Irregular tapping on the pipes announced his entirely unexpected arrival. He held Catherine closer, as the messages washed over him. She does not understand, he reminded himself, with relief. He needed time… time to tell her… time to make her understand.

Past time.

"Vincent!" Father called.

He was standing on their way, looking at Vincent firmly; and yet, despite the dim light, Vincent saw the tears in his eyes. The prodigal son stopped, wondering –despite Mouse's former behavior- if he still had a place Below. There was just one way to know. Hesitating, he resumed his pace while claiming:

"Catherine's soul is wounded, Father. She needs sanctuary"

The same word: "Father", tasted strange.

He walked past the patriarch.

And through the others.

It seemed that the entire world Below was meeting there. He walked through them, avoiding all eyes, praying for his arms not to shake, for his tears no to spill. Catherine was already alarmed.

"Later…" to her he whispered.

"Vincent?"

"Later, Catherine…"

She met Mary's eyes, and her smile relaxed her a little. Whatever it was, it was good; or something wrong, being fixed.

Suddenly, there was a deeper darkness, just broken by the glow that came through a stained glass she knew too well. Then there was the falling, and her skin caressed by his mattress.

"I'll put you to sleep" Vincent warned her.

From nowhere –he hadn't left- came a cup that smelled of tea. Warm tea. She didn't even wonder where had that come from. Her hands were cold against the mug. She looked at him, not making his shape from the darkness.

"Drink"

She drank, grimacing at the taste.

"All of it"

"Will you stay here?"

"All the time…"

"Will you tell me…?"

"Whenever you're ready"

"Will you love me…?"

She was already falling asleep –his arms behind her shoulders to help her down, so she felt his trembling.

"I will love you forever, Catherine"

That wasn't what she meant; but before she could utter the words, she was asleep.

He looked at her –his sight much better in darkness than hers was-, and for the first time he noticed the differences. She was different. Slightly, yet… Her forehead had lines that hadn't been there before.

"Oh, how I'll love you…"

But before… before, he had to decide…

He turned his head.

"Father…"

"You felt me"

"Your stick…"

It echoed distinctly now.

"Oh, dear… and I thought I was being silent…"

His father was looking at him; Vincent could see him. Father couldn't see even as much as Catherine. Instead, he felt, as every father did.

"You can hug me now, Vincent"

Vincent did, and slowly Father returned his embrace. He was thin, Vincent noticed. He had suffered. He himself had brought a significant part of that sorrow. Forgive me, the son wanted to say; but it was pointless. He could not help what he himself had done. It had changed him. He was on the other side of the mirror now. There was no forgiveness for that.

"Is Catherine all right?"

"She will be…"

He parted from the embrace to approach the sleeping form of his beloved.

"What about her… new life?"

"She decides."

"Have you...?"

Father bit his lower lip, and Vincent didn't turn, pretending he hadn't heard.

"I hope you both know what you are doing" Father said, "this would get much muddier that it is now."

"Please, reassure the others" Vincent asked quietly.

Father remained there for another heartbeat, then Vincent heard the stick's rhythm fading away.

Just then he fell on the chair.

What will I do?

His hands covered his face just for a moment, then fingers intertwined in front of him, elbows resting on the arms of the chair. Comfortable. At home again.

Still, he was not. This was not his home –the home of this being he had become- more than the former cave was. It merely called forth the person he had once been, with the same sense of danger, of walking on a tightrope, he had almost forgotten by living as…

As a beast…

Catherine knew, and yet she knew nothing but the being he once had thought he was… She didn't know how. Would he tell her? Of his leave from the tunnels? Of Diana…?

He stood suddenly to pace; but a look to the shape on his bed warned him not to. Her sleep was fragile -he hadn't dared give her a strong sedative-, his pacing would wake her. He dropped back his head, his fangs slightly showing.

He had lost his chance... of telling her… of displaying the chivalry that had once been his aura –or one of his masks, he didn't care-, the nobility Catherine had fallen in love with. So much had happened… they had been carried so far away… He breathed deeper and closed his eyes, trying not to remember. Too far away…

On the other hand, he must tell her. That he had had another lover, was not a secret to keep if they had any hope of building even a semblance of friendship. Though strictly speaking they were not together at the moment, owing no explanations to each other, breaking no vows –as she had been in fact with another more than he had-, he still must tell her.

"We promised always to share the truth… always…"

Before the stained glass, against the golden light, dust fell in spirals, as fairy powder would.

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The sofa was enormous. She turned. The surroundings changed later, as in a damaged videogame. Damn it!

"Cat!" mom called.

She stopped behind dad's armchair, waiting for the shiver to vanish as she explored the way. From here to the door, there was a huge empty place; but once there, she would be in darkness. Much easier to hide.

"Come here, my little green-eyed kitty! Come!"

She reminded herself that this was a game.

The scissors in mom's hand made a sound, and Cat's hair bristled.

"Kitty, kitty, kitty…!"

Whatever reasonable part there was in Cat's mind, thought that she was much smaller than she should be. Small as a child, and everything around grew even more by the moment, as if Alicia's magic snack was working slowly in her. When she burst forth, her body felt as that of a cat.

"Here you are!"

Her heart gave a painful beat into her chest but she kept running until her paws slid on the floor. Her tail had been caught.

"I won!" mom said. "I won! Now, about my reward…"

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"Catherine…"

He held her tighter, shaking her as he did.

"Catherine…"

"Vincent?" she whispered.

"It's just a dream, Catherine. Come back. Now"

Catherine stopped fighting him, and he felt her slowly resurfacing, her moves becoming less erratic.

"She'll catch me"

"No. I have you, Catherine. Come back."

She opened her eyes.

For a moment, dream mixing with reality, she thought a lion had come to save her. She actually saw him, standing in front of her mother, fangs uncovered and a soft growl coming from his chest. A growl that sounded far more intense that it should be, as if her ear was on his chest.

"I'm here…" Vincent said.

"Vincent…"

"I'm here…"

She hugged him, her body shaking violently. Was it a… memory? he wanted to ask; but when she hid her face on his vest… there were no words for what he felt. Every one of his memories of her: courage and softness, beauty and strength, that touching faith she had in him -in him!- came back to his mind, and he found himself helpless, blinded by the beauty he had betrayed and looking away as he held her tighter against his chest.

The cave was cold, but the edges of Catherine's soul felt slightly warm. Vincent kept holding her… for an endless moment out of time… Her nightmare… Her mother… far from her. For as long as Vincent held her, she would be safe… a part of her realized it was a bit foolish, but… She still nuzzled his vest, fully conscious that she wouldn't turn off the feeling of utter safety just because of its lack of sense… the way she hadn't turned off their love, despite its lack of future…

How did I manage to leave this?

Just before she upturned her head, Vincent loosened the embrace. He was looking at her the way he used to… but beyond that…

"Your soul… it's broken."

He blinked. She hadn't meant to say it, either; but once said, it seemed just clearer. There was something in him that simply didn't fit where it always had. And Vincent hadn't denied it… even if his expression stubbornly tried to conceal it, even if his words were:

"This is not the moment… or the place… to discuss such a thing."

There was a slight prick of fear in her, a feeling she concealed enough for him to look just puzzled. She breathed deeply before asking:

"Was it… me?"

She felt him flinch –not physically, but she felt it nonetheless. As she scrutinized his features, she moved away from him. His arms were now loose; whatever resistance she found, it was in her.

"You would never hurt me" he said, and in his thoughts he added: on purpose.

"Vincent, am I the cause?"

"Catherine…"

"It's a simple question."

Then, he stood and the darkness cloaked him.

"Not… you, but… what fate made of us." She heard his voice clearer as he stood. "Making us dream just to take it all away, giving us a bond just to…."

He sighed, not wanting her to know how their empathy -a rare gift, even for him- that had been his promise, had turned into pure torture and shame.

"I didn't want this, Vincent" She shook her head.

"Me neither… Whatever comfort we can extract from it…"

"Not our dream, but our lives were in the line."

He kept staring at her. If she had seen his expression, all she would have made of it would have been sadness. I wonder, he was thinking, I wonder if she loves life that much.

This chamber had never felt so cold. She looked around, in her chest a barely suppressed call. Come she wanted to say. Please, don't leave me… Fleetingly she wondered what purpose had she had by asking such a thing, and how dearly she would pay for it.

"Is it… the beast?"

She didn't know what to expect –worry, perhaps; a wall to conceal his response-, but his answer made her flinch. She moved back on the bed. The chamber still echoed with his… chuckle?

"Sorry" he uttered quietly, his voice as warm and gentle as it had always been. "I had… disregarded that… view on… things… for some months now…"

He had never been cynical. Her mind automatically came up with that childish claim: "who are you, and what have you made to Vincent?" A wild part of it wondered if it was possible. Vincent had warned her often: that the beast was close, that it could control him at any given time, that there were parts of him she hadn't seen… She kept gazing at the darkness where Vincent must be -he was pacing, but she could feel his position- as her back lied on the pillow.

"It's amazing" his voice came from the darkness, "how that… fantasy… guided my path. I guess I have grown up… finally"

"I don't understand…"

Suddenly there was light. A candle. Against the light, his shape. She watched as he lightened more.

"Are you comfortable?"

He turned, his eyes full of worry –a feeling he couldn't control nor would he conceal. He wanted her to see him. The fear in her –the fear of him- licked his skin as hellish flames. A memory of her accusing fear –a fear, for once, not deserved- came from his first memories of her… so much time ago…

"It is all right" he assured her as he sat on his –former- favorite chair. "You are not in danger"

A part of her screamed: she was in danger… whether it was because of him, or because he didn't stand by her anymore… it didn't matter.

"I'm not a threat to you" he corrected quietly.

"A fantasy…?" She cleared her throat. "What do you mean?"

"I meant that there is just me… Not me the man, not me the beast… just me, the being that kills and loves with the same heart… perhaps too much for the same heart to stand."

She looked into her eyes, wanting to find something she could grasp –the safe feeling that Vincent was Vincent and nothing more.

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"Don't worry, mommy" Max grasped her hand firmly as she kneeled beside the chair. "She'll be back."

Garson, his back leaning on the door, watched over the women he loved. His family. The three of them had been here for half an hour; for almost the same amount of time, the word "danger" had glistened in neon letters in his mind. He couldn't remember the last time he had left Max and Caroline together for such a long period. Today he had had to take that leap of faith, for Caroline needed it.

"But why won't you answer, mommy?" she burst in cries

Caroline was crying too, he saw it as he walked towards them.

"Let it be, Maxie" he said. "She is scared…"

Then he saw the spark on the blade.

"Caroline!"

The iron sank into his naked hand. It hadn't addressed him.

"Go, Maxie!" he yelled, not looking at her. "Go! Warn our…"

He gasped as the blade withdrew, intense pain filling him once again; distracted as he was, he didn't see it coming again. Targeting him, now.

In the last moments of his life, the former nurse didn't have time to see what the fate of his own child would be.

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"I insist: we must not discuss the change in us, right now."

His arms ached for her. Today has been bad enough as it is.

"What happened to you?" she muttered.

He had to read her lips.

"You know what happened."

"I…" she swallowed. "I left."

The way he looked at her, said everything.

Her constant siren's call made even harder to find the words she needed –words that wouldn't damage her further. How strange that, scared of him as she was, she still wanted him close.

"I understood the need and the struggle" he said quietly. "I was grateful to you… that I want you to be sure of."

"But you suffered."

"So did you." He leaned forth, supporting his upper body on his elbows, on his knees. She felt as if his face was just inches away.

"I prayed for you not to feel it."

"That was not wise" he muttered, looking down. "See: hellish as it felt, it was the only thing I had of you…"

She stood, and when he looked up, she didn't know why she had done so. She felt as if her heart was beating against a knife, cutting itself as it sustained her life.

"What happened then?"

He dropped his head, curtaining his thoughts, his feelings… a part of him that she wasn't eager to see, either. Why did I ask? Her hands became fists, and her well-cared nails sank into her flesh.

"I could not remain…"

Catherine burst into a frantic pace.

He watched her, his heart grieving for her, for them both. Her soft steps would not cover his voice. Must he stop? At least, the part of it she did not know of… Must he protect her from it?

"What do you want me to do, Catherine?" he asked quietly.

"Speak."

"You obviously do not want me to… despite your words."

"You know I have to know."

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. The book he had been reading to her the last time she had come… it was on the table, its pages to the wood –marking a passage-; funny: she thought she remembered when he had placed it there.

Everything was exactly where it had been months ago…

Exactly…

Her finger felt funny. She stared at it, but the light was too dim…

Then she sneezed…

And unbalanced…

Just to feel as if falling back into him. Then she was all warm, his chest behind hers, his arm around her waist. She couldn't but notice how hard he was trembling, as if she had tripped, not in his chamber, but beside the very abyss.

"Are you all right?" he asked with shaking voice.

His words sounded like ashes –like dying beauty-, like dust.

"Just the dust" she explained. She rubbed her fingers together, the idea settling in her mind. "Vincent… you haven't… you haven't been here… in months."

An image of her apartment came to her mind; not a memory, for in the image dust covered the place, and in reality a domestic always readied it for her. She hadn't lived in her apartment in a long time, either. Instead, she had been with…

"That I was trying to explain" he confirmed.

"Then… When…? Where were you…?"

"In a cave… hardly a room… a dark, forgotten-by-God place, just as I felt at the time. It was… strangely comforting. Weeks came and went… I gave in to whatever instinct came over, not caring…"

"With whom?"

He opened his mouth, as shaken as she herself felt; but his expression made her aware of what she had suggested… accused him of, in fact…

"Sorry" she apologized, walking out of his arms…

… or attempting to.

He still pressed her against his chest. She looked up, to his face. Flames colored it in gold and shadows. Nice she thought, a perfect mixture of his two beings… if he still believed in it. Even as it came to her mind, her thoughts were vanishing under her raced breathing, the quick beating of her heart. She was in his arms, after all.

Suddenly, he let her go. His eyes closed as he did, as if asking forgiveness and, at the same time, letting go of his salvation.

She was right there, you... It had been the voice that he had attributed to the beast in him, so much time ago. In other circumstances, it would have made him smile –the power of this place, turning him to old habits…

If you weren't such a fool, you'd take her the beast said. What's the point in…?

The problem is: I did, the man interrupted, taking another step back. I took her… I loved her… with my body… and she still does not know me… the way I came to be, after she left.

Vincent dropped his head, breathing deep, and turned his back to her.

Because of the redhead? the beast in his mind asked, frustrated. What's the point? You weren't together at the time, and now that the mate's back you already decided not to see the redhead again…

I should have decided it sooner. To set her free… I owed her so much more…

The redhead won't come back.

Diana understood, the man answered. That much she knows me…

"Vincent?"

He turned his head slightly, not quite looking at her.

"Your heart is wounded enough… for tonight…"

The beast laughed. Coward, it said.

Whatever my feelings are, that much is true, the man whispered in his mind. Catherine had suffered enough.

So you won't touch her until you tell her, but you won't tell her the beast growled. Perfect. You seem to have found a new way to make this impossible.

"I think that I need to know everything… now."

"Don't distract yourself from your sorrow, Catherine. Don't drown it in me."

"I had so rarely seen you react this way… Vincent, why do you feel this… ashamed?"

By the sound of the last words, he knew she had turned and approached.

"You know nothing."

"That's why I need you to tell me."

"What must I tell you?" he said soundly. "Must I recall those nights when I felt your… his…"

He stepped forth, stopped, exhaled a gasped sigh, and a thick silence fell on his chamber.

"What…?" She gasped and stepped back, shaking her head even as she covered it with her hands. He couldn't see it, but he could feel the embarrassment with it. He turned his head.

Five seconds after she left, he followed.

He didn't like being here, anyway. Too many memories to violate. Countless special, holy things that could be tainted by this self he still hadn't learned to recognize.

She had found a far better place: the one where too many words were heard. Near the unsteady bridge, she had pressed herself against a wall, slid down it, crouching as she looked at the infinite darkness below. Even there, bent and making herself smaller, her cheeks wet with sorrow and shame, she looked like an angel.

"Vincent?" the whisper came mixed with too many foreign others.

He stepped out of the shadows that hid him so thoroughly.

"Is that all?"

He couldn't look into her eyes, they looked straight at the abyss, full of awe–dreading it, or wanting to fall. All abysses are that same. He didn't answer at first; then he said instead:

"Now that I would lose you…" His voice quivered, and he pressed a fist against his heart to calm its beating. My last words to her…

"What…?"

"What would I tell you… that wouldn't insult what we once had…?"

"I already forgave you… if there's even anything to forgive."

He gasped.

"Catherine…!"

"Love forgives… and there's no truer love…"

"You don't even know…"

"You had a lover."

Her phrase croaked at the end, the sudden stiffening of her body –he could see it, even in the darkness- echoing it. He stood there as he would have stood in the line between heaven and hell; a place full of pain but… At least she hadn't sent him away.

Maybe it would have been better, to keep untouched what they had once had.

If it was even possible at this point…

But he wouldn't have stood it.

Never again.

He'd do anything to keep her.

"In fact, I don't know how I didn't guess before" she thought aloud. "Or maybe I did, it was just so… foreign to me. But what else could you have done, to behave like this? I've seen you… take lives… I've seen you at your worst… No other shame comes even close, so what else would make you feel this way?"

He just stood there, hoping for redemption, as she spoke to the echoing abyss.

"And this… confidence… you have in your body, in your ability to seduce, to give pleasure, in your control… It was bound to come to you naturally –I had felt it, even before-, but no matter how easily one grasps it… This kind of… expertise… it comes with practice."

Every proof she expounded, felt like a blow. He had never thought that it'd be so obvious. Nonetheless, it was her voice –cold, controlled- what scared him the most. Her feelings were temporally sheltered –his emotional storm, her own focus in words-. Then, feeling the wall, she stood. He eyed her, the abyss; the distance was still safe, and yet he walked to her, just in case. He'd much rather follow her there, than let her go.

"The mastery you have displayed goes far beyond me. You didn't come to me as a virgin lover" it was a certainty, and a prick of loss filtered in her voice, "not that I had a right to such a thing, as if I myself were one. Yet how am I to avoid being selfish, wanting you for me and me alone. So even though I have no right to ask, I will. Who stole that from me?"

He stood still, then forced himself to step forward. There was the bridge, place of so many mischiefs. His own guilt seemed absurd beside it.

"Lena?"

"No!" he turned to her and found her leaning on the wall. Steady. He wondered if she was imagining herself on a court of justice. He could not decipher her expression.

"No, you weren't Below. Lisa, then?"

"I stopped wanting Lisa long ago."

Catherine's eyes narrowed.

"It is someone I know." She pressed her lips together, thinking hard.

"Do you really want to know?"

For some reason, to hear his implicit assent made her feel as if falling. She opened her mouth to answer, and then a sob came from her chest, another, until she slid down the wall. No, no, no… It can't be… Some part of her hadn't believed it until then: that he would love another woman, even if just in body… that her gentleman in shining armor would be part villain… that her source of hope would turn to despair… that her fairytale could bleed… Incredible! the cynic in Cathy exclaimed, it turns out to be that he's real!

He looked at her, helpless, wanting nothing more than to hug her… and so unworthy of that…

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"I'm moving."

Joe looked from Diana to the boxes around.

"So I see. You should have notified me sooner."

"I decided it today. They'll have to take those weeks of warning from my long overdue vacation time."

He frowned slightly.

"I thought you were working. The… folders you asked for…"

"Personal business" Her hand wavered in disregard as she kneeled between another box and a pile of books. "So why did you come?"

"I heard that… Catherine was in danger…"

He wondered why Diana was smiling.

"Don't worry, she's got my best man to protect her" in a permanent basis she added in her mind.

He sighed.

"I didn't know that you were aware of it. Thank you…"

All of a sudden she stood and left.

"Diana?" he cried after her, stepping forth yet not sure if she'd want him to follow. "Are you all right? Do you need help?"

The detective pushed the door closed as she retched again. She hoped he wasn't hearing; but it wasn't as if she could help it.

As the sickness vanished, she let herself fall to the floor, sitting on it as she rubbed her mouth with the back of her forearm. She had unhooked the mirror, it was on the floor, leaning on the wall, in the corner, and now her own pale face stared at her from it.

It's a wonder no one noticed sooner. The halo of legend of her strength had masked her temporary weakness. Thank God my sister isn't here. There was the already familiar sense of falling, of helplessness. Diana –the smartest, most trustable detective in the field- wanted to cry. I'm strong. She breathed deeper. I can manage.

As many enemies as she had faced… this one… all she knew about it, is that it brought pain, that her own strength would vanish with the passing of months. At the end she wouldn't have medical care to rely on… no care at all… just in case…

You're absolutely nuts the reasonable part of her insisted, you have to stay, leave your pride behind, or your treasure would vanish like a dream. Who else can help you…

Diana shook her head. In the mirror, the line of resolve came back to her forehead.

"What a moody little thing you are" she whispered. Her hand reached for her belly –first a finger, then the coldness of her palm. Is your father what just upset you so?

Is he with his love?

Is he happy?

"See, my dear" she whispered, "that's the reason why we can't go back."

She got him… and I got you…

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Vincent was stepping forth, between Catherine and the void, just in case. A sudden feeling of helplessness washed over him, slowing him down. He snarled softly, closing his eyes to gather strength. There was no time to dwell in it, hypothesize about its origin or the erratic way his empathy was behaving. He must explain, she must know… for the ghost would be harder to live with than the certainty.

She was so close to the blackness…

"It wasn't love… not nearly… I just… used… her body" he growled, closing his eyes to the utter shame he felt, "and she gave in because… she felt my struggle… she wanted to help… she… did love me… Eventually, that sent me spinning into an abyss far darker than this one… But sometimes… just for a second… it was as if I could reach you."

She fell silent, and he walked to her, listening to the utter quietness of the bond. Then, he knew.

"You felt it too…" awe said with his voice.

"Not much… not nearly enough…"

"Enough to let you find… release."

Her shame came as a sudden wave; and yet, she asked:

"Was yours the guilt, afterwards?"

He shook his head.

"I don't know"

What's there to do, Catherine thought, when your mother hurts you because she loves you… and the man whose life is at your feet, the man you love… he has to take a mistress just to feel you?

"Come"

Vincent stepped forth, stopped. Had he heard what he thought…?

"Come, Vincent"

The next she knew, he was pressing her against his heart –his body as close as it could be, being her curled into a ball.

The abyss had never felt so inviting.

"I don't know why that would affect me so" she whispered close to his ear, "after all I have been through… I have a mother –however crazy-, and I have you. And…"

"Catherine…"

The name vibrated as it had done so many times before, leaving a tickle behind –an invitation.

"The void is gone" she confessed. "The dullness… the emptiness… the certainty I would never feel anything ever again. It's gone."

He must not, should not really. He did not know how far her invitation extended. Yet he couldn't help but kiss her cheek –the briefest of kisses, as if scared that she would send him away.

"What are we going to do now?"

He didn't answer; instead, he risked a kiss to her forehead (he could hardly help himself)… then her left eye, her shoulder… Such a rain of kisses tasted like worship, and like despair. His trembling hand supported her cheek.

"I used to wonder where I had found the strength to walk away" she continued, flat against his embrace; "there was no more left in me. I knew… if you came back… if I let you in… Now I mourn that frail attempt to do what was right. For I prefer, to a residence, the second circle of Dante's Hell… as long as you are with me."

Turning around, she looked into his eyes, both chests heaving, cheeks wet with silent tears, and kissed him.