7/6/2013

Title: Missing Pieces

Author: Squeezynz

Rating: PG – R (for some chapters – lots of naughty bits in those)

Fandom: Beauty and the Beast (CW)2012

Pairing: Vincat

Spoilers: S1

Summary: A year after Vincent is ripped from her, Catherine tries to move on, but a case throws everything up in the air. Post S1 finale.

Authors note: This is a sequel to the S.1 finale (of course), but a complete departure from my previous story. I do try not to repeat myself.

Disclaimer: Any and all spelling, grammar, grammatical and punctuation mistakes are entirely my own. Feel free to correct me, but don't hold you breath that I'll action the corrections (unless they are truly horrendous). You should also know that I am a Brit, so any incorrect usage, unwanted 'u's or misplaced 's's are all my own fault, also any mangling of the American language, jargon and slang or incorrect naming of objects/items or places can also be blamed on me being a Brit. That said, I have done my research. If you know any of those places mentioned intimately and I've got something laughably wrong, put it down to artistic license. Any and all characters are entirely fictional and not based on anyone I know or exist outside the fandom. Any and all mistakes can and will be blamed on my being a Brit- in New Zealand - not in the states. Live with it. Otherwise, enjoy my continuing adventures of Vincat served up with a dash of excitement, a dollop of Beastliness, a collection of plot devices and plot twists and a whole lot of romance. It's what I do best.

One final note: FF...net...sucks arse and dropped out all my formatting with my last story, so this time I will use letters to indicate breaks and transitions. Just letting you know.

Now on with the show...

Somewhere in New York City.

Catherine Chandler crouched low and aimed her gun at the doorway. The alley was shrouded in shadow, her eyes straining to keep watch on all the windows and potential corners that could hide a felon, her sixth sense nagging at her that something was indeed lurking, waiting to pounce.

A single bulb in a dented light shade above the door provided some illumination, but beyond its weak circle of light it was black as pitch. Somewhere in the building behind the door was her partner, driving their quarry to try and escape out the back door where Catherine waited to bag him.

With her black leather coat, black sweater and black jeans, she blended seamlessly into the darkness, a collection of zip ties ready at her belt to secure and subdue her target.

Suddenly the door burst open and a man ran through, casting a look behind him at whoever was pursuing him. He had a gun in his hand and Catherine didn't hesitate, standing up from her hiding place and shooting the Taser, hitting her target squarely. The man jumped in surprise then fell to the ground, writhing and twitching, the gun discarded as his muscles contracted violently. Catherine quickly flipped him over and immobilised him with the zip ties, binding him hand and foot. Just as efficiently she unhooked the Taser barbs, the man yelping when she did.

"Nice shooting. Score another one for the girls!" Her partner appeared in the doorway, grinning like a Cheshire Cat. Catherine held up her hand and they high five'd.

"Bring the car around will you? I don't want to have to carry this prick any further than I have to."

Her partner nodded and took off, jogging along the alleyway before disappearing around a corner.

The captive as her feet still twitched and jerked, his nervous system still reacting to the voltage sent coursing through his body.

"Fuckin' bitch, fuckin' fuckin'...aagh, I'm gonna kill you, mutherfuckinshitbitch."

Catherine had heard it all before and turned her back, winding up the wires of the expended Taser cartridge and slotting a new on in its place before re-holstering her weapon. It wasn't her weapon of choice, but it got the job done without a lot of blood and hospital visits.

The lights of a car approached down the alley, her partner returning to collect their fugitive.

She pulled right up to the man laying on the ground, the lights shining directly into his eyes. That provoked another round of colourful swearing.

"You just have to do that?" Catherine said, reaching the driver's window and leaning in.

"What? At least we can see what we're doing now."

Together the two women hoisted the man between them and carried him to the back seat, bundling him in where he lay still mouthing obscenities despite being trussed like a turkey.

A bullet proof glass window separated the front seat from the back of the car, Catherine sliding the window shut and locking it to muffle the man's ongoing tirade.

"You know, Cat, this makes fifty five crims found and delivered, and not one fatality."

"I like to keep things simple."Catherine replied, her eyes staring straight ahead as the car tooled out of the alley and headed for their base.

Catherine logged her Taser and filled in the paperwork for the fugitive handed into police custody, before heading for the locker room and a well earned shower. Working for a private security company that specialised in finding and returning bail jumpers, escaped convicts, fugitives and other low-lifes had its perks. The hours were better, the pay was certainly better and she hadn't had to shoot anyone in months. The only downside was not working with and seeing her best friend, Detective Tess Vargas, every day as she had done since they graduated together from Police academy. Now she was no longer an officer of the law, but still chasing down the bad guys, as well as having access to resources that even the police couldn't tap in to.

Having washed away the grime accumulated with bagging bad guys in dingy alleys, Catherine donned her day attire, which looked remarkably similar to her work clothes, and tied her hair back from her face. Black suited her mood, the long black leather coat giving her some much needed bulk on her slender, almost fragile frame. Anyone who associated her size with weakness was usually put right within a few seconds of trying to get past her, her daily workouts keeping her fit and capable of taking on anyone foolish enough to try. She carried a knife in her steel-capped boots and a hand-held Taser in her coat pocket as well as a can of pepper spray, rape whistle and another knife in her bag when she carried one. No one was going to take Catherine Chandler by surprise or have the opportunity to carry her off without a fight. Some might call her paranoid, but she preferred the term prepared.

She rode the subway to her neighbourhood, a different location to where she lived a year ago, then hailed a cab. That apartment had been sold, the proceeds enabling the purchase of the building she currently occupied and financed all the changes she'd needed to make. The cabby dropped her off and she walked the few feet to the front roller door of her customised home. The area was largely made up of workshops and small business tending towards the industrial rather than commercial. At night it was quiet once business was closed for the day. Unlocking the roller door she lifted it up and ducked inside, lowering it again and locking it behind her. She flipped on the lights and started up the steps that occupied the narrow entrance hallway. On the first floor she unlocked her front door and walked inside, careful to bolt it again before turning to face her living space. Her coat she left hanging on an old fashioned coat rack along with her scarf and beanie. The space was narrow but ran the full width of the building from front to back. A cantilevered stair that appeared suspended in space led up to the next level above the lounge and dinning, a kitchen off to the side. The wooden floors echoed to her boot falls as she walked over to the entertainment center and switched on the wall mounted television to catch the latest news. The place was sparsely furnished but what was there was good quality, though not fussy or opulent. The coffee table bore the scars of her boot heels where she sat with her feet up and watched the screen-in-screen display most nights. There was little of softness in the apartment, the style more grunge industrial than New York chic.

After a rummage in the fridge for something to eat and drink, Catherine pressed the button on her answer machine and listened to the messages. Her security system blinked for her attention and she listened with half an ear to the messages while she checked the code displayed on the system panel. Some one had tried to break into her bedroom again, the toughened glass probably broken, but they hadn't managed to get any further than some token vandalism. The mesh screens on her windows were proof against any intruders not carrying a gas axe. And even then they'd have to haul the tanks up three flights of narrow fire escape to make the attempt. Given how spartan her bedroom was it hardly seemed likely that anyone other than an opportunist would bother to try. If someone looked in the window they'd see nothing worth stealing. There were no lap tops visible, not even a PC on show, the television was big but it wasn't a recent model and hidden in a recess. There were no obvious personal effects for anyone to covet, they were all behind locked cupboard doors or in storage.

Catherine decided to investigate the window later. The voice of her former partner, Tess, was telling her something and she paused in her preparation of some vegetables to listen. Whatever it was, it could wait until she'd eaten. With the vegetables cooking she opened a bottle of wine and poured herself a generous glassful, carrying it over to the couch and thumbing the remote to take the television off mute.

After washing up the few dishes she returned to the answer-phone and ran the messages again. Tess's voice came on and she turned up the volume.

"Cat, it's Tess. I know we have a date for this Wednesday, but I need you to come to Bellevue. I have a case I think you'll want to look into. Call me."

Picking up her smart-phone she checked her messages, several of them from Tess, all of them about some mysterious case she just had to check out, but with little information to go on.

To find out what it was all about she would simple have to go and see for herself.

She met Tess in the foyer of the Bellevue, the soaring glass walls spilling bright sunshine on to the floor as they approached the bank of elevators to reach the upper levels.

"So what is this all about?" Catherine asked, her eyes never still as she searched the faces of the people milling around the huge expanse.

"Can you relax?" Tess chided. "There aren't any bad guys here."

They entered the lift and Tess pushed the button. Catherine leant back against the metal rail and watched the numbers. "So you're going to keep this a deep, dark secret until the last moment, huh?"

Tess shrugged. "Believe me, it's better this way. I don't want you to get all excited only to have your hopes dashed...again."

Catherine instantly stiffened. "What are you saying?"

"Nothing. It's probably nothing, but I have a buddy in the special victims unit who passed the information on to me, knowing I might have an interest in the case."

"Special Victims? What aren't you telling me?"

The lift chimed and the doors opened. They stepped out and Catherine baulked, seeing the signs pointing to different departments.

"Mental health ward?" she queried, casting Tess an incredulous look.

"Don't get your panties in a knot. He was picked up off the street, the victim of a hit and run the officer's think. He's in a pretty bad way. He might not even last the night, but I thought you should see for yourself."

Catherine stopped walking and stood in the middle of the corridor. "You think it's Vincent."

Tess stopped and turned to face her. "I don't know, but there are some things about this that don't add up, and also he seems to fit our description."

Catherine closed her eyes for a moment, a pounding starting somewhere at the back of her skull.

"The last one fit our description as well, and he wasn't even close."

"Yeah, sorry about that." Tess shrugged and looked apologetic. "The boys at the ninth are idiots and couldn't describe their own mothers accurately"

"And what makes this one any different?" Catherine asked, her arms folded over her chest defensively.

"No fingerprints." Tess replied tersely.

Catherine nodded and they started walking again, Tess flashing her badge when they reached a secure ward, the doors hissing open and closing with a dull finality behind them. The nurse had directed them to a room and they knocked before entering. Inside a nurse was checking the machinery hooked up to a male laying quiet and still in the bed. Apart from the beep of the heart and blood pressure monitor, the room was silent.

Tess showed her badge to the nurse who paused to offered a comment before leaving them alone.

"He looks a bit better now he's clean and shaved. Wouldn't have recognised my own father if he'd turned up looking like this one did. The clothes were positively alive." The nurse shuddered and left the room, the door swinging shut behind her.

The man lay perfectly still, only the regular rise and fall of his chest indicated any sign of life. His face was turned away from the door, a mop of over long, ragged hair hiding his profile. Tess approached the bed and picked up one of the man's lax hands, turning it over to inspect the finger tips. Sure enough the skin was quite smooth and without any whorls or lines to give him an identity. Catherine slowly walked around the end of the bed, noting the track lines on the inside of the man's arm, his general height and shape right, but he was too lean, too angular to be familiar. She approached the head of the bed, her feet dragging. She was looking at his left profile, so no scar to prove one way or the other. She reached out a hand to brush away his hair and see his face, her fingers trembling as she gently pushed the hank of hair away. Even before she could get a good look at his face the man clamped a steel hand around her wrist and stopped her. In the same moment he shot upright in bed, the sheet falling away from his naked chest to puddle at his waist, his other hand shooting out and grabbing Catherine by the throat and pulling her forward so that her face was now inches from his.

"Let her go!" Tess had her gun out and pointing it at the man, her eyes widening as the man suddenly bridged the gap between himself and Catherine's startled face and kissed her full on the lips. Catherine didn't react for a second, taken completely by surprise, but then whatever strength the man had drained away, and she was able to break his hold easily. He fell back on the pillows, his lips peeling back from his teeth as a laugh issued from his mouth, his eye wild and flicking from side to side. Catherine backed away, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

The man suddenly turned his head away from her exposing the right hand side of his face, the livid scar an unmistakable mark identifying exactly who he was.

Catherine backed away from the bed, her expression shocked, shaking her head in denial. The man was once more quiet, his hands laying palm upwards on the bed covers, his eyes closed, just as before. Now his face was in full view and there was no denying his true identity. It shouted at her and mocked her, daring her to accept that this wreck of a man was the one she professed to love above all other, who was snatched away from her a year ago, the same man she had been trying to get over and put in her past.

Fat chance of that happening now.

.x. break .x. break .x. break .x.

Tess had gone home hours ago, but Catherine simply couldn't leave. She flipped through the slim folder that contained what facts were known about the man in room fifteen. It was precious little.

He had been found by a member of the public in an alley around third and east twenty fourth street who reported it to the local precinct. It was supposed he was a vagrant that had either been hit by a vehicle while sleeping in the street, probably drunk, or been robbed by locals and left for dead.

He had no identification on him, no labels on his filthy clothes or fingerprints. They hadn't run facial recognition, preferring to wait for him to wake and tell them who he was. His physical condition was not much better. He was malnourished, suffering from lice and fleas, had contusions and bruising consistent with either a hit and run or being kicked and punched repeatedly. There were also old bruises, grazes and numerous scars over his entire body, including a surgical scar on his abdomen, the most prominent being the one on his face plus, not only was he missing his fingerprints but one or two teeth as well. Apart from the injuries old and new he had no other identifying marks like a tattoo or birthmark to help give him a name.

Catherine knew his name, knew pretty much all there was to know if she felt like being forthcoming. This man with his track lines and wasted frame was the man she'd given her heart to, who'd been snatched away from her, leaving her bereft with no way for her to follow or find him.

Scrubbing at the sudden moisture in her eyes, she flipped over another page and studied his blood work. Being familiar with the results she'd seen in Evans work two years ago she expected to see the same before her, but that wasn't the case. Wherever he had been, and whatever they had done to him, Vincent Keller was no longer carrying corrupted DNA in his blood. The results were what was expected for someone in his condition, high white cell count and slight anaemia Other than that he was one hundred percent normal. Something else the test showed that refuted the track lines. Vincent Keller had no identifiable drugs – legal or otherwise - or alcohol in his system. Catherine read and re-read the results to make sure she hadn't missed anything.

She hadn't.

Vincent Keller, former medical intern, dead soldier, secret experimental cross-species DNA recipient and decade long fugitive from Muirfield was a normal human male in his early thirties.

Lowering the folder she stared at the figure in the bed and tried to equate the bit and pieces with the man she thought she knew and used to love.

Who was she kidding? She had never stopped loving him, it had just become harder and harder to remember his face, remember his smile, his touch, his taste. She knew what he looked like, but she'd forgotten how he felt, how he smelled, the exact colour of his eyes, the way he held his mouth, the way the scar wrinkled when he smiled. Her dreams tormented her with snatches of information, the feel of his weight on her, the texture of his skin, fading memories of making love and waking up together. It had seemed so unforgettable and intense at the time she couldn't believe it when she started to forget, those images and memories fading and becoming as insubstantial as ghosts. They were supposed to be forever, branded into her to never fade away.

But that wasn't the reality. There was a vast difference between loving someone and being in love with someone. Being in love was intoxicating, invigorating, there was nothing like it. Every day was new and exciting, the anticipation of seeing that person magnified with almost unbearable tension and longing. Each touch, each kiss was loaded with nuance and meaning, each look shared and savoured until the next time they came together.

All that had come to an end the night he was taken from her, the night his enemies stole him away never to be seen again, until now.

The man in the bed stirred and she got up out of the chair, leaving the folder behind before walking to the side of the bed, keeping out of his reach this time. As she watched, he seemed to be struggling to wake up, his eyes moving rapidly behind his eyelids, his head moving restlessly on the pillows. She wanted to touch him, sooth him but clenched her fist instead, holding her arm rigidly by her side. As before he lurched upright in bed, eyes wide open but staring into nothing. Catherine stepped back, the movement attracting his attention, his eyes swivelling to meet hers, an expression crossing his face of bewilderment and confusion. This time he didn't grab for her but reached a hand up to touch his own face, panic making him struggle to breath. He looked around the room, then down at himself and finally his gaze came back to hers.

"Where am I?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"In Bellevue hospital." Catherine answered. "New York city." she added to clarify.

"New York?" Vincent asked, his brow creased as if he couldn't understand the words.

"Yeah. Do you know who you are? Do you know your name?" she asked, her tone neutral.

"My name?" he repeated, staring down at his hands, turning them over as if he'd never seen them before. "I don't...I can't...do I have a name?"

Catherine tried to calm her racing heart. "What's the last thing you remember?"

She could see he was trying to think, trying to find a memory to hang on to, but it was simply not there, Vincent shaking his head. "I don't know." He scrunched up his eyes. "I can't see anything."

Catherine raised her hand as if to comfort him but ruthlessly squashed the urge and lowered it again. "Don't push, they'll return in time. I can tell you, you do have a name. It's Vincent."

He looked at her with something akin to hope. "I have a name? You know me?"

Catherine reined in her emotions. "I used to know you, but I haven't seen you for over a year."

"Did I go somewhere?" he asked.

"You were taken away, but I don't know where you went."

"Who took me away?"

"An organisation called Muirfield." Catherine told him, hoping the name might jog something loose in his brain, but his reaction refuted this.

"I don't know that name. Did I work for them?"

Catherine sighed. "Not exactly. Look, don't worry, I'm sure your memory will return."

He looked up at her, panic obvious in his agitated movements. "What if it doesn't?"

He sounded so lost and unsure her resolve to keep her distance simply melted. Whatever had happened to him, he was at the mercy of his amnesia, not able to remember anything about himself or his recent history. Taking pity on him she approached the bed and perched on the edge. She decided to risk it and took hold of his hand, linking her cool fingers with his.

"Then you'll have to face that, if it happens. For now you need to rest and regain your strength as well as recover from your injuries. You're safe here." She felt tremors shake his fingers as he drew in a deep breath to calm his panic.

"I have a name, the rest will follow." He said it like a mantra, his other hand plucking at the covers.

Catherine disentangled their hands, needing to put some space between them both physically and mentally.

"I have to go now, but I'll be back tomorrow. Don't push too hard to remember stuff, it'll come back when it's ready." She made to go but he called her back.

"I don't know your name?"

She turned back and gave him a small, tight smile. "Catherine, my name is Catherine." She watched as his lips moved while he tried her name out silently for himself. Mentally dragging herself away she walked out without looking back, her face impassive.

Yes, she would be back tomorrow. Wild horses couldn't keep her away now.

She had time owing so her employer's HR department only put up a token protest at the short notice.