Authors Note: Sorry it took so long to update. The story is about finished knocks on wood so hopefully the updates will be quicker for now on... please R&R!

Vincent paced back and forth down the long dark corridor. He pulled his mane with worry - what was wrong? Father and Mary were there with Catherine in her chamber, obviously comforting her and helping her and... what was wrong?

He had been asleep, feeling tugs of Catherine's emotions, but he learned long ago of how not to let her waking up in the middle of the night not wake him up. But when she screamed, he was pulled out of sleep instantly, and jumped to his feet and out his chamber quicker than anything. Within seconds, Mary and Father both arrived on the scene and took Catherine to her chamber. Catherine hadn't told Vincent anything - she was standing in the hallway screaming when he got there, screaming and crying.

He looked at his watch. It was four-thirty. They had been in there an hour! Certainly, they had come to some kind of conclusion by now!

He wished for the forty millionth time in his life that he was a normal man. If he was normal, he and Catherine would have long had their Joining Day, and then Vincent could be in there with her, holding her hands, stroking her hair or whatever Father asked him to do. What on earth was wrong that he couldn't be there? In the past ten years, he had helped Father with many patients, including times with women having babies. Why couldn't he be there now, with his Catherine?

Finally, Father stepped out of the baby's chamber. "Father, what is it? What is wrong with her? Did I do anything? Can I help? Is she all right? Will she be all right? How is the baby?" he pressed his father with paranoid questions as they tumbled out of his mouth.

Father pressed his finger to Vincent's lips. "Hush now, she is sleeping."

"But what is wrong?" Vincent asked, following Father back to Father's chamber. "Surely she was screaming for some reason? Was it just a nightmare? What about? I felt her fear and worry. Is-"

"Vincent, hush." Father admonished him as they neared Father's chamber. "I have told you once before, need I tell you again? Now, not anther word until I say."

Vincent's shoulders dropped. Why wouldn't Father tell him now? Catherine had been so afraid, and now, even as she slept, she was afraid. Why was she so frightened? Why couldn't he know?

The got to Father's chamber and Father sat on his bed. "Sit down, Vincent." he said, motioning to the floor.

Vincent sat down and pulled up his knees, waiting anxiously for Father to speak. His mind wand reeling with questions, burning with them. He felt as if he was going to explode or heave a heart attack. But he kept all of the questions and outbursts inside of him; Father had told him not another word and if Vincent spoke, it would just take longer to find out the answers.

"Vincent," Father said, sitting on his bed, his legs off the edge of it. "I apologize for making you wait so, but I did not want to tell you in the hall. It would echo off the walls and before you knew it, everyone would-"

"What is wrong?" Vincent cried out in despair, not being able to contain himself any longer.

Father gave Vincent a disapproving look. "I told you not to speak until I said. Things will get done faster if you would just obey. I am your father and-"

"And I am no longer a child!" Vincent exclaimed, frustrated pounding the floor. "And if anyone has a right to know, I do!"

"Vincent, calm down." Father sooth him. "Come here."

Vincent stood up off the ground and sat beside Father over on Father's bed, waiting for Father to speak. Father hesitated before speaking, the moment he hesitated feeling like eternity to Vincent.

"She is fine, I believe." Father said finally.

Vincent gave a sigh of relief. "What was wrong?"

"Hush now and I will tell you." Father gently scolded Vincent again. "She was bleeding a bit so-"

"Bleeding?" Vincent was horrified. "The baby! Is the baby-"

"The baby is fine, as far as I can tell." Father assured his son, giving up the lecture on interruptions. Perhaps now was not the time. "I am confining her to her bed, and a special diet, but I think both she and the baby will be fine. In the morning, I will have someone get a hold of Peter and he can run more extensive tests, but not until morning."

"I will go now." Vincent said abruptly, standing up to go.

"No, Vincent." Father said, trying to calm him down. "It does not make a difference whether you go now or not."

"The sooner the better." Vincent insisted. "And it took an hour to figure out that she was bleeding, that the baby and she would be all right? I was not allowed in? Father, honestly, sometimes-"

"If you were in there, you would have peppered be with questions the entire time." Father said.

"I would not have!" Vincent said. "You know me better than that, Father, surely you do!"

"Well, I had just found it best that you weren't there." Father said decidedly.

Vincent looked at his Father, despair written all over his face. "Father, I am not a child." his voice sounded a bit hurt.

"You will always be my child," Father told him. "And if there is any way I can protect you from the hurts and the anger of the world, than I will certainly do my best to-"

"And if it had been any other woman with this problem, I would understand you withholding information!" Vincent said. "But this is Catherine! One day you say I'm entitled to know her entire health history and more, and the next day, you hardly tell me anything! Honestly Father, what am I entitled to know and keep it at the same level, please!"

Father sighed. "I suppose you are entitled to know what Catherine wants you to know."

"She says we are to tell each other everything." Vincent said seriously.

"I see." Father said. "Well, once I hear it from her lips, I shall tell you everything. After I hear it and not before." Seeing the begging look in Vincent's eyes, Father relented a bit. "She wasn't bleeding much, Vincent, just enough to keep an eye on. But the baby is fine, I promise you."

"Promise?" Vincent asked.

Father shrugged. "Well, I do not have modern medicine and tests to run, but I think the baby is fine, all right? Please, do not fret over this."

Vincent shook his head. "Father, you ask a hard thing."

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

"And how are you feeling?" Peter asked, pressing the stethoscope against her swollen stomach.

"The same." Catherine replied. "Tired, frustrated and plain confused."

"Feeling anything unusual lately?" Was Peter's next question. "Any abnormal aches and pains? Any extra stress? Pains or discolorations?"

"No." Catherine said. "Well hiccupping spells and heartburn sometimes, but I read somewhere that it's normal?"

Peter nodded. "For a woman heading into her third trimester, you seem just fine. Except the bleeding."

Catherine shrugged. "Maybe it's no big deal. Maybe it's just an unusual 'trait'." She said.

Peter looked at her undoubtedly. "Do you really believe that?"

She shook her head. "No, not really."

"What about a small ruptured vein?" Vincent couldn't help but ask. He was permitted by Catherine to stand on the sidelines.

Peter nodded. "Thank you, Vincent, but I have already thought of that. I'm placing my money on placenta previa though."

"What's that?" Catherine asked, fear creeping into her voice. Whatever is was, it certainly didn't sound good.

"It is not too uncommon." Peter assured her. "'Placenta previa' is a complicated term basically saying that the baby may be in the lower part of your uterus, instead of the upper part. Which may be a cesarean is in order when the time comes, maybe not." A took in a sharp breath, looking from Catherine to Vincent. "I really should take an ultrasound; Cathy, your father would kill me if I didn't."

Catherine shook her head. "Absolutely not. I do not want to risk anything." She looked over at Vincent. "What do you think?"

Vincent thought carefully before he spoke. "I am hardly an expert on the matter." He said slowly. "It is true, that if an ultrasound could help, then it seems we should do one. But the ultrasound could have a… an opposite effect. Normally they don't but sometimes… and with this baby we cannot take any chances."

Peter started to feel around Catherine's middle. "Well, the baby's heart is still beating and-"

Ouch!" Catherine yelped.

Quickly, Peter pulled away, Vincent neared Catherine and held her hand, acting on natural impulse. "What's wrong?" Peter asked her, alarmed. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. It's just – Ow!" she yelped again. "I think the baby is just kicking or rolling around or something – Ow, right here." She pointed to her ribs.

"Impossible." Peter said, pulling out his stethoscope again and listening intently. "Well, I'll be dammed." He whispered. "The baby is rolling around up near your ribs? But then that throws placenta previa out the window! And you're not quite in your third trimester yet – the baby should not be rolling around like this yet!"

Vincent hung his head. "A lot of things should not be happening." He said softly.

Peter turned to the younger man that he had helped live as a baby. "Now, Vincent, I did not mean it that way." He said to him. "I'm just-"

"Ouch, little guy!" Catherine laughed.

Peter smiled at her. "I'm just surprised that it's happening so quickly." He gave a sigh of relief. "Perhaps your, um, the kind of, people like…" he stuttered trying to figure out how to say it. " Perhaps you were born prematurely or something?" he said to Vincent finally. "Or moved around prematurely, or developed quicker or something?"

"Or something." Vincent agreed, smiling at Catherine who was smiling at the baby, who was, of course, still in her stomach.

Peter looked thoughtful. "Maybe it might be better to have the baby Above, even if just in my brownstone or Catherine's apartment." He suggested. "Having a hospital nearby will be helpful."

"No." Vincent said abruptly, not even taking a beat. It startled and surprised both Catherine and Peter, who then waited for his explanation. "It's just that, well, she's just as safe or safer Below." Vincent tried.

"I'll be here this evening." Peter promised. "And I'll check back up on you every day until the baby is born, understand? And I hope we'll talk more about where to have the baby. This baby is risky business, I hope you understand."

Catherine and Vincent both nodded together. "Yes sir, we do." Vincent said solemnly.

Peter waved at them. "See you tonight then, and Catherine – stay in that bed. Under no circumstances do you get out, unless Vincent is carefully carrying you to a short distance, and then only if Father or I give the okay, understand?"

She nodded. "Yes, I do." She said softly as Peter left the room.

Vincent looked over at Catherine. They were alone for the first time that day. She noted the worried look in his eye and attempted to soothe him. "Vincent, it'll be okay. Father says it will be, and so does Peter, and they don't often lie. I'll be fine, and so will the baby."

Vincent shook his head. "I know that about you, but the baby…" he looked at her in the eyes, speaking earnestly. " What if we make a wrong decision? What if we make one decision that ruins our baby's life – before it is even born? What if we-"

"We're taking all the necessary precautions, Vincent." Catherine told him.

"No, we are not." He said. "Because we don't even know what the necessary precautions are! There could be problems that we're not even aware of…" he shook his head. "And of why I wanted to make sure the baby is born Below because the lights Above are so harsh – I've seen them, Catherine, inside houses and hospitals and such. It would be torture for my child to be born in such light."

"Because your eyes are so sensitive." Catherine understood. "Because you can't stand bright lights, the baby might not be able to, either. I understand, Vincent."

Vincent nodded, beginning to pace again. "And Below is much quieter than Above. It is silent, save the pipes banging. Above is so loud that… in case the baby's hearing is like mine, then we should have it Below."

Catherine nodded; knowing that Vincent's hearing was sensitive, like his eyes were. "Sorry for not thinking of these things, Vincent." She apologized. "Its just that I'm not very aware of how bright is too bright, how loud is too loud… I don't even think about such things, I'm sorry."

Vincent nodded. "And while I'm not quite sure how ultrasounds work, I'm sure they may involve bright lights? I know X-Rays do. And for all we know, that could be fatal."

Catherine nodded slowly, thinking about how much Vincent cared about the baby to be thinking about such things.

"Also," Vincent took a deep breath. "We do not know of my… of me at all. Whether I was born or simply created, whether my outer – and inner traits are natural or not, whether I'm fully human or even human at all… and if I'm not, what am I? And what happens when someone of my… species 'mates' with one of yours. What if-"

"Well, there's nothing we can do to prevent the bad." Catherine reminded him.

Vincent sighed. "This is so frustrating. We don't know what we can prevent."

"Well, worrying about it won't help." Catherine said. "We'll have to take it in stride, and be considerate of the things we do, but not worry ourselves to death." She smiled. "And I thought that I was supposed to be the paranoid one."

"You will have your turn, I am sure." Vincent assured her.

Catherine moaned. "Oh jeez, I feel fine! I can't wait to get out of this bloody bed!"

"Catherine, please stay in it." Vincent begged her. "Both Peter and Father are not quite sure what is wrong, and whatever it is, it cannot be good. Please, do it for me, for the baby?"

Catherine nodded. "It's just not going to be fun." She said glumly. "Oh shoot, I've got to call Joe!" she started to climb out of bed, but Vincent stopped her.

"No, I will tell him." Vincent told her.

"You?" Catherine asked, confused. "But you can't go Above in this time of the morning! It's nearly nine o'clock!"

"Just the same, I'll see that he knows." Vincent said. "Trust me on that." And on those words, he left her the baby's chamber.

Catherine sighed. This was going to be a long rest-of-the-pregnancy.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Joe massaged his temples, tiredly. He had been up half of the night doing the work Catherine hadn't done all week, while she had her week off. Cathy, you owe me. He thought, exhausted. Suddenly his desk phone rang. Oh, this had better be good, he thought. He picked up the phone. "Hello, Joe Maxwell, District Attorney's office."

"Joe, is Catherine there yet?" It was Moreno and he seemed a bit on edge.

"Uh, nooo." Joe said slowly, peering out his office window. "At least, she hasn't come in to see me yet – why do you ask?"

"Because she hasn't exactly been here, where she needs to be!" Moreno said impatiently. "If she's not in by noon, give her a call and ask her what the hold-up is."

"That I will do, sir." Joe said. "'Bye." He hung up his phone and took the last sip of his coffee. It was now cold, and some un-dissolved, bitter coffee slid into his mouth with the rest of it. "Uck!" he said, wiping his mouth and throwing the disposable cup across the room, aiming for the trashcan. "He shoots and he-"the cup fell to the floor, missing the trashcan by inches. "And he doesn't score." Joe finished tiredly.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. "Come in." Joe said. And that had better be Cathy, he thought.

But it wasn't. Instead, it was a man with a snack cart. "Hey, Mr. Maxwell, right?" the man said jollily.

"Yep." Joe said, glancing at the clock. "Do I get the honor of being served lunch at nine in the morning, instead of twelve like normal people?"

"Well, er, I've got a special sandwich." The man said. "And besides, I want to deliver the food earlier, 'cause I got places top go. Now here, take this." He handed Joe a dry ham and cheese sandwich.

Joe made a face. "Gross, first you don't let me choose when I get my sandwich, and then you have to pick it out for me, something nastier than chocolate syrup on rye." He looked at the man suspiciously. "Have you poisoned this sandwich or something?"

The man looked nervous. "Uh, maybe I have the wrong Joe Maxwell?"

Joe shook his head. "No, I'm the only 'Joe' here."

The man leaned over Joe's desk. "You know Jacob Wells?" he whispered.

Joe's head snapped up. Wasn't that that old man who lived Below? "Why?" Joe asked suspiciously.

"Just do you know him?" the man asked.

Joe nodded, so the man leaned over to whisper again. "Well, inside that there sandwich is a message from his son." He sighed, walking away, taking his snack cart with him. "Some people…" he muttered as he left.

Joe wrinkled his brow, confused, and then he remembered – Vincent! Catherine's strange looking lover dude was Jacob Wells' son! He forgot, but he figured it wasn't the first time someone had; it wasn't like they looked alike or anything.

Joe peered around to make sure no one was peeking in the windows or something at him. Once he was satisfied that no one was he opened the sandwich. Sure enough, there was a piece of paper folded up in there. Joe quickly pulled it out and unfolded it. Inside was a letter written in flowerily script;

September 4th, 1989

Dear Joe,

I am sorry to be the one to have to bear such bad news, but because of medical problems, Catherine has been confined to bed-rest for the duration of her pregnancy. However, if you would like the details, you are welcome Below at any time and may ask Catherine of Father, or you could simply call Peter Alcott – he knows of Below as well, so do not worry about that. Thank you for your kindness and understanding.

V

Joe shook his head. Medical problems? What was it, her broken ankle? What medical problems? Was she just trying to avoid work? That sure didn't sound like the Catherine he knew.

He reached into his desk and pulled out the phone book. He started to look up 'Alcott, Peter'. He needed to get some answers before Catherine and he both got fired.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

Catherine laid down the book she was reading, "The Tin Man of Oz". Vincent suggested that after she finished re-reading all of the Oz books, that she starts reading them to the children, especially now that she had all this spare time on her hands. And normally she'd be grateful for something fun and relaxing to do like that, but "relaxing" seemed to describe everything she did now. All she did was lie in bed and talk, read, sleep, eat and the like. Everything boring. And what was even worse was that she felt like she had the energy to run a marathon, but wasn't even allowed to stand up. It had been nice the first couple hours, and even the first couple days, but now, it was getting old.

And Meg was supposed to call me last night. Catherine thought regrettably. Now she's probably worried to death about me. I wonder how her conversation with Mike went. Well, I suppose he took it all right, otherwise the FBI and such would be done here, making every last person was out of here, right?

She sighed. Vincent was teaching the children, but he had gotten called to do something. Otherwise he would have probably be in the baby's chamber with her, hanging on every word she said, making sure she was comfortable, that her every need and wish were met. Not that she needed him to be in full servitude of her; she was very capable of taking care of herself in most circumstances. But she did like having someone around to talk to. And his wonderful reassuring voice was a comfort as well.

She pulled out a book of the nightstand Meg had given her to borrow, called Every Aspect of Having a Child. According to Meg, it literally covered everything she and Vincent needed to know. Of course, there were unusual circumstances, so it might not cover everything, but of course, Meg had meant well, and the book would certainly cover many aspects that she and Vincent needed to know about.

Suddenly she heard a familiar voice from behind the curtain that gave her a bit of privacy from the rest of the community. "Catherine, may I come in?" Was Vincent's, as always, a bit tentative question.

"Yes, Vincent." Catherine said. "And you don't need to be so hesitant. 99.9 of the time all I'm doing is reading, eating or sleeping."

Vincent didn't make a reply. Instead, he sat on the edge of her bed. "What are you reading?"

Catherine showed him. "Meg said it'll help, and I promised to give it a try."

Vincent nodded. "It can only help – that is for certain."

Catherine nodded. "That's what I thought." She sighed dreamily. "Think of any names yet?"

"I haven't really put my mind to it." Vincent admitted.

"That's all right - look at all the time I have on my hands and I've barely thought of it either." Catherine laughed. "But do you have any names in mind?"

Vincent thought a moment before he spoke. "Thinking of names seems so… final. A name seems to not only express ones gender, but also their personality, their lives and… how they look."

Catherine nodded slowly. "That's true… well, we can at least make a list of names and we can choose one from the list when the baby is born. What boy names do you like?"

"Let us pray that it is not a boy." Was Vincent's quiet reply.

"Not a boy?" Catherine seemed to be shocked. "Why not?"

Vincent got up and started pacing, as he always did when he was deep in thought, anxious, or some feeling of the like. "It is very… indescribable, my feelings upon this." He started out slowly.

"Well, we have time." Catherine said, concerned. "Just try to explain it."

Vincent kept pacing for a few more moments, thinking. Finally, he stopped and looked at Catherine. "Did your mother have great influence on you when you were a child? More so than your father, I am presuming?"

Catherine thought and then nodded slowly. "I guess so. But Daddy had to have some influence on me – I went to law school, you know."

Vincent nodded, continuing to pace again. "But you would say that your mother influenced you the greatest, even though she passed away when you were only a child?"

Catherine nodded, thinking she knew what Vincent was getting at. But she wanted him to say it out loud, since it usually helped him organize his thoughts better that way. "I suppose that a person is influenced by the parent of the same gender. It's what they strive to be."

Vincent stopped pacing once again, and looked at Catherine directly in the eye. "And that is why we have a problem."

Catherine shook her head. "Why do we have a problem?"

Vincent threw his hands up in the air, beginning to pace yet once again. "Because who will be our child's role model?"

"It depends on whether the baby is a boy or a girl." Catherine said, knowing very well what Vincent was trying tot get at.

He stopped pacing and eyed her carefully. "You know what I am thinking?" he asked at last, knowing that she had to understand what he was saying, or at least trying to say, by now.

Catherine laughed. ":Not what your thinking the way you know what I'm feeling, but what your thinking would be obvious to anyone, I think." She patted the edge of the bed gently. "Sit down."

Vincent started pacing again. "I can't." he said.

Catherine knew it was useless to plead with him, because he and she both knew that pacing helped him think and work off the awful energy that he had. "Vincent, if you are thinking what I think you are thinking, we need to talk."

"We are talking." Vincent gave a slight growl.

Catherine bit her tongue. "It's just so hard to talk top you when you're pacing like that!"

He stopped and sat down on a chair next to her bed. She could still tell that he was full of energy and needed to pace, perhaps, but it was just impossible to talk to him like that. She seriously wondered how Father had put up with it for all of those years.

"Vincent, are you worried that you cannot be the ideal role model for our baby, if it is a boy?" she asked him gently.

Vincent threw his hands up in the air, resisting the urge to get up and start pacing. "I am not worried. One worries about something when they don't know for a fact."

"And you don't know for a fact." Catherine gently reminded him.

"I know that if our child is a boy, I cannot possibly be the one he looks at to do the right thing!" Vincent exclaimed. "You know as well as I do, my problems, Catherine."

"We all have problems." Catherine stated. "And I know you're worried; I'm worried too."

Vincent eyed her critically. "You are?" he asked at last.

"Oh, heck yes!" Catherine answered. "I'm worried about the next four months, on how you, I and the baby will survive all of these horrible messes. I'm scared to death about actually having the baby; Peter mentioned a c-section, and I can only imagine how hideous that would be. And even if there isn't a C-section, I'm looking at hours upon hours of intense pain – my mother was in labor with me for sixteen hours, Vincent. Sixteen hours! And then, what about the baby? I'm not worried about a name; we can think of one before the Naming Ceremony, I have no doubt, and whether it is a boy or girl is also the least of my concerns. What if it has a problem that really any baby could have? From autism, to Downs syndrome, to missing a leg, to God only knows what, and then having some of your… traits, which we don't even know are! And then you could have passed on some traits to the baby that we don't even know about? Like maybe, they are just in your blood and haven't affected you, but are still there! And then there are all the little details, like the baby crying all night, spitting up and loads of dirty laundry, if its a boy, whether to have him circumcised or not. And then, once the baby gets older, it gets even better! Then it's actually watching every move we make, imitating every move we make! And what if the baby is not content to be Below? What if it has some kind of urban-thing and goes Above every chance it gets? What happens if Below is discovered? Whether it is discovered tonight or forty years from now, it will affect this baby, I am sure. And speaking of forty years from now, what's going to happen then? If we're not dead, we'll almost be and while the baby can take care of itself, losing parents can be a horrible thing – I know you've never lost a parent, so take it from me – I know. And what if I die during childbirth, and then a rock falls on you a couple days later? We can't have a parentless baby! And your sperm lasted a year before I got pregnant, Vincent. A year! We can only hope that I'm not going to get pregnant again or at least right after this one if born! We don't know anything about anything! When I was sixteen-years-old, my life was mapped out, day by day, week, by week, month by month, year by year. None, of this confusion and chaos was supposed to be in the plan! It wasn't! Not at all! And you were surprised to find out I was worried? Vincent sometimes I just don't get you!"

She was almost shouting now, tears streaming down her face. Vincent was a little dumbfounded at her long monologue but felt her fear, confusion and pain soar through his body, so he quickly recovered himself and moved to sit on the bed beside Catherine, holding her in his arms, stroking her hair, trying to calm her down.

"Shhh… Shhh…" He shushed her gently. "It is going to be all right, Catherine. Really, I think it will. Shhh… we do not know if any of these things are going to happen, and no matter what, it will be all right – we'll make it all right. We have gone through pain and strife together before Catherine, and we will do it again. Shhh…"

He used a fur-covered finger to wipe away the tears streaming down her cheeks. The fur tickled her, so she pulled away. "Stop it!" she said angrily.

Vincent still held onto her, though ceasing to try to dry her tears. "Catherine, much of what you told me we have already discussed before. It is already taken care of. As for any of the traits that the baby might have, you told me before not to worry about them, because they are things that we can do nothing to fix right now. So why are you worrying now?"

She glared at him. "I never said that."

She had, but Vincent knew it was useless to argue with her. "I am worried about how to be a parent, Catherine. But we have Kanin and Olivia, father and many others, who can help guide us. And as for being a role model, I will admit; I am frightened. But think of all the people is history that have had to be role models; hundreds upon thousands. Billions, Catherine. And if we ever have any doubts, there will be someone to talk to, to help us." He was speaking these words not only for Catherine, but for his own benefit too. He knew that being a role-model for your child was not something to be taken lightly, but maybe he had been worrying a little too much.

"And what if something goes wrong?" Catherine asked. "You going Above like a maniac nearly every night… you're going to get caught and killed someday – or worse!"

Vincent knew that reminding her that he had spent every second Below for months, now, like a caged animal he felt, wouldn't do any good. He also didn't feel as to describing her that he had almost forgotten what the night air smelled like, and the picture of Central Park in his brain was growing fuzzy. He knew telling her how much he missed his late-night strolls Above, and the freedom he felt while doing so was useless. She would probably get angry, taking it the wrong way, and he would just be left with an even bigger mess.

"I am very careful, Catherine." He told her. "I have been going Above nearly every night since I was fifteen, an infant." He used 'infant' as meaning under the age of twenty-one. "I know all of the tricks, how to avoid each and every dog walker, jogger and headlight."

"But you've been caught before." Catherine accused him. "By those gang members and again by those science students or whatever they were. You're not careful enough."

He didn't bother to mention that both times, he had been preoccupied with other things that involved her, such as saving her life. He thought he was getting pretty good at dealing with a woman while she was pregnant situation.

"Well, I have no been Above in quite some time." Vincent said. "And I shall not even consider it until the end of October."

She wrinkled her brow. "What's the end of October?"

"Halloween." He reminded her.

"But what about the children's performance?" she asked. "And Mike and Meg coming? And-"

"I can get all of that done earlier in the evening." He told her. "I would not miss going Above that night for anything. I only wish that you could-"he paused for a moment, his eyes brightening hopefully. "Perhaps Father would permit me to take you with me? Even if all we do is, sit on a park bench the entire night. I would much rather spend the night Above with you than by myself."

"Oh, right, just carry me along with you like I'm your toy doll." She said sarcastically. "I'll pass."

He looked a bit hurt. "You mean you do not want to come? I think that it should be fun."

"Well, for you." She retorted. "But there's no way I'm going to freeze out there, sitting on a normal park bench all night."

"you enjoyed it last year." He reminded her.

"Jeez, are you gonna try to force me?" her eyes flashed.

Vincent shook his head, taking an automatic step away. "No, no. Not if you do not want to. Look," he took a deep breath. "Why don't I bring you some soup or something?"

She shook her head. "I'm not hungry and I hate that nasty soup."

He also realized that reminding her how much she loved the soup before now wouldn't do any good. "Well, perhaps a sandwich? Or an apple? Maybe something sweet?"

She shook her head. "I'm not hungry."

Vincent nodded, slowly. "Well, I do not want to hinder you from your rest." He couldn't believe that he was actually trying to get away from Catherine.

"Sure you don't." she said sarcastically as he left her chamber.

Outside the chamber, Vincent shook his head, replaying the events that had just played out in the baby's chamber. She wasn't herself, so if she got some rest, she would certainly be calmed down, right? He hoped so, because he hated it when she acted like this. It hurt too much to have her say the things that she said, and sometimes he wondered where his Catherine had gone.

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

"Hey, is this Peter Alcott?" Joe checked the name on the note Vincent had given him.

"Yes." A male voice said on the other end of the line. "And who is this?"

"Joe. Joe Maxwell. I'm with the district attorney's office." Joe said./ "You wouldn't happen to know a Catherine Chandler, would you?"

"Cathy! Yes, I do! Is something wrong?" the man's voice sounded alarmed.

"Um, no, I don't know." Joe said. "I'm kind of like her supervisor here at the office, and she didn't show up for work today. I got a note from- from someone close to her that said you could tell me more about it, about what's wrong."

The man on the other end took a deep breath. "And who was this note from again?"

Joe hesitated. What did this guy know about Vincent and his ilk anyways? "Um, it was signed 'V'." Joe said. "I'm guessing it was her friend, Vincent? Um… you wouldn't happen to know this guy, would you."

He heard a sigh of relief on the other end. "So you know of Vincent? You've met him? Face to face?"

Joe nodded slowly. "Okay, so as long as we're talking about him… you're a doctor-"

"I don't know." Peter interrupted. "His father, Jacob, and I go way back together, and have been searching for years to figure out the missing clues to his past, his existence. And I cannot tell you one thing."

"Dr/ Patient confidentiality?" Joe asked.

"No, more like 'we don't know' a thing." Peter said.

"Oh, interesting. So, Cathy? Is she okay? What's wrong?"

Peter took a deep breath. "This note was from Vincent, you say?"

Joe nodded. "Yes, it was."

"Well, I would say that this is a case of Dr./Patient confidentiality." Peter said. "Something I'm not sure that Catherine would like me to share… but certainly if Vincent said then… can you read the note to me?"

"What?"

"Read the note to me." Peter repeated.

"Oh, okay. It was in my sandwich." Joe said, picking the note up off of his desk.

Peter laughed. "Okay, now I'm at least convinced you know what you're talking about."

"Okay, here it is." Joe cleared his throat. "' I am sorry to be the one to have to bear such bad news, but because of medical problems, Catherine has been confined to bed-rest for the duration of her pregnancy. However, if you would like the details, you are welcome Below at any time and may ask Catherine of Father, or you could simply call Peter Alcott – he knows of Below as well, so do not worry about that. Thank you for your kindness and understanding' and then it just has a 'V' on the end. The handwriting is kind of hard to read, kind of cursive-ish, longish, flow-ish and flowery."

Peter couldn't help but chuckle at the young man's description of Vincent's handwriting. "It's called 'good handwriting'." Peter said. "Okay, well, to give you a brief explanation, Catherine woke up last night with some hemorrhaging, and she is confined to bed rest for the duration of the pregnancy."

"Hemorrhaging." Joe repeated. "Like bleeding? Only on the inside?"

"Yes." Peter said. "It is never a good thing, but always much worse when one is pregnant."

"Why is she hemorrhaging?" Joe wanted to know.

"To find out we would have to run certain tests and take a couple ultrasounds." Peter explained. "Vincent and Catherine don't want to risk hurting the baby."

"How can you hurt a baby with an ultrasound?" Joe was confused.

Peter sighed. "I don't know, but then again, if there is a way to get hurt, a child of Vincent's would certainly find the way. We're hoping… we don't know what we're hoping. A cesarean might be in order, but we won't know for awhile."

"Shouldn't she be in a hospital?" Joe asked anxiously.

"She should." Peter agreed. "But the baby is of Vincent, which would be too great of a risk for everyone involved. She is just as safe Below, besides."

"You need to take some serious action!" Joe exclaimed. "Ultrasounds, tests and whatnot are in order to make sure she is fine!"

"Yes, I know, Mr. Maxwell." Peter tried to assure Joe. "But it is up to her and Vincent what to do, not me. And if I did have it my way," he thought a moment. "I don't know what I'd do. Catherine and Vincent are both very special to me – I've know Vincent since he was only hours old, and delivered Catherine! And I also respect their judgment. I cannot force anything on them! I'm going to try to have her have the baby at my place; its closer to the hospital, just in case, warmer, brighter so its easier for me to see what I'm doing, and Vincent can sneak into my house somehow, if he wants. Aside from that, there's nothing more I can do."

"How can you hurt a baby with an ultrasound?" Joe asked again.

"It's happened before, but not very often, only extreme rarities." Peter said. "And then people still don't know if the ultrasound is at fault. But the baby's heart is still beating, it's moving around and- and it's not a normal baby, I can go ahead and tell you that. It was rolling around in Catherine upper stomach today – it's not supposed to be doing that yet."

"You think it'll be like Vincent?" Joe asked, fearful for Catherine.

"I don't know." Peter said patiently. "I just don't know. Now the odds are that it will look a bit like both of them, right? Let's just hope the similarities to Vincent's appearance, nature, et cetera are not vast." He paused. "Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

"Yeah." Joe said. "There is. The note said I could come Below and see her? Well, bringing a bit of paperwork for her to work on wouldn't be a bad idea would it?"

Peter laughed. "I think she's eager to get back to work. Give her paperwork, but try not to give her work that is too stressing, okay? Nice talking to you, Joe. Goodbye."

"Bye." Joe said, hanging up the receiver back in its cradle. What was he going to tell Moreno?

VVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVVV

"You won't believe how excited I am to be home." Meg had gotten home the night before and tried to call Catherine, but wound up with no one answering. So then, she chickened out from telling Mike about what really happened in New York City, or Below it, rather. But she had to tell Mike tonight – she just had to.

"That's good." Mike said, reading the day's newspaper. It was eleven o'clock at night, on September 4th. They were sitting in the living room, Bailee and Cameryn having already gone to sleep, of course.

"Uh, Mike?" Meg asked hesitantly.

"What is it?" Mike put down the newspaper, making eye contact with his wife.

"Um, something is going on that you need to know about." She said uncomfortably.

Mike looked alarmed. "What is it?"

"It's about Catherine." Meg said slowly. "And her boyfriend."

"What about them?" Mike asked. "Are we playing 20 Questions or something?"

Meg sighed. "Well, the thing is, if I tell you, you'll think I'm crazy."

"Honey, I think one in my profession can tell what crazy and what it isn't." Mike reminded her. "And you're not crazy."

"Okay then." Meg took a deep breath. "But you have to keep it a secret?"

"Swear." Mike said. "I swear on… on… I swear."

She glared at him. "It's not the time for jokes."

Mike sighed. "All right, sorry – what do you have to tell me?"

"Well, in order to tell you the whole story I have to go back to the 1940's." Meg said.

Mike looked surprised. "Wow, when you told me she often liked older men, you weren't kidding!"

Meg sighed. "Its not that… well, a man named Jacob Wells and a few other people sort of formed a community under the streets of New York, in these cave-like tunnels."

"What?" Mike seemed surprised. "Like 'mole people'?"

Meg shook her head. "No, it's different that that. They are a… special community, so loving, open, caring-"

"Like the Methodist?" Mike couldn't help but crack the joke.

Meg glared at him. "Not funny – some people would find that offensive."

"Okay, okay, sorry." Mike said. "You're serious, okay."

"Well, in the 50's, I guess it was, someone found a baby boy in a dumpster." Meg said.

"Catherine's boyfriend?" Mike asked.

Meg nodded. "The people Below, Below is what they call those tunnels, took him in. He was sick, frozen nearly, starving, and they took care of him." She paused. "He has some… deformities as well."

Mike furrowed his brows in concentration. "Continue."

"Well, first of all, he has fur." Meg began.

"Fur?" Mike nearly shouted. "Fur? Define fur?"

"Fur, like the fur on a dog." Meg explained. "It's kind of bronze-ish, gold-ish, copper-ish colored fur. And his hands are gigantic, like two of mine. And he's got claws at the end of his fingers instead of fingernails."

Mike was dumbfounded. "Honey, you feeling okay?"

Meg nodded. "Fine. Can I continue?"

Mike nodded. "So long as your promise that you're not telling me crazy stories."

"I promise you." Meg said. "Anyways, he's got a really flat nose and broad cheeks, and instead of normal teeth, he has fangs."

"Fangs?" Mike sounded really worried. "Like, vampire fangs?"

Meg nodded. "Something of the like. And instead of normal hair, he's got like a mane, like the mane of a lion. And his upper lip is cleft, kind of. Split in the middle, kind of like a lion's." she shook her head. "And you are not buying a word of this, are you?"

Mike shrugged. "Well, you'd never lie to me, but… Meg, why are you telling me this?"

"You'll see." Meg said. "Anyways, even though he's really ugly and scary looking, he's a real nice guy, with a heart of gold. He's intelligent, loving, brave and all of those wonderful things you can possibly think of put together. But… but he has to live under the ground, in the Tunnels, because if he walked around like that Above, people would kill him or put him in a science lab for sure."

"And Catherine had sex with this monster?" Mike asked slowly.

"He's not a monster, don't you see?" Meg cried out. "He… he just looks like one. And yes, once she did. Just once, about a year ago. And then a couple months ago, she got pregnant."

Mike shook his head. "Meg, you know as well as I do that that does not make sense."

"It doesn't have to!" Meg tried to explain. "No one knows anything about Vincent, where he came from, how his body works. But apparently it works differently, otherwise she wouldn't be pregnant with his child months later – or he wouldn't look like he does."

"What's the baby gonna be like?" Mike wondered out loud.

Meg shuddered. "We don't know. But they want me to help with the delivery, in December."

Mike looked at his young wife seriously. "We cannot afford such an extravagant trip so soon."

"Catherine said that she's willing to pay." Meg said. "It's that important to her. And she wants our entire family to come Below for Halloween."

Mike was confused. "Halloween isn't normally celebrated with family and such, like Christmas or-"

"No, its not, but the children who live Below are working on some kind of talent show to perform, and Catherine and Vincent, who is her boyfriend, think it's the ideal time for our entire family to meet him. You know Halloween and all. If the girls are prepared for Halloween, Vincent won't scare them as much.

"You're going to introduce the girls to him?" Mike asked in disbelief.

Meg nodded. "He's great with kids, Mike. And you need to get involved too. I know it seems crazy but-"

"But I need a glass of brandy." Mike said, "And then I'll sleep on it. I'll tell you what I think in the morning. Goodnight, Meg." And that said, he left the living room and went into the kitchen.

Meg sighed. Mike was just overwhelmed, confused and tired. He'd come around… eventually. It was going to be hard without some photo proof, but she just had to make him believe it – absolutely had to.