noticed his little brother take two bags of tea and dump them in the same cup. With a closer look into Vincent's face, a suspicion began to creep in. "Just when, exactly, did you get back to the Tunnels?"

"About an hour ago," Vincent answered, almost offhandedly. At Devin's look, he added. "We talked all night long, until long after I should have been below ground. She…didn't want me to leave. And I didn't want to go. She had much to tell me."

Devin grinned. "I'm glad to hear it, little brother. Now, we just have to figure out how to break it to Father."

"You did so well with Catherine. I thought you could take on Father single-handedly, as well."

"That's not funny."

"I didn't say that I was joking."

"Of course you were joking. After everything I just went through for you, you are not throwing me to the wolves."

"No, I'm throwing you to Father."

"That's even worse."

"You'll come up with something."

"Vincent."

"You always do."

"Vincent."

"I think I'm going to eat in my chamber. I could use a nap." He stood with his plate and tea and left the table; Devin couldn't call out without drawing undue attention to himself from nosy tunnelfolk.

Some days, Devin really hated having a brother.