A/N: Thanks for all the encouraging reviews! You guys are amazing! I also want to think all the people that searched past episodes to find Mr. Chandler's first name, but to keep up with consistency, his name in this is still Howard. I really do appreciate the help though! Thanks!

Chapter 8: The Visitor

The snow had started falling in earnest now, but Vincent and Catherine were warm and dry, lying on the floor beside the fire. They'd barely moved all morning.

And what an enjoyable morning it had been!

They'd talked for hours… and kissed… and talked some more… and kissed… and explored…

Things hadn't gotten too erotic; Vincent was taking her seriously and she was starting to regret ever asking to take things slow. But he somehow managed to make the waiting so enjoyable that she couldn't complain. He teased her, running his hand up her shirt but stopping just short of the prize. Or working her up into a frenzy, only to pull back just as she thought she couldn't take anymore.

But now they were simply lying there, enjoying the feel of having each other. It all felt too surreal, like a dream she was about to wake up from. When she thought about it too much, she couldn't deny that they had several urgent problems that had to be dealt with before they could move forward.

For one, they'd been waiting all day for him to black out again – which, thankfully, he hadn't. That was a mystery in itself. What had triggered it that in the first place? How did they keep it from happening again?

Then there was the possibility that her father was the enemy. It seemed too unlikely to be true. She'd been to his office countless times; seen the stacks of cases his law firm had to work through. What would he have to do with a secret sector of the government?

That brought her back to Muirfield who was the biggest problem.

"Stop thinking," Vincent ordered, a broad smile coming across his face.

"How did you know I was thinking?"

"I can practically hear those gears turning in your head. Just relax. No worrying, remember?"

"I'm sorry. I'll stop now."

She rested her head back under his chin, hearing his heart beating out a steady rhythm. Yes, not thinking was wonderful.

But just as she was getting comfortable again, Vincent's head shot up.

"What is it," she asked, taking in his serious expression.

"There's a car turning down the driveway. An SUV, I think."

"A car? This is private property. Why would a car be coming through here?" She immediately regretted asking that question, knowing the answers were too ghastly to think about.

She could hear it now too as it rolled to a stop in front of the cabin.

"Go to the back. I'll answer the door," she insisted, standing up and moving to retrieve her gun.

"You want me to go hide," he asked incredulously.

"Yes, I do! It might just be some guy who got lost, but if it's not, you can't be seen. So go!"

He wasn't happy about it, but when the doorbell rang, he disappeared into one of the bedrooms. Hesitantly, Catherine made her way to the door, keeping the hand with her gun behind the door.

On the other side was a man maybe in his late twenties – if even that – wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. He smiled broadly at her.

"Hi. Um, sorry to bother you, but my GPS quit on me. I was hoping you could give me directions to town," he asked. His voice was pleasant enough, but there was something about his eyes that made her suspicious. They never stopped moving, as if he expected to be ambushed.

"Sure, it's not far. Just–"

"Actually, I was hoping I could come inside. My hands are too numb to write them down out here."

She considered him for a moment; he wasn't overly tall or big. She could take him.

"Okay, sure."

She opened the door, shoving her gun into her belt at the back. As long as she didn't turn around, he wouldn't see it. Instead of leading him into the living room, she reached into her purse on the kitchen counter and handed him paper and a pen, keeping him close to the door.

"Like I said, it's not far." She relayed the instructions, noting that he was only paying enough attention to write them down. His over-active eyes were surveying the room, probably noting the men's jacket thrown over the back of a chair or the plates piled in the sink from breakfast.

"Easy enough," she asked, smiling warmly at him as if she'd noticed nothing.

"Yeah. Thanks so much for the help."

"It's no problem."

She was just moving to open the door for him when he made to shove the directions in his pocket, making a severe rookie mistake. As he went for his pocket, he raised his shirt up just enough that she could see the tip of his gun. She was sure just from that single glimpse that it was a police issue.

He must have realized his mistake, because when he met her eyes again, there was a hard edge to his young face.

"So, you work for the police department up here… or are you undercover," she asked with narrowed eyes.

"You could say that. Thanks again for the directions."

He threw the door open and stepped back out into the snow without a backwards glance and Catherine shut the door behind him, watching as he climbed into his car and drove off.

"Think he was Muirfield," Vincent asked, appearing suddenly behind her and making her jump.

"I don't know. Maybe. That was a police issued gun, I'm sure of it. Do you think we should leave? He saw your jacket. What if he sends another team up here after you?"

He sighed, his face falling. "Yeah, I guess we sh–"

His attention was suddenly focused on the window, and she could tell he was listening intently to something too far off for her to hear.

"What is it? Are there more?"

"No. I think he just crashed his car."

Catherine didn't know whether to laugh or groan. If he really was Muirfield, it served him right. But that would also mean he wasn't leaving anytime soon and she had some more acting to do.

"I'm going out there to see what's going on," Vincent suggested, grabbing his jacket and pulling it on.

"What? You can't! What if he sees you?"

"He won't see me. Trust me. I'll be right back."

He was gone before she could utter another word in protest and the house was too quiet in his absence. She took up a position at the window, watching the snow continue to fall as she counted the seconds.

And then, in the quiet of the house, she distinctly heard the back door open. Pulling her gun from her belt, she made her way towards the sun room, which was just off the living room. There was no sound of movement. When she finally made it to the back door, the room appeared empty.

Before she could even register how it happened – a hand came over her mouth and another snatched the gun from her hand. She struggled futilely as the man backed her into the wall, pinning her against his body.

Looking up, she stared into a set of familiar green eyes that were alight with humor and excitement at her predicament. Slowly, he removed the hand from her face, challenging her with his eyes to make a move. She didn't… yet.

"Who are you," she asked, feeling the firmness of the wall at her back and wishing she could take a step away from him.

"Let's just say I'm not here to kill you. I think we can wait for your boyfriend before we dive into the rest." He made his way into the living room, her gun dangling from his hand, and collapsed into a chair by the fire with a coy smile on his face.

What was she supposed to do now?

~BATB~

This was easier than he'd expected. JT sat with Heather on the couch, going through picture after picture; deciding which looked best for a collage and which belonged in a scrap pile. She'd just given him some of the best news he'd heard in weeks and he couldn't stop smiling.

Apparently, she'd finally broken up with her boyfriend.

"We were just so wrong together. He never wanted to go do anything, just stay in the bedroom. Do you know how boring the bedroom can get after weeks, no matter what you're doing?"

"That's not a phrase a guy wants to hear."

"Well, for him it's true. I think I deserve a little wining and dining."

"I agree. Diamonds too. A car, maybe."

"Are you making fun of me," she asked incredulously, almost making him laugh at her kitten-like anger.

"No. Well, maybe a little. I'm sure you'll find the right guy who will adore you and do anything for you."

"Is that what you do for my sister?"

That took him completely off guard. "Your sister? What do you mean?"

"Oh, come on. I guessed she had a secret boyfriend a long time ago. Personally, if it was me, I would have brought you out in the open at the beginning. You're a real catch."

His mind completely left him in that instant. On the one hand, he was incredibly excited that she thought he was a catch. But on the other… she really thought he and Catherine were dating?!

"N-no, no. It's not like that, I swear! We're just friends – just friends."

"Really," she inquired, a smile donning her face that said she didn't believe him in the slightest.

"Really. We're just friends."

She considered that for a moment, studying him to see if he was telling the truth. "Are you sure Cat feels the same way?"

"Absolutely. Nothing romantic has ever occurred between us."

"Okay… well, in that case, how would you like to be my date to my dad's wedding? You'll be much better company than Josh."

"S-sure! I'd love to."

Had that actually happened? He couldn't decide which was the stronger emotion, giddiness or trepidation. It had been a long time since he'd been out on a date. And what if it went further than that? What if he wound up really liking her; how long could he lie to her before he'd lose her?

The door bell rang, bringing him back to the present and Heather ran off to answer the door.

"Dad? What are you doing here," she asked. Her dad? JT spun around on the couch to see Mr. Chandler walking through the door and eyeing him with suspicion.

"Can't a father check up on his own daughter?"

"I'm a grown woman. Besides, shouldn't you be checking up on your fiancé? Isn't that what soon-to-be married people do, surprise each other?"

"I just don't like the idea of you being here all by yourself. Though, I see now that isn't the case."

JT stood as Mr. Chandler walked up to the couch and extended his hand.

"Howard Chandler, but you can call me Mr. Chandler," he introduced, and Heather gave an eye roll.

"Uh, JT Forbes. It's nice to meet you, sir." Why did this suddenly feel like high school all over again?

"JT Forbes? The same JT that saved my Catherine?"

"Yes, sir."

He wasn't sure what to expect by the way Mr. Chandler was eyeing him, but a smile soon broke across his face.

"Well, then, I'm glad I met you. Thank you so much for what you did for my daughter."

"Your welcome. I'm just glad she's okay."

"I do have some questions, though."

"Daddy, don't," Heather begged, but realized it was pointless and sat down with a sigh beside JT.

"It's nothing rude. Heather here says that Catherine called you that night, is that right?" JT nodded, now officially sweating bullets. "It just seems funny that Catherine, who has numerous police officers on speed dial, would call a college professor to come save her."

JT took a quick second to check his facial expression, making sure nothing about him screamed liar.

"I don't think she meant to. I think someone dialed my number by accident and when she realized what had happened, she screamed out her location," he lied, keeping his face as light and honest as possible.

"And you didn't think to call the cops at that time?"

"I wasn't thinking straight. My only thought was to get to her and help her. I didn't realize the danger she was in."

"And, how is it that you knew how to save her life? I don't believe being a professor in Biochemistry prepared you for that."

Really? Had this guy thought of every angle? "I'm also a medical researcher. I have some basic knowledge. I mean, you see someone bleeding, you try and stem the blood flow."

"Are you done," Heather asked her dad impatiently.

"Almost. How long have you known Catherine?"

If only he could be a mentally unstable beast, then he would have an excuse to throw this infuriating man through a window! "Not long. We met while she was on a case and we've just… kind of been talking ever since."

Mr. Chandler looked thoughtful now, but he asked no more questions.

"Well, I guess I better head back. I'm glad you're doing okay, Heather, but if you need anything, just call," he instructed his daughter, dropping a kiss on her head before making his way out the door.

"I am so sorry about that," Heather apologized. "He's usually very nice."

"Its fine," he lied, and quickly sat on his hands to stop them from shaking.

~BATB~

Vincent found the car easily enough, smashed up against a tree. But there was no one inside. In fact, the door looked like it had been ripped from its hinges. But… what had the force to do that aside from… him?

He cast around for any sign of a struggle, but the snow was barely disturbed. And then the metallic scent of blood reached his sensitive nostrils. It seemed to be coming from above him and when he turned his gaze into the trees, he spotted the very man who had just moments before been talking to Catherine… now dead and bleeding.

His hands were shaking, not from anger over this man, but from the fear that he'd just left Catherine completely alone in that cabin.

He took off at a run so fast he blurred with speed and tore into the cabin to see Catherine standing in the middle of the living room staring at a mysterious man sitting by the fire.

"I'm guessing your Vincent. Now we can get started," the man exclaimed, jumping from the chair and making his way towards them, all the while whirling Catherine's gun around on his finger.

Vincent immediately pulled Catherine behind him, ready to fight or whisk her away at a moment's notice.

"Who are you," was all Vincent could think to ask.

"Alec. And if you haven't already guessed, we have a lot in common."

"What do you mean?" He already had an idea exactly what he meant, just from the damage done to that door, but he wanted to hear him confirm it.

Instead of answering, Alec casually picked up a fire poker and with hardly any force, bent it in his bare hands. Catherine gasped.

"Is that explanation enough?"

"He's… he's like you," she breathed. "He's the same guy that tossed me my gun that day."

"Beauty and brains. Great combination, by the way." Alec winked at her, causing the beast inside Vincent to let loose a terrible roar inside his head.

"How is this possible? I was the only survivor in Afghanistan."

"Do I look like someone ready to give up my life for this country," Alec scoffed, tossing the fire poker on the floor. "Great cabin by the way. I really love the exposed beams."

His voice was so calm and light; it was as if he was just an old friend dropping by for a visit. It was in complete contrast with Vincent who was watching him like a hawk. As he admired the cabin, Alec tossed the gun up into the air and caught it deftly in one hand as if it were a toy.

"You might want to be careful where you aim that thing," Catherine warned, eyeing the gun with unease.

He only smiled wider. "I can see this is a problem." Expertly, he unloaded the gun, tossing the bullets to one side of the room before crushing the gun in one hand and dropping it to the floor.

"There," he exclaimed, "not that I actually needed a weapon."

"You never answered my questions," Vincent reminded him. "How is it possible?"

"Now, now; I can't divulge all my secrets just like that. Besides, I came to help you. You could be a little more grateful."

"Help me? I find that hard to believe."

"Really? Because you're life's going so smooth. You're in hiding with a death sentence hanging over your head. Of course, there are the perks." At that statement, Alec's eyes roamed over Catherine – or, at least the parts of her Vincent wasn't blocking from view.

"You said you're here to help him. Help him how," Catherine asked, placing a calming hand on Vincent's arm. His hands had started shaking and he was glaring daggers at Alec.

"From what I've noticed, the black outs have started."

This took Vincent by surprise. "How do you know about that?"

"It's not every day you stumble across another screwed up genetic experiment. I was curious."

"And that's what brought you here, curiosity," Catherine asked, the hint of sarcasm clear in her voice.

"Like I said, I'm not here to discuss my back story. But if you'd like to know the key to ridding yourself of the memory loss problem, I'm happy to help."

"And what's in it for you," Vincent asked, still tense. He certainly didn't trust this man and he wanted him as far away from Catherine as possible.

"All will be explained with time. Although, I can think of one very sweet way you can repay me." Alec's eyes darted meaningfully to Catherine, who scoffed and looked away.

But this had finally pushed the beast in Vincent over the edge and in a rush of movement, he had Alec pinned against the wall with his hand around his throat.

"You're staying away from her," Vincent ordered.

To his surprise, Alec smirked and launched both himself and Vincent off the wall and to the floor where he stood with his foot on Vincent's throat, cutting off his air.

"Stop it! What are you doing," Catherine shouted, rushing over, but Vincent yanked Alec's foot from his neck and sent him landing hard on his back.

Vincent felt the features of his face shift as the beast took over and he was suddenly pulling Alec from the floor by his collar and tossing him effortlessly into the wall.

"Vincent stop," Catherine yelled, but all he could think about was ripping out the throat of the man in front of him. "Vincent, listen to me. Stop!"

Her voice was breaking through, but it was the laugher coming from Alec that really had the beast retracting.

"You have a lot to learn," Alec taunted.

Vincent's now human eyes found Catherine, horrified by the damage they'd done with her mere inches away.

"Now," Alec continued, re-adjusting his shirt. "Would you like my help before you kill the woman of your dreams?"

A/N: I know hardly any questions were answered, but Alec is a very tight-lipped guy. I can promise a few explanations in the next chapter, but you should be warned… he's also a liar!