A/N: Right…so for those who are wondering where the rest of "For No Miser's Sake" is, well, this fic is at least partly to blame for the delay (the biggest culprit being my continued need to pay bills/eat. Lame!). And this weekend, I figured I may as well just finish the damn thing up and post it so the plot bunny responsible will finally leave me alone.

Anyway, it's my first BatB with both V and C in it (except the WFOL round robin chapter, but I'm not sure they were together for a full two pages in that), so concrit is very much welcome. I know the story's a bit wandering, having been written so sporadically in the middle of a completely unrelated fic, but hopefully I've patched up the holes enough that you can pretend not to notice ;-P And there are definitely some parts in here that I'm really pleased with, so…enjoy!

Part I

He found her in his chamber, in his chair, with her fingers flat against his table to keep the pages, fragments from a sketchpad, from curling in on themselves. He knew those pages, had hoped they would remain tightly rolled and forgotten in his trunk as they had through summer and now into the final days of autumn, but clearly it was not to be. She went through the drawings with the warm contentment of touching cherished memories while he watched her from his own doorway, and his unease grew by the moment.

"I still don't see what disturbs you about these," she said without looking up; whether she had become attuned to listening for his soft step or if it was a new sensitivity to the bond that so often alerted her to his approach now, he didn't ask. It was a sweet mystery that he didn't like to prod, lest it bruise and wilt under his touch. Her smile grew as she uncovered the next sketch; she had found her favorite, the one that tightened his stomach unpleasantly even now, just knowing it was there. "How can you see anything but perfection in this one?"

"There is perfection in that drawing," he agreed, stepping into the chamber enough to claim the space, but not enough to approach her. "But the lie of it is cruel."

She looked up at him, sharply, her green eyes wide with surprise for a bare moment before narrowing. "I see no lie in it."

"You see what you wish to see," he answered gruffly, in reference to more than just the drawing. He wasn't sure why everything threatened to turn into an argument lately, for all that he felt so blessed by her every visit, and so grateful for the relative peace they had shared since his illness. For half a year, they'd known little life-threatening danger, and while Fate had never actually been very kind, she seemed to have lost interest in the overt tortures that had defined so much of their first two years together. But now he found them at cross purposes again and again, with her insistence that his recovery had proven that they could move forward, that they must move forward, and his certainty that the illness had only proven how real and near the dangers were.

"I see a drawing," she answered. "I see what Marty put on paper, what Marty saw. And I see no cruelty in it. Only love."

"For all the power that love has, it cannot change facts. The drawing is beautiful, Catherine. It's the reality that is flawed." He swept one hand out to his side, inviting her to examine the reality. "The beauty of the lie only makes the unalterable truth crueler by comparison."

"What truth, Vincent?"

She knew what truth; they had had this conversation in a hundred different permutations in as many days.

"Come here and show me the cruel lines," she continued, baiting him openly. "I can't seem to find them."

"Catherine, I don't want to argue. Not when our time together is so limited—"

"Your limits, Vincent, not mine."

The harshness of her rebuke stung, and he turned his face away.

She sighed and stood, coming around the table to stand in front of him. "I'm sorry. I don't want to argue about this again, either. You only see darkness where I see possibility. I see your fears, Vincent. I've tried to understand them. Why can't you even acknowledge the possibility of joy that I see? Why is it that every time you imagine our future, it's twisted and dark?"

"There are things in me that are twisted and dark. They would…infect you, if I lost control. You are so beautiful, Catherine, so full of light, if I ever allowed myself to tarnish your beauty, to suppress your radiance, I could not bear it."

She stroked his brow with her fingertips before resting her palm against his cheek. It was a bold touch, both tender and heated, skin against skin. "I've seen your darkness. And the light you see in me, it all comes from you. I'd share it with you, if you would let me in. I'm not afraid, Vincent."

He closed his eyes against the intoxication of her touch, of her words. "The risk—"

"I know the risks. I've seen the risks."

"Then you cannot deny the need for caution."

"This isn't caution, Vincent. This is…this is stagnation."

In silence, they left the conversation and the drawings there, both intent on sharing each other's company, even if in confinement.