Beauty and the Thief

Chapter 8: All-Nighter

Unfortunately, Catherine returned home that evening with two tons of paperwork and a frazzled expression. Even after she had installed herself at her writing desk and begun to concentrate on poring through various important documents, Catherine's stress was so palpable that it was driving Vincent crazy. He was trying to read his book, hoping to sit with her in companionable silence as she worked, but he lost his focus every time she sighed in frustration or rubbed her temples or had an anxious thought. Eventually closed the book, stood up, and started pacing back and forth, which, of course, did not improve her mood.

"Vincent, can you please sit still? I'm trying to concentrate," she snapped.
He was somewhat shocked at her anger. "I apologize, Catherine," he said, softly, formally. Hearing the hurt in his voice, she sighed and turned to him.

"I'm sorry, Vincent. I didn't mean to be harsh. I've got a lot on my plate."

"I know, Catherine. I'm sorry. It's just…"

"What?" she asked, curious. Vincent was usually so composed and controlled – it wasn't like him to fidget.

"I can feel how worn out and anxious you are, and it makes me… restless," he confessed, unconsciously running his hand through his hair.

"Oh." She hadn't thought of that. She often forgot about the downsides of Vincent's unusual empathy. "I'm sorry. I should have realized." She looked at him, a little sadly. "Maybe you should go out for a little bit. It's plenty dark, and you've been cooped up in here for a while." She smiled. "Go climb a skyscraper or run around the park or something. At least one of us should have a chance to use up our nervous energy."

He was surprised, and a little hurt that she was sending him away, but he worked hard not to show it. "Perhaps…" he trailed off. Then an idea struck him, a way that he could perhaps help her. His mood lightened and he grinned. "Catherine, I think you're right."

"Oh, um… good. Yes, go, enjoy yourself." Catherine was a little taken aback that he had agreed so easily. She had half-expected him to refuse to leave her side, but that was a childish expectation, she knew. It would be good for him to get out, for a little while. She reached for his hand. "Just… be careful."

"Of course. I'll return by midnight, my dear." He squeezed her hand and then in a blink of an eye he was out onto the balcony.


The fresh, cool night air exhilarated Vincent as he leapt from Catherine's balcony to the fire escape. Her worries were like a quiet hum in his ears, but he felt better knowing that he was doing what he could to alleviate them. He rushed at full speed into the park, eager to be surrounded by the familiar scents of earth and trees, the familiar sounds of buzzing cicadas and rustling leaves. He easily located the entrance to the world Below, the hidden tunnel through which he had carried Catherine on the fateful night of her attack. Here, he hesitated. His plan depended on getting help from someone below, and he realized how futile that would be. A deep-seated fear of rejection nearly paralyzed him, but he steeled himself. If they refused to help him, he reasoned, it would only be because they were following Father's orders. In that case, he would be no worse off than he was already; so he might as well try. He banged loudly on the pipes.

Vincent was about to admit defeat and return to Catherine's when he heard hurried footsteps. Jamie rounded the corner, out of breath. "Vincent!" she exclaimed, running towards him excitedly. She began to ask him a question, but then she suddenly hesitated, looking down, embarrassed. Instantly, Vincent understood. She was happy to see him, he could tell, but she had remembered Father's sentence and was afraid or unwilling to break the law of the tunnels.

He spoke up, trying to ease her confusion and show that he was not hurt by her reaction. "Hello, Jamie. I know you are forbidden to speak with me, so don't worry. You don't have to say anything, but I need your help." Fear flashed in her mind, so he spoke again. "Don't be afraid - everything is fine."

She smiled at him, and he felt that she was agreeing to help him, if she could.

"I was hoping to bring Catherine some of her favorite tea. It's the special herbal tea, from Chinatown," he explained. "I would get it myself, but…"

She thought for a moment, then smiled and nodded. Gesturing for him to wait, she ran back into the darkness.


When Vincent returned, Catherine was still hunched over her desk, concentrating intensely. He had hoped that her mood would have improved along with his, but clearly that was not the case. She barely even looked up when he came into the room.

"Catherine," he whispered. "I'm back."

It felt natural then to place his hands on her shoulders; and when he felt the soreness and tenseness of the muscles there, it felt inevitable that he should begin to press down, massaging her, moving his hands in small, gentle circles. She let out a contented sigh and he felt her begin to relax, physically as well as mentally, and it gave him the courage to begin to work on the back of her neck, enjoying the feeling of her bare skin beneath his fingers. She leaned forward, her head almost lying on the desk in front of her, and he eagerly moved to stroke along her spine, to knead the muscles in her shoulder blades and lower back. With every moment that passed her pleasure at his touch became more visceral, intoxicating his every sense. He felt a haze descend over his rational mind. This was the only thing in the universe.

Too soon, far too soon, he felt her stir beneath his hands. "Vincent," she murmured, sounding groggy. "Vincent, you have to stop."

He felt like he had been doused in ice water. His hands flew away from her and he stepped backwards. "Did I… did I do something wrong?"

"No! No, that was wonderful, Vincent, truly. But to be honest, you were… um… distracting me again." She blushed.

"I see…" he said, feeling embarrassed but willing himself to speak. "Catherine, please, I don't want to burden you. I want to help you. Tell me what I can do."

She looked at him, speculating. "Well, would you by any chance…" she trailed off, second-guessing herself. "Oh, never mind, never mind."

"What is it Catherine? Please tell me how I can help. I want to, honestly," he entreated her.

"Well… do you know how to proofread?"

He was excited that she had thought of something for him to do. "I suppose so. I teach grammar and spelling to the children, Below."

"Yes, I know," she said, smiling. "You could probably teach me a few things. Well, actually, these pages all need to be proof-read," she said, and gestured to a large stack of fat manila folders with papers spilling out of them.

Vincent didn't need to be told twice. He grabbed a folder off the pile, took a pen from her desk, and settled down on the couch. Catherine beamed at him. She had been hesitant to accept his offer of help, but having a second pair of eyes tonight was a huge relief.

"Should I make us some coffee?" she asked.

He had almost forgotten! Vincent stood up and went to the kitchen. "Stay right where you are," he told her, and she complied, confused. Soon she was surrounded by a familiar, comforting aroma. It was the tea he had always made for her, when she first came Below.

"Vincent? Is this what you went out for?" she asked, delighted. "How did you get it?"

"Jamie brought it to me," he said. He poured her a cup and brought it over to her. She wrapped her hands around the mug and inhaled the fragrant steam.

As she sipped the beverage, Vincent could feel her stress melting away and her confidence returning, and he smiled to himself.

"Come over here," demanded Catherine. She gestured for him to lean down towards him and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, placing a soft kiss on his cheek, a kiss that left him giddy and reeling. As he went back to his work, reading through legal briefs in search of typos and missing commas, he found himself fighting a powerful impulse to compose sonnets to her lips in the margins of each page.


After hours of work, Catherine's body and mind began to reach their limit. She didn't even realize that she was drifting off until she heard Vincent's voice in her ear and felt his hand on her cheek. She tried to open her eyes to see him, but her lids fell closed again before she could bring the world into focus.

"You're falling asleep, Catherine. Let me take you to your bed."

She thought about protesting, but her mind was molasses and before she could say anything he had gathered her up into his arms. His soft, warm embrace instantly banished all of her objections, and she was so comfortable she actually fell asleep again on the way from the living room to the bed. She had a vague awareness of him tucking her in, and then she slept.


Vincent stayed and watched her for a long time before reluctantly turning to leave. Asleep, Catherine's anxiety had all but vanished; still, he was restless. Every day he spent with her brought them closer together. The emotional closeness brought him nothing but joy; the physical closeness elicited a more… complicated reaction. Every day he became more aware of her body, of her touch, and the cravings they awakened in him left him both frightened and exhilarated. He was frozen on the precipice of something he couldn't define, and he had no idea where to go from here or what his next move should be.

Unable to come to any sort of decision or satisfy his racing thoughts, Vincent chose to dispose of his extra energy by helping Catherine finish her work. He was a skillful editor and an efficient typist, and throughout the night, the only thing that ever distracted him was the whisper of Catherine's dreams.


Thanks to KrisJean97 for reviewing Chapter 7! To all my readers: please remember to send me a review and tell me what you think! It makes a huge difference to actually hear from people. Thanks!