They returned to the tunnels at dusk -- Vincent was still wearing the plaid shirt she'd bought him, but he'd slipped into his cloak and he had the hood flipped up over his head. It was impossible to tell that there was anything different about him.

He led the way to Father's library, but didn't quite make it there before running into someone. Mary hailed him, "Oh, Vincent, do you have a moment to help me carry the laundry up? It should be dry by now."

He hesitated. Then he said, "Mary, something has happened."

She stopped, and looked keenly at the cloaked figure of the man she'd known since infancy. Vincent hesitantly reached shaking fingers up and pushed his hood back.

Mary recoiled. "You're not Vincent!"

"Wait!" he said.

"Wait!" Catherine echoed, in almost the same instant. "Mary, he is. It's something wonderful ..."

"... something uncanny," Vincent said, sounding a good bit less thrilled than Catherine had expected.

Mary hesitated. He sounded like Vincent. And, when Catherine looked sideways at him, she saw his body language was exactly like it should be.

"It is me," Vincent said, quietly, "Mary, would Catherine bring a stranger here?"

Mary crept closer, eyes wide. "Vincent?"

"Magic. It was magic." Vincent closed his eyes, as, disbelievingly, she touched his face.

"Vincent, this is amazing."

"That's pretty much what my reaction was," Catherine said. "Isn't it astonishing how he looks like Vincent, still?"

"Yes." Mary studied him, critically. "His cheekbones are the same, I think. And the line of his jaw."

Vincent jerked his chin up, clearly uncomfortable with their scrutiny.

"Oh my God." Father's voice hit a peculiar note that Catherine had never heard before. "So it is true!"

Vincent spun about. "Father ..."

"God, Vincent, look at you." Father hurried closer. "What happened ..."

Vincent blushed.

Catherine blushed.

Father snorted. He'd known a kiss was supposed to free Vincent from their curse; any fool could tell by their reactions that it had gone beyond 'kissing.' "Nevermind. This is remarkable. Vincent, you could walk down a city street and nobody would ever look at you twice."

"He has," Catherine said. "Today."

Father gave them both the darkest of glares. "That was quite risky. You know nothing of the ... magic ... that touched him. What if something else happened?"

"Nothing happened," Vincent said, "Except that I had a sandwich at a cafe and we watched people walk by. It was very ..." he hesitated, "I think it was very normal."

--------

"No! Absolutely not!" A half hour later, after taking Vincent's vitals and a quick physical exam, Father found out about their plans to meet Catherine's friends for a movie.

"Why not?" Catherine asked, calmly.

"He doesn't know anything of the world above! He'll give himself away within the moment!" Father punctuated this statement by thumping his cane against the ground.

"He can learn," Catherine said, smiling at Vincent. "I'll teach him. There's so much I want to show him."

Vincent, uncharacteristically quiet during the argument, finally spoke up. "I'm not a fool, Father. And I know more than you would expect."

"You have duties, down here, anyway," Father said, after an exasperated sigh. "We need you tomorrow, all day, to work on the south tunnel repairs. We're worried about a collapse that might breach an active steam tunnel."

Vincent frowned. "That sounds serious."

"And you also promised to help with the children, and the Midsummer Night's Dream production. Just because you've ..." Father hesitated, "... you still have responsibilities, and you're still a part of this community. This changes nothing."

"Well," Catherine said, "except that you can have Vincent run errands in broad daylight now."

Father gave her a dirty look, eyes narrowing. She suddenly felt guilty, though she knew she had nothing to feel guilty for. She'd meant to be funny, but neither men were in laughing moods.

Vincent sighed. "He is right, Catherine. If that steam tunnel is breached, it could be disastrous. Anyone in the area might be badly hurt. And I did promise the children that I would help. Perhaps -- next weekend? Saturday?"

"I've assigned you kitchen duty that day, Vincent," Father said.

"That evening, then." Vincent turned to Catherine, and smiled, then said to Father, "Unless you have any other objections?"

He grumbled, but could find none other than to say he thought it was a very bad idea.

---------------

He walked her back to her apartment. He was sober, and unsmiling, and she said, "You're worried, aren't you?"

"Father thinks he could lose me," Vincent said, standing in her sub-basement. "He fears that I would leave the Tunnels, that I will be drawn away by the world above."

"That was pretty obvious, by his behavior," Catherine rested her head against his shoulder. "But the Tunnels are your life."

"Yes," he murmured. "That they are. Still ... I feel as if I have been given a golden key, allowing me to open many gates of possibilities. Perhaps he is right to worry about me. I am concerned, now, that I will grow foolhardy ..."

"You? Never."

He smiled, now. "Your faith in is awe-inspiring at times, Catherine."

And he kissed her. And it didn't matter what he looked like; to her, he was simply Vincent, and he was kissing her.

----------------

"Radcliffe!" Tuesday, two days later, Joe's voice broke her out of a pleasant daydream.

She blinked, and realized she'd been staring out the window for several minutes. Catherine turned her attention to Joe, who was smiling at her. "Thinking about someone?" he teased.

"Actually, yes," she confessed.

"Oh, this mystery boyfriend of yours?" he sipped his coffee. "The office betting pool is up to fifty bucks that you've got one."

"Vincent." She reached for the stack of folders on her desk. She needed to focus on work, and not daydream about muscular shoulders and a shy smile. It was Wednesday, and she hadn't seen him since Sunday night.

"Vincent? That's his name?" He studied at her over the top of his coffee. She wondered if he'd won or lost the bet, or if he'd only been a casual observer. She couldn't tell from his expression.

"Yes, Joe, that's his name."

"So when am I going to get to meet him?" Joe teased. "I need to make sure he's worthy, y'know."

Catherine smiled. It was a real, genuine smile. "He'll be around. He's not a secret, just very busy."

"Yeah? What's he do for a living?" Joe planted himself on the end of her desk, curiosity obviously piqued. Given her past history of boyfriends, and fiascos at the office, perhaps it was a valid question.

"Family business. Construction." That was stretching the truth a bit, but on the other hand, much of Vincent's work in the tunnels often seemed to involve manual labor. So it wasn't actually an untruth.

"You and building tycoons ..." Joe shook his head, obviously amused. "So, how many yachts does he own?"

Catherine laughed, pretending to be surprised by his assumptions. "He's no Elliot, Joe, trust me on this one. Vincent's very down to earth."

"Yeah? You're slumming with a regular joe, then?"

"Hardly slumming." Catherine shot him a glare. Then she spotted an unexpected figure in the doorway of her office. She stared for a moment, and Vincent smiled quietly at her -- she wondered how long he had been there, and what he had heard, and what he thought. She hadn't sensed him coming, most likely because he had his gift clamped down very tight in the presence of so many strangers. Recovering with a shake of her head, she said, "And he is standing right behind you, so I'd watch what you say."

Joe spun about. "Oh! Hey! It's great to meet you! I just won fifty bucks!"

"Catherine," Vincent said, warmly. He gave Joe a curious look.

Catherine blinked a couple of more times, trying to figure out what to say. In truth, a few days before, she would have been no more surprised to find the Tooth Fairy in her office. Now, anything seemed possible. She smiled at Vincent, realizing there really wasn't any reason he couldn't swing by her office at lunchtime. Father would have a fit if he knew, but she had no issues with it. Just, she was surprised.

She could see in his eyes that coming Above, walking through a crowded office building, perhaps asking for directions from her coworkers, had probably been very difficult for him. But he'd done it, likely because he so desperately wanted to be part of her life -- and now, that was truly possible.

"Is he going to serve lobster?" Joe asked, curiously.

"Lobster?" Vincent asked, uncertainly. He sounded confused. Catherine had, of course, told him about the meal that Elliot had served her, and she watched comprehension dawn belatedly in his blue eyes as he remembered, and made the connection. The bafflement was replaced by amusement and he smiled slightly -- that expression would have been an open-mouthed grin, from anyone else. "A sandwich, perhaps."

"Oh, Radcliffe, you're lowering your standards here. I don't know if I can let you go with him."

"Be nice, Joe." Catherine, having risen, swatted her boss with a case folder. He ducked away, laughing. "Vincent, this is Joe Maxwell, my boss."

"Hey." Joe held a hand out, after a quick glance over Vincent's attire. Catherine was doubly glad she'd gotten him the work boots and the plaid shirt -- they were distinctly normal; he looked like, perhaps, a construction boss who'd stepped away from the site for lunch. "Good to meet you. You better be nice to Cathy or I'll steal her away."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Vincent said, a little too quickly. She knew he wanted to flee. "I'd hoped to see Catherine for lunch. This is not an intrusion, is it?"

He was very unsure of himself, Catherine realized. Joe's good-natured teasing wasn't helping; Vincent was decidedly out of his element. However, Joe grinned despite his obvious uncertainty. "Nah. We let her out for an hour every day for good behavior. Get out of here, Radcliffe. The case I wanted to talk to you about can wait."

"A nice man," Vincent said, in the hall, a moment later.

"Who, Joe? Yes, he is." Catherine shook her head. "I can't believe you're here."

Vincent said, somewhat uncomfortably. "I needed to get away for a bit."

"From the Tunnels?" They were safe in the privacy of an elevator. She was surprised by that -- the Tunnels were his refuge.

Vincent hunched his shoulders unhappily. "Father is being very difficult. He keeps telling me 'nothing has changed' and yet he keeps pushing work on me like he never has in the past. And in between he keeps claiming I have responsibilities and duties." Vincent sighed. "He also reminds me at least once per day that he is my father. And God forbid I mention Aelann ..."

"He's jealous?"

Vincent grimaced. "Catherine, he is trying to get me to cancel the movie with you and Jenny. He says it is too dangerous; that I may do something foolish because I do not know the ways of the world above."

Catherine sighed. Vincent was no fool, and it was simply a movie. Father was being paranoid. She respected his concerns -- they'd kept Vincent alive for most of his life -- but Vincent was a big boy now, and no longer needed his protection. She said, "You'll be fine."

"I know that I will," he said, meeting her eyes. "I trust your judgment. But Father doesn't. Also, I do not believe that he appreciates the artistic merit of any fictional work created after about 1910."

She giggled. Vincent's voice was very dry; she wondered what sort of lectures Father had given him on the evils of modern forms of entertainment. "Not a big fan of pop culture, no. Heavens forbid I pollute your pure education on the classics by taking you to a modern movie."

They had ate down the street, at a little mom and pop Italian restaurant. Vincent, she discovered, had never had tiramisu before. They ate lasagna, and then the desert, and talked of nothing in particular because strangers might overhear -- but it was amazing simply to do something so normal as lunch with him.

-------------

Wednesday night, Vincent was on his way out to see Catherine after dinner, when Father intercepted him. "Vincent, Mouse has the flu. Can you run to China town and get this remedy for me?" He thrust a folded piece of paper at him. "And be careful."

Vincent, just a scant few days ago, would have made his way there by the secret ways. Today, however, he was feeling bold: he went to the surface and started walking. He told himself Mouse really did need the remedy, and likely, everyone else was busy. Of course, he would go.

It was a long walk to China town and back. By the time he returned, it was too late to visit Catherine.

------------

Thursday evening, to his disgust, Father stopped him with a request that he tutor several of the children on their English homework -- a job he did not find a chore, except that he had hoped to see Catherine for dinner, at her invitation.

He eyed Father for a long moment, knowing that Father himself could have helped the children. "I promised Catherine dinner, Father."

"You have duties and responsibilities, first."

"Mary was on the schedule for the children, tonight."

"Mary has been working hard all day. She needs a break." Father's jaw was set stubbornly -- there would be no yielding from him. "Or are you letting this change go to your head? Catherine will wait; the children need you tonight."

He had been looking forward to relaxing with Catherine -- had made plans with her that involved dinner and reading poetry. He was exhausted, having spent most of the day breaking rock on the steam-tunnel repair project.

"Vincent ..."

"Father, do you trust me?" Vincent said suddenly, with real annoyance.

"Of course!"

Vincent rested both hands on Father's shoulders. "Then trust that I have not changed, and that you do not need to try so hard to keep me. I have no plans to leave the Tunnels, father. This is my home."

Father wouldn't meet his eyes.

Vincent, fists balled, spun away. "I'll help the children tonight. I imagine you have already told Mary that I would cover for her."

He hoped that Father would have the grace to offer to tutor the children himself, or to find someone else. But Father was silent, and Vincent, finally, forced himself to incline his head in acknowledgement. "I'll speak to you later, Father."

-------------

Friday found him running an errand for Mary -- in broad daylight, and in public.

"Vincent," she'd said, quite calmly, "can you take this to Megan Nicholas?"

'This' was a letter, and Megan was a Helper Vincent had seen occasionally since his own childhood. Her father had found shelter, for a time, in the Tunnels in the 60's. She lived in an area without tunnel entrances, which meant he'd have to come to the surface to reach her.

That location had meant, while he knew her from various Winterfairs and other social events, he didn't know her well.

Mary winked. "Don't tell Father." She thrust a subway pass into his hands. "And ride the subways the legal way. It's safer."

He smiled. "I think I can handle delivering a message."

-----------

He arrived at Megan's house at noon -- she was an artist who worked out of a studio on the top floor of her condominium, so he hoped she would be home. Still, nobody answered right away. He dropped the note through the mail slot on her front door and turned away to walk back to the subway, a mile away. He got as far as a dozen paces.

"Hey! Wait!" The door popped open.

He turned around, after a brief, reflexive urge to run. He was so very used to avoiding contact with people who shouted, "Hey, wait!" at him.

She was young -- Catherine's age. Pretty. He'd noted that 'pretty' in an abstract sense as a teenager; he could remember being attracted to her, long before he'd met Catherine. Devin had dated her regularly. She had blond, brown eyes, and was tall and thin and grinning.

"Hey!" She held the note up, "Are you new?"

He shook his head, returning to her. Somewhat shyly, he said, "Didn't you hear?"

She blinked at him, frowning. "... Hear?"

His voice was familiar; he knew that recognition would be nagging at her. And numerous people had commented on the fact that he still moved like himself, and the bones of his face hadn't changed -- the difference was only skin deep. What a difference it was, however!

"I'm Vincent."

She stared at him, clearly shocked. "I'd heard a rumor from Peter ..."

"Not a rumor," he said, smiling at her. "An impossibility that came true for me."

"Wow. I never thought I'd see you in daylight." She was clearly floored by this development.

"It is an absolutely lovely day, and a pleasure to be able to walk in the sunshine," he agreed. "I have few complaints."

She glanced absently skyward. Then, suddenly, she smiled. "Why don't you come in?"

"I should be going. Father will need me soon ..."

"I can make a cup of tea. I haven't had a chance to catch up on the Tunnel news; I just saw Peter briefly, last week. And I haven't talked to you in -- well, almost a year. Last Winterfair, I believe."

"If it's not an imposition, I suppose I could stay and talk a bit."

She gestured with her hand. "Come on in. I don't bite, I promise."

She made tea, as promised, and served up cookies as well.

He remembered her as being polite, if a bit reserved around him. She was a trusted helper, and she knew their secrets, but she'd never been a friend of his. So, he was a bit surprised when she started touching his hand as she talked, and laughing a bit loudly. He told himself it was the change in his appearance. He had been intimidating to many people, in the past. Now, he was just a regular guy.

Then it came: "So, what are you doing tonight, Vincent?"

To his shock, he realized she'd been flirting.

"I have plans. With Catherine." He couldn't quite keep the affronted indignation out of his voice. Did she think he would cheat on Catherine?

She frowned. "Oh, the woman you've been dating."

"More than dating. She is my world." He rose, stiffly, embarrassed at not having recognized the signs. He'd never been hit on before, by anyone, much less a helper who was such a casual visitor to the Tunnels that she didn't know Catherine. Had he accidentally led her on? "I must go."

"Wait! I didn't mean to ..."

He didn't wait to hear what she said. Feeling weirdly humiliated, and all out of sorts, he fled her house at a near run.

------------