The moment Vincent burst into the room, he realized he was too late.

His heart had foreseen it, mourning it in advance.

His eyes not sparing a glance for the woman who had quite obviously caused this, he lifted the unconscious Catherine in his own arms –déjà vu-. He let her pretend to help, guide him into a room, call the doctors. He didn't mind their wary gazes on his cloaked figure. He didn't really care what happened to him, though long-established reflexes made him cringe under the foreign gazes.

"Catherine…!" he spoke her name and kissed her hand, tears falling on it.

The machine whistled rhythmically, mocking her weakness and his despair. Caroline, beside them, kissed Catherine's forehead sweetly –almost too sweetly.

No words were exchanged as health professionals moved around. Only when they left, and nothing but the mechanic whistle broke the silence, Caroline explained:

"Catherine has been sick for a long, long time"

It was you, he thought, his head bowed to hide pure hatred. You, whose love is mortal. You…

Why didn't I tell her…?

"I should have known…" Caroline continued. "The emotion… must have been too much…"

Murderer… murderer… Killer to your own blood… His fangs now uncovered, he willed himself to focus on the dormant lady. Her cheeks were red, and her breathing, regular, but he had no way to know what had pushed her into this coma… if it was permanent… He had to take her out of here.

Not yet. He forced himself to see beyond the red veil over his eyes. To diagnose her, to realize what she had been given without any tests, might take forever, and Catherine might have no time; the one who had given her the poison must give her the antidote. He hoped Caroline would know where to stop, in order to not kill the very person whom, in such a twisted way, she wanted to protect. A joke of Fate. He frantically summoned his readings on Münchausen's syndrome; there was no security that Caroline would stop in time.

"Please… please… save her" his throaty whisper sounded weirdly over the machine's cries. "She was lost to me, and now… I can't lose her again. I love her…"

"But you betrayed her" she said gently yet coldly.

For the first time he met her eyes, and he found his own guilt there. He let it wash over him.

"Did you even tell her?" Caroline continued. "Does she know?"

He let Catherine's hand slid from his and retreated.

"Do you remember me?"

He nodded.

"You are a hero, back there… Below… A fairytale prince…"

And you are one of those who deceived us… who used us…

"I know what you think" she said. "But you are not a mother –I don't even know if you can be a father." Pain twisted his features at the unexpected cruelty. "You don't know how it hurts to be kept away from a piece of yourself…"

"Oh… That much I know" he interrupted, passion slipping into his voice.

She smiled as she caressed Catherine's hair.

"Do you think that you deserve her?"

I'm wasting precious time… Playing with this woman, while Catherine… And yet, her life would depend on his answer; so he dug into his soul and answered:

"It's not about deserving anymore. It's about needing, about choosing…"

"She chose you"

"Would you judge…" He stopped just in time, and looked away. Catherine's life is in her hands. He couldn't even look at his beloved right now. "I understand that I'm not… suitable… for your daughter" he said. "Do you want me to stay away…?"

"That didn't work out so well" she pointed.

Her fingers tangled in Catherine's fair hair, and the tension almost made him burst –killing the elder or just pushing her away, he didn't know-; but only the sudden stiffening of muscles betrayed him.

Then the door opened and the rest of the Robins family joined them.

"You see… now Catherine has all the attention she deserves"

Max stepped to a chair. Garson merely looked at the pale shape on the bed, his eyes wet.

"She's waking up" Max announced coldly.

When the dormant fingers stretched slightly, Vincent was there. When Catherine opened her eyes, it was him she saw. And she smiled.

"I knew you'd be here". For a moment she simply looked at him, her expression struggling to focus. "Have you met my mom?"

His gaze rose for a moment to meet Caroline's victorious one.

"I did."

Then he smiled at his beloved –that secret smile no one but she could see.

"Is Bennet all right?" she asked.

His expression froze.

"She is."

"I'm glad."

She pushed the sheet, attempting to sit, then she felt his strength on her flanks. In a single fluid movement, she was raised and left with the back confortably supported on pillows.

"What happened?"

Mr. Robins blinked as Vincent's gaze darted to Caroline, who wore the best motherly expression.

"Oh, Cat, I was so worried…! You fainted and all I could do was…"

Catherine's brow frowned as if she was trying to understand: I had never fainted before; but she couldn't say it for her mother interrupted:

"Vincent helped me bring you here."

"Did you, Vincent?"

He nodded warily, still gazing at Caroline. Why was she turning Catherine's mind towards him? He couldn't understand, and that was dangerous.

"Now that I've found you" Caroline added as she sat on Catherine's bed, smiling like a girl, "I would want to have you close…"

"She can't stay" Mr. Robins interrupted.

All gazes in the room turned to him.

"If she disappeared, it would draw attention. Eventually it would reach us. We can't…"

"I don't mind" Caroline answered, turning towards Catherine.

"Then I don't, either."

Mr. Robins looked at her daughter in awe.

"I won't leave her" Vincent stated.

His claws, once again, held Catherine's hand; this time, the message was clear: She's mine. Vincent…! Catherine's awe reached him through the bond, but he stayed still, defying Caroline. Not even when the door burst and a squad of men aimed their guns at him, his gaze parted from the elder's; just, then, his body covered his beloved one.

Caroline herself seemed taken aback for once. She stared at the men, then at Mr. Robins - whose body covered Max from Vincent's colossal presence-, then at her youngest.

"If he moves, you shot" the girl ordered quietly.

"Max?!"

"I won't let him take her, mother. After all I did to bring her to you… I won't allow…"

Sister? Catherine gasped; all of a sudden, the girls -Max's- greeting had sense, if barely.

"I never asked you to do that…! Garson" Caroline addressed the man, "did you know…?"

"I learned it an hour ago."

"You didn't know? How can such power be put in motion, with you not knowing?"

He didn't answer.

Caroline closed her mouth and her eyes narrowed. Just her hard gulp betrayed her effort as she said:

"Catherine is free to come and go as she wishes."

Max didn't seem to be listening.

Vincent gazed swiftly the man facing him. He was no real opponent to him; but he was determined to defend his daughter with all he had -not that Vincent had ever thought of menacing the girl-, even if he didn't agree with what she did. Despite the fighting stance, there were lines in the corner of his eyes, a downturn of the edges of his mouth, the slight dropping of his shoulders… Weariness described his entire expression. Vincent tried to imagine living with these women, having his life twisted this way.

"Max!" Caroline yelled, drawing his mind back to her. "I said 'stop'!"

"You don't know what you…!"

Two slaps, and in the blink of an eye Max was covering a cheek with a hand, surprise and hurt making her look like a child punished for no reason. Robins seemed almost as flabbergasted as Vincent himself was. Caroline still gasped; she herself seemed shocked; and then, wounded, as Max shook her head slowly, narrowing her eyes in disappointment.

"Well, then. I won't help anymore. You keep your dearest child or let her go; I'm not yours anymore."

"Max!"

She was gone; and Caroline just eyed Catherine briefly before following her youngest. Max's men freed the way, parting in neat lines, then followed, his backs never to Vincent. A thick surprised silence fell on every one of them as they looked at the door, then at each other.

"Sister?"

"Mr. Robins" Vincent called.

The elder gazed Vincent, then Catherine. He attempted to mask his guilt with pride.

"I guess I'm your step-father."

Catherine shook her head, mouth agape, the move increasing in speed as if it could block out all thought. Mr. Robins looked at Vincent, who simply stared back at him. He doesn't judge, was Mr. Robins' first thought as he saw just compassion in this being's eyes; gratitude followed.

"Speak to her" Mr. Robins asked, helpless.

"I will… whenever she is ready to …"

"You broke my family apart!" she interrupted.

"No!" the defendant exclaimed. "Your father had left her long before… and she was so lovely… so helpless…"

"I don't want to hear this…!"

"You asked…"

"Catherine…" Vincent called, to no avail.

"How could you…?!"

The elder was raising his voice:

"She would be still there! You don't know how it is… a mental ward…"

"Catherine…"

"What!" she addressed Vincent. "Are you standing by him?"

He looked straight at her –his gaze piercing her to the soul-, until she felt almost guilty.

"How often were you hurt, when you were a girl?"

She opened her mouth, frowning.

"It's important" he assured.

"I don't know… I remember hospitals, but since my mother died…"

"You were admitted fifty-four times" Mr. Robins helped; Catherine stared at him. "It was in your mother's medical history" he explained.

"Why would that be on...?"

"Because she was diagnosed partly on that base."

She looked from him to Vincent.

"Your father told you that your mother had been sick" Vincent reminded her. "He wasn't lying; but the kind of sickness she had wasn't mortal."

Her pulse rose as she listened; she didn't know why, perhaps in response to his own…

"She suffers from Münchausen's syndrome" Mr. Robins concluded.

She gasped.

"In order to get attention, she pretends to be sick…." Mr. Robins explained, "and when you were born, she started pretending for you too."

She knew what it was; she had helped solve an incident concerning it. His father had tried to take her out of the case; she hadn't known why. The child had been taken away from his mother, for good; she herself had taken care of that, for even if the woman was more sick than guilty, the child didn't have to pay for that with his life. To hear Mr. Robins explain it was strange, as if she was once again hearing about it as a third party –all that information she had researched-. She hadn't even suspected…

"When you were very little" he continued, "if she said that your head hurt, you believed her –you even started to feel it. She medicated you, she put blood in your urine. Doctors were at a loss concerning your diagnosis; your symptoms didn't fit. Until one of them began to suspect…"

"It must have taken a long time for your father to believe it" Vincent intervened. "He truly loves your mother."

"He's right about… your father…" Mr. Robins supported him. "It took him a while –and a massive amount of proof- to believe… and then, he tried to keep you from harm by reinforcing surveillance over you, without parting you two. It didn't work. Ten more admissions for you at the hospital forced him to decide."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I have tried long and hard enough to ignore these efforts –to think of him as a monster- so what I did would seem fit. Eventually I came to understand him." He walked away, his face refusing to mask his feelings anymore. "I myself had to part Max from Carol… allowing minimal contact… Carol pushed me away as soon as she found out."

"She remained with you."

"She had to" he corrected her, his face half turning. "To the world, she is dead. We have even managed a close friendship"

But she wasn't listening anymore. Suddenly, the two images –her mother, and that woman who had hurt her son- collided and shattered. Catherine looked down, blindly. How can this be? She rocked back and forth slightly. It's a nightmare… It has to be…

Vincent's hand on her shoulder made her stare at him.

"She loves you so much… so much… that she hurt you..."

His words were a balm for a part of her. The other part thought differently. Sweet empty words.

"Caroline wanted to see you" Mr. Robins said slowly.

She knew he was seeking her gaze; she just couldn't look at him.

"We used your memories of your mother: the candle, the rose… The cassette is of Max, but Caroline's voice hadn't changed that much, and the baby shirt was yours. The same for the note. I'm sorry about the candies, they weren't meant for you to eat…"

"I need to get out of here…" She wavered a little when she stood, and Vincent supported her.

"Will she be back?" Mr. Robins asked Vincent in a whisper.

Vincent looked at him with sadness. I don't know, his eyes seemed to say. In fact, he would be relieved if Catherine never came back –the danger, the fear, still fresh in his mind-; though in his heart he knew that Caroline would suffer if Catherine was lost to her for good.

"How can we find our way out?"

"My most tactful servant is waiting outside; he'll guide you."

On the other side of the door, there was a man with no eyes –the eyelids cleanly stitched- who made the signs for "Follow me". Vincent saw him go, then looked at Mr. Robins.

"Yes, he is deaf too" he explained. "That, at least, wasn't my family's doing, but the war's."

No other word passed between them. Vincent's hand pressed Catherine's shoulder and guided her behind the impaired man.

She was very silent, trembling slightly as the bird he had picked up once, in the park. What can I do? he thought. Oh, Mr. Chandler, why didn't you tell her before? But he knew that, being in Charles' place, he himself might have left it alone. It seemed that Charles had been misinformed and still thought his wife had died; that being true, there would have been no point in telling Catherine –a child back then- such a painful truth, soiling his beloved's memory in the process. Probably, over the years, the man himself had built a sort of fairytale, erasing from his mind the time in which the secret had weighted on his shoulders –since learning of the woman's condition until learning of her supposed dead.

"Vincent!"

He turned his head, and his heart skipped a beat when he saw Diana coming.

"We're being guided to the exit" he said simply.

Diana stopped, her gaze going to Catherine's slight form. It's not about Vincent she thought, noticing –painfully- the way Catherine leaned on him. About her mother, perhaps… So she joined them in their slow walk through identical doors and similar corridors. Her hand moved by themselves to her belly as in protection; though she didn't put much thought on it.

"So… the mystery has been solved…" she whispered and looked at him.

He nodded, not daring to look back at her. She had expected it; he wasn't used to having two women who loved him –both of whom he had loved at least with his body- on both sides of him… and one of them not knowing of the other. She still felt that it was wrong: it should be Catherine who knew, who knew everything, for that was their promise –Vincent and Catherine's-: to always say the truth. That much she knew. He was far too honest to treat this cynically.

"What do we do with those responsible?"

"I can't…" Vincent's head dropped for a moment. "I can't harm Catherine's blood… unless they mean her harm…"

"Don't they?"

"No…" he whispered, and there was a heartbeat before he explained. "I think they do not. They won't harm anyone else. Catherine would know if they did, and then Caroline would lose her for good. They won't take such a risk."

They followed the deaf and blind servant into a small elevator. Everyone entered, but there was no space for social rules and Vincent kept being massive. By trying to avoid the servant's arm, Diana found herself pressed against the other man. His stiffness was so evident that just an absence of mind such as Catherine's at the moment would have saved his secret. And still, he didn't push her away. At any other time, he would have: he just touched her when he longed for the physical comfort she could bring in making it possible for him to lie to himself and pretend she was another. How strange, Diana thought, that after all this time, he would allow… Her heart fell with the weight of its meaning, of the finality. Not that it was new.

When she opened her eyes, the elevator's door was wide open. No one minded her delay. She still lingered there for a moment, then she stepped forth and his warmth disappeared.

"How weird… to have a murderer who loves…"

"Most murderers love" Vincent stated. "Love breaks us, seduces us into harming others…" He stopped, remembering Garson's face; he felt as if he had been looking into a mirror.

Diana kept silent for a moment, then she said:

"Mr. Robins… He is a nurse… a healer… Sometimes I still wonder –childish of me, I know- how can those have children capable of…?"

"She can" Vincent interrupted. "She is too young to understand why she must not. Because she can, she uses all the power she has with no regards for others."

"I had never heard you judge…"

It had been Catherine. When he looked at her, he saw fear in her eyes; recoil. She was recoiling from him. Physically, even.

"I shall leave now" Diana offered, but no one listened.

The detective looked at their shapes, cut against the shadows of the garden they had reached without noticing. That was the last sight she would have of them. Strangely, the main element, the one that would remain forever in her memory, wasn't the momentary distress –his disguised dread, Catherine's anxiety-, but the everlasting light in his eyes, in hers –as eloquent as intertwined hands would be. She walked away, her back never at them, until she couldn't see of him but a shadow; and then she turned and ran.

No one saw her. Catherine's eyes pierced Vincent's soul, not seeing much –it was as labyrinthine as the tunnels he loved and hated- and yet feeling…

"How have you changed, Vincent…"

"Are you sure…?" he interrupted, his voice trembling yet firm. "Is your wish to speak about this… precisely now?"

She hesitated until her gaze parted from his.

"I want…" she whispered.

He listened, but no other word came from her.

"You want to drown all this…" he completed "in another mystery…"

She burst forth, walking away from him. He followed. His strides allowed him to catch up with ease.

"Don't try to ignore what you just lived" he advised, fearing his father's blood in her, "otherwise you won't heal."

"What about you?"

Her gasp reached him with difficulty.

"About me…?"

"You are a stranger now, Vincent. I feel… I'm grateful, in part; yet… There are a bunch of things…"

"You don't need to discuss this now, Catherine…"

"Oh, I need…"

"No… and it might bury this trauma in your soul, where it will hurt forever…"

Suddenly, she burst in laugh. He stopped, staring at her as she bent.

"Forever…" she whispered, grasping her belly in paroxysms of hysteria.

He stepped forth, and suddenly he found himself taking her in his arms. Her acute laugh made him close his eyes. It was so close that he felt it instead of hearing it. And yet, she had to stop. Eventually. And so she did. Gasping. Strange chuckles still shaking her, like sobs after crying, when he lifted his head to her building.

He could not leave her alone. Not like this.

"Take me to your chamber, Vincent" she asked suddenly.

He did not look at her; he did not tremble. The still-burning light of her apartment caught his gaze as he pondered how to get her there. The possibilities were more and more unlikely. He was not comfortable with letting her go alone but of course he could not simply walk through the front door, and she could not go with him, risking her life -and his- at hazardous heights. Dangerous questions were to be asked simply because of her not being there, that was already in motion and it got worse by the second, but did he have a choice?

Indeed, her suggestion was timely.

He turned, and, for the first time in months, he walked through the iron door that was the front entrance to his home.

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Preview:

She was touching things now… his things… his diary, the pen she had given him, that paperweight shaped as Beethoven… Memories came back… so perfect… Yes, she had read that to him, and this cup… this cup she had admired the first time she had been here. She turned around, imagining the objects behind the shapes she could see in the dim candlelight.

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