"Detective Bennet."

"It's Catherine Burch."

That livened her up completely.

"Am I hearing traffic?" Diana asked.

"I'm doing some fieldwork." Her voice was speedy, cheerful.

Diana stretched on the chair and closed the file she had been reading.

"It seems that I've found something more" the blonde said.

"Are you protected?" God help us… If she is attacked… An image of Vincent being shot came to Diana's mind, the same image she had been fighting for weeks.

"I'm fine, Bennet. I'm close to the graffiti you showed me. Come and see."

Diana hang up without another word. "Cover for me" she muttered to her astounded partner by means of farewell. It took her half the time it safely should, to reach Catherine.

The ex-lawyer was facing a wall. She looked completely fragile in her pink shirt; the three well-build men that were all over her didn't help the effect. The one facing Diana met her halfway.

"Do you carry a gun?"

"I'm a detective" she cut him, "of course I do."

Even after Catherine's order, menacing gazes followed Diana as she stepped closer.

"What did you find?"

Catherine's eyes never left the painting as her closed hand extended. It opened slowly. Some hairs of the lock it held clang to the parting fingers.

"Where did you find it?"

"Where I looked for it" Catherine answered. "It's a part of the signature"

"How would you know?"

Diana touched the lock of hair carefully, as if it were an insect –fragile and disgusting.

"How?" she asked again, lifting her gaze.

"A painter in the family."

There weren't that many people in Catherine's family. She could guess.

Instead of taking the hair, Diana walked towards the graffiti and looked for the signature. The cats seemed to look at her. Their mouths were hundreds of dark caves of hell.

"Wasn't the painting itself a signature?"

"It would have been once."

The author's name was sketched on the right side.

"Dunglin changed his signature."

"You must go home" the detective ordered without turning.

Catherine faced her. The detective's legs were apart; she seemed a fighter. All I never was, Catherine thought. For some reason, Vincent came to her mind; Bennet wouldn't need protection. Somehow, it made her jealous.

"I would really want you out of here, Mrs. Burch"

"It's a forbidden pleasure, to walk the streets" she smiled.

"You're playing with men's lives, for a pleasure." And not all of them are up here.

Catherine stepped beside her. A hand hovered over the wall. She is smiling, Diana noticed. Her operational mind archived the data and started to seek its meaning.

Just then the bullets came. Diana's guts warned her seconds before, and as she covered Catherine the bodyguards formed a shelter against the wall. Catherine looked pitifully small among them; Diana had made her point. And it was worse than she had expected: either the attackers were ghosts or, more probably, hidden at some of the front buildings. Untouchables. Catherine's men shot at random.

"Shielded vehicle" the darkest one muttered, waving his hand.

The gunfire had stopped as suddenly as it had begun; however, they had to move, and they did, head down. Diana looked swiftly around as the guard grasped her arm; he wanted her close and under surveillance. It would have annoyed her if she didn't have other things in mind.

"It smells wrong."

As it used to happen in streets like these, they were much emptier and more silent after the shooting. Diana looked around again, trying to find some clue; her ears were wide open.

It seemed professional work. Yet, none of the bodyguards had been touched. It must have been on purpose. Was this one the same attacker? Was it a warning? What for?

Then she looked at the wall. She read it twice, before she surrendered again to the man's pull –not without shaking off the grasp, just to make a point.

The car wasn't faraway, but it took minutes for Diana's mind to decide if she should tell Catherine what she had read carved with bullets on the painting. Meanwhile, the movement around helped her think: a bodyguard ordering the driver to leave, a wide-eyed Catherine grasping her heart.

"You must be more careful" Diana mocked, shifting in her seat.

The car's seats were incredibly soft. The compartment also had two divisions separated by a crystal panel; the bodyguard's was smaller; the passengers even had a bar. Catherine fitted in here. She seemed fragile –why would Vincent love such a lady?

Diana decided against telling her. After all, what she had read would be just a gang's name; gangs protected their territory. She would have to check: if it wasn't a band they had registered, it would be a rising one, or require further investigation. It didn't seem that dangerous, though, or they would all be dead. Most gangs never warned. It was true that they would have a lot more explaining to do with a killing. As it was, maybe they only hated some artist's work.

Yet, what kind of freaks of Marti's writings gathered under a name such as "Ivory rose"?

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"She will get herself killed," Diana stated as soon as she reached his chamber –which was how he named his sty, though it now seemed almost worth the fancy name.

"I will make sure it does not happen" his voice came from the densest darkness.

"She should make sure herself. She's a freaking dad's girl."

It would be easier if she saw him. She knew he could see her perfectly should he want to look at her, and it was annoying to be held in such a disadvantage.

"Can't you lighten a candle?"

"When I'm ashamed, I seek refuge in darkness."

"Pretty good for a psychological self-diagnosis" Diana's short applause echoed through the chamber as she looked around. "It makes me wonder if you want congratulations or the logical question."

"None of them, thank you."

"I'll still ask: what are you ashamed of?"

Something like a brief air current, or a sigh, touched her nape, but when she turned he wasn't there.

"A breeze" he guessed from right before her.

There was no way he'd be so quick… was there? However, he never lied.

"Catherine went on her own, to investigate."

"I guess you gave her some questions" There was a voice behind his own.

"You did ask me to help with this."

"I did."

"Then don't you dare blame me for doing so. She was childish and…"

"Enough" he said calmly, merely an advice.

"And don't you dare blame me for interrupting you, turtledoves."

In the darkness, something shifted, straightened. She never saw it, but something told her, maybe her instincts or her own sense of him.

"So it was you."

He knows I'm guessing. He has to know. To use a conjecture to bring forward a truth wasn't her style, not in personal relationships –if she ever had one-, she despised herself for it; but there had been clues. Whether she like it or not. Half of her had hoped that it wasn't real, or at least, that the trick wouldn't work. A deep breath was all she had in way of painkiller.

"Is that the reason why you're ashamed?"

"Partly."

Her fingers ran through her hair.

"Look, Vincent: if you want to tell me, you may as well do it now; if not, stop with the teasing."

Had there been a chuckle?

He was divided, she knew it. A part chuckled, a part regretted. A part loved, another despised. A part wanted to tell her. Another, was ashamed. He drove her nuts wondering which was which.

"We were shot at"

"I know"

"You were there, weren't you?"

She had the impression that he was moving, in a slow pace. Not quite the same one he was accustomed to. An image flashed in her mind: Vincent, hearing shots and throwing himself to the ceiling, about to burst through the ground in hopes of saving his precious goddess. It brought her some wicked comfort.

"Why did they shot?" he interrupted her daydream.

Sometimes, she didn't know if she really loved him.

"They wrote something in the wall. With bullets, can you believe it? I checked it; incredibly, there are some gangs with that name in the area, not many. None of them uses to be close to that alley. I asked Joe to watch them. They are under survey as we speak…"

"A name."

"Not Catherine's" she wavered her hand. "I still feel in my guts that your precious Catherine isn't exactly out of this."

"The name?"

"Ivory rose."

The silence down there was terrifying. It got deeper as his thoughts did, when they were too chaotic for her to speculate about them.

In the darkness, she never saw his left hand reaching for his chest, closing around thin air. Another rose had hung there once. Memories of echoing growls and torn skin –his skin- came confusedly to his mind: the night he had ripped Catherine's punch from his chest –her wedding night… the first time he had sensed the ultimate mock to their dream. Reminiscences of when he still lived as the human he would never be. It had not been the beginning of the agony.

"I get it that you have an answer."

"We'll see" he said "after you exhaust your own."

Her annoyance wasn't unexpected at all.

"Maybe you should remember that her life is threatened and… not least… she is bored" she snorted. To bring her little friends to an open field to watch a small firing show… not that I'd mourn over the dark boss' life…

"With that, I would help… if you don't need her tonight, that is…"

"Going to bring shame on yourself again?"

He moved closer, gathering things.

"Probably… but I have to see her. You'll understand once you…"

"…fall in love, I guess you were to say?"

"Fall in love"

His voice, this time, was deprived of humor.

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Burch's manor had a nursery, where traditional colorful toys hovered over ghostly cradles and dust slowly covered those teddy bears in the armoire. It was pretty traditional, painted in blue, but two of the cradles were pink; who'd guess, Burch preferred girls. In the adjacent room, the oldest children's beds waited patiently for their unconceived owners.

Catherine sat in the armchair and lifted her feet, as she reached for the candies' drawer, once again deciding that they would expire long before any hypothetical kid would eat them. She always came here when she was depressed or bored to death; the colors helped, and the silence… She wondered sometimes how she would manage once the place was full of cries. Still, when she was really bored, she wanted to fill it herself… which, of course, seemed to be her role.

Chocolate… arrrg…

She opened the envelope anyway, while looking beyond the windows, to the security party–complete with alarms and antiaircraft. All those men would give his lives for hers; everyone knew. Not legal? Who cared?

Elliot hadn't called yet.

Some scratching sounds came from the door, where she had left the cat. Cursing softly, she took a bite off the chocolate. The bitter aftertaste reached her in a heartbeat. They didn't make good candies anymore. Perfect things don't last she thought. Never. There were flashes of the Vincent she had once known. She looked to the armoire, her attention fixed in that teddy bear that always seemed to observe her. Damn, he could. Not that she would examine its eyes for cameras. Not that she wasn't sure already. She stared down.

Beyond the window, a lark called its mate.

There was something brilliant in the carpet. This one was thick, so it was hard to see little things there; but there was the glitter. Catherine kneeled. It was a sweet. An old sweet. She grasped it without thinking, lifted it –it clung to the carpet, where the sweet had shed- and childish colorful memories of tasting and smiling came to her. She hadn't seen this kind of candy in years, not even in specialized stores.

She lowered it, and there was another. It must be safe to reach for it; this one hadn't exploded. And she was home. Crawling frog-like, she grasped the other. And the following one. When she lowered the fourth one, she had already realized that it was a path. An ambush. Not that she cared.

It happened quickly: baby cries, the door kicked, gunshots. She caught a sight of the firearm still raised in the man's hands, then she walked before it. Her mind was stuck wondering why he had killed a baby. The sound had changed to a wavering noise, about to vanish. Its source came to be a music player.

As her bodyguards moved around her, its colors shifted to back and white. The blue player was bleeding sparks. Ray forced it open, exposing the cassette… and its own sparkling bleed of tape.

"I want it repaired" she said dizzily.

Two bullets had reached the wall. What a mess. They would have to cover the holes before the kids could come. In fact, they would move the nursery; to know that there had been shots made her nervous.

She would be a good mom.

"Sorry, madam" Ray explained, his eyes never leaving hers. "We heard noise here…"

"You are not sorry" she barked "you don't have to pretend. Leave now" As they left in order –no faked rush -, she added: "and bring the cassette as soon as it's fixed".

A baby shirt hung under the player. It hadn't been touched, thank God. It looked familiar, but Catherine herself had chosen some baby clothes for the nursery –not that she wouldn't use it at some point. Folding it, she carried it to the babies' room. Whoever moved it to the wrong place? The fabric was incredibly soft; it seemed secondhand. Maybe it was Elliot's, a keepsake or something. She had never thought that he would want his children to wear his own clothes, but it's sweet she thought, smiling as she left the garment in the boys' drawer.

This room hadn't changed, she looked around and saw nothing new or damaged. The armchair seemed as comfortable as before. The candies' drawer remained open, lively papers drawing children to the chemical poisons inside.

But toys had rolled over the cradles, letting some dust fall on the mattresses.

Catherine looked around, uncomfortable, and turned off the lights before leaving the room. She needed a new safe place into the manor.

As she walked, candies stuck disgustingly to the palm of her hand. She hadn't noticed they were still there. Opening one, she allowed the sweet into her mouth. At once the disgusting flavor reached her. The expiring date must have been a decade ago.

"Madam, your husband" someone called from and adjacent room.

She entered compliantly to the video-conference room: Elliot's new toy; apparently, watching the micro-expressions of those who were to make a contract with you, was worth paying the luxurious technology, not yet in the market. To see him in black and white while interacting with him still gave her the chills. The white cat tailed her; she had forgotten it.

"Cathy! I just learned…"

"I'm OK" she recited. "Don't worry."

"I was in a meeting…"

"I knew…"

"And the nursery…!"

"I know…"

"Why were you there?"

"That was my chosen place to dream."

The silence made her lift her gaze to Elliot, for the first time. He wore a slight smug smile. Puzzled, Catherine dropped her head to one side.

"I didn't know you wanted children, Cathy."

The shock was almost electric.

"We'll work on it as soon as I come back. You just gave me further reason to hurry."

Catherine swallowed hard and moistened her lips. That was not what she had meant… and still, she didn't find in her the strength to tell him. Perhaps she did want a child. Perhaps who the father was became secondary as she ran out of time.

"But for now…" Elliot forced himself to be serious "You didn't play the tape, did you?"

"No."

"Then you must go to your apartment."

"Why?" she flinched.

Her apartment tasted like Vincent, and the one she had met the previous day… she didn't like him… or she did, and she didn't like it… She shook her head violently, without succeeding in shaking off her confusion.

"Someone entered a room without us knowing" Elliot explained "and that person was close to you, close enough to hurt you. I have no way to know, in that enormous place, if it was one of the cooks or a janitor. I want you close only to my best men until I find out."

"I understand."

And still, she shivered.

"Will you be all right?"

"Yes" she said what she knew she must. "Be well."

"Sweet dreams, Cathy"

As soon as the image turned black, she kicked the floor, after a heartbeat she kicked it again, and then increasingly fast until the shoe lost its sole. A childish tantrum, ridiculous for someone her age. She wanted to yell, but couldn't. She was to stay calm and act like the expensive woman she was.

The screen began to shine again. Catherine lifted the cat –not paying attention to its warning claws- to reach the control, and turned it on.

"Catherine" Elliot mewled on the other side.

She breathed deep, and throwing the control to the seat, she forced herself to meet his eyes. She hoped he wouldn't see anything she didn't want him to.

"They told me you faced the gun."

"They were aiming to babies' cries" she explained. "I didn't know it was a record."

"Please, don't do anything like that again."

She moistened her lips as she nodded.

He seemed to turn around, his back to her, and she also did, reaching for the control.

"And… Catherine…"

This time, as she met his eyes, he was smiling.

"You'll make a wonderful mother."

Something hot and spicy nestled in her stomach. While, once again, she turned off the screen, she thought that she needed a new shelter, and fast.

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"You took it!"

Gar tried to hold her, eyes closed as her nails sliced him everywhere she could reach. Despair made her strong.

"You took my keepsake!"

"To bring your kid…"

A nail entered his mouth, and his tongue flinched against the piercing pain as he restrained the finger with his lips. What a mock to the lovemaking they had once reveled in; now he protected himself from her, and her from herself all the time. Max being the only reward in their dreadful history.

Sobs ended up clouding her muttering. He let go of her finger warily and made her sit down. Her agitation vanished slowly.

"I needed it, sweetheart. She is there now, there was no time to ask you. It had her handwriting"

"Is she there?"

Sparkling green eyes asked anxiously. His heart felt heavier.

"She is surrounded… all the time. No one can go there, don't you see?"

He thought he had heard an "I do", but it could be just wishful thinking.

"He can. He has to tell her…"

"I have to…"

Gar sighed, gesturing for the doctor to come closer. This one hesitated briefly. Gar couldn't blame him. Damn, I no longer can blame her man. "He left you there, sweetheart" Gar had told her once. "Don't cling to his memory, don't be faithful to him; he doesn't deserve you. You aren't his anymore". Excuses he thought about now, while gathering her golden hair out of her face; hunted eyes stared back to him. As much as Gar had despised him, if she had hurt Max the way she had hurt the kid… I would have done the same thing.

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Preview:

"Do you want me to ignore your words… to attend to the feelings that throb along with mine yet belong to you? Are you too shy to decide? Where is your courage, that you can't face yourself?"

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