She slept in his chamber that night, the events of the days leading up to the reveal of Paracelsus having exhausted them both. Vincent could not sleep, but he also could not rest without having her close by so that he might keep watch over her. And thus, he found himself writing in his journal by the lowest of candlelight while his beloved lay warm and safe near at hand.

She is... so beautiful.

He wrote the words because they pleased him, just as a glance in the direction of his bed filled his heart with love. She was beautiful. Sometimes, he wondered if she would have captured his attention so thoroughly had she been plain or ugly - like him. But then, he reminded himself of how he had found her. Her face had been cut into jagged lines, blood masking her features entirely. While Father had sutured her wounds with the steady and experienced hands of a surgeon, her face had still been swollen and bruised when they had wrapped her entire head with bandages.

She had not looked beautiful then, Vincent acknowledged to himself. And perhaps that distinction had allowed him to fantasize, even for the tiniest of moments, that she might reciprocate the feelings which had slowly grown within him when he had cared for her that first week of their acquaintance.

No, Catherine's greatest beauty lay within, he decided. He had known it that first moment she had awoken, afraid and in pain, but willing to let him calm her through the gentle cadence of his voice.

And now… she needed more than comfort to guide her through the darkness. She needed him to show courage and to act with resolve. She needed… him.

As she slept, Vincent spent the hours writing in his journal and planning. Two objectives were tantamount and entwined: he needed to be able to make love to Catherine. But he also needed to make sure he kept her safe at the same time.

In pursuit of these goals, he was both an asset and a liability. Any man with creativity and skill could give Catherine what she most desired. But Vincent recognized that he was not a man and therein lay most of his problems.

Looking down at his furred and clawed hands, his palms bandaged from damage he had so easily inflicted upon himself, he knew they would need to be addressed first. Following his horrible illness as a teenager, Vincent had attempted to cut and file down his sharp nails. But cutting had proved too painful - like house cats, Vincent had nerve endings embedded in each of his nails, and cutting into them caused instant agony.

Filing worked, for short periods, but Vincent had grown so tired of the ritual that it had become almost meaningless. No, his claws could not be neutralized by half measures.

He wrote of his other concerns in his journal, identifying and addressing them almost scientifically. His strength… Catherine did not even regard it as a concern. But he knew that even without his claws or teeth, he could harm her with his strength alone.

Would drugs work? he wondered, putting a note beside that area of concern in his journal. Pharmaceuticals were often a gamble with him as they rarely worked on his physiology the same way they did on humans.

And he was decidedly NOT human.

His pen hovered in the air at that last thought. Not human.

Revulsion filled him as he considered Catherine's position. She would be allowing someone who wasn't human access to her body. And if he wasn't human, what was he? An animal? The comparison seemed more true than any other, and it squared with his deep-seated concern for Catherine's welfare.

She would never make love… with an animal.

Swallowing shallowly, Vincent gave his pen a rest as his thoughts continued on.

Catherine believed herself in love. No, she did love. Ignoring that truth was a disservice to her and her sacrifices. No, she loved him, regardless of whether he was human or something… other.

But would she truly allow her body to be defiled by someone who isn't human?

The question cut into him, and Vincent felt his concern for Catherine overwhelm any of his own feelings. She mattered, and he did not. Nothing else could ever be so simply defined. And yet, she cared for him…

The answer came as clear as day. Yes, she would.

Whether he was human or not, Vincent had to acknowledge the truth - Catherine did not care. She loved him, regardless of his pedigree or DNA. She wanted him, claws and fur and all.

This realization did not calm him. Rather, it caused him even further agitation.

He had to protect her from her own devotion, Vincent knew. She would sacrifice herself on the altar of their love, never bothering to wonder why a sacrifice might be necessary. Catherine gave of herself so freely, if someone did not keep watch, she might give up everything. And yet, he could not deny that she still needed more. She needed physical pleasure and intimacy.

Vincent picked up his pen again, this time intent upon a more reasoned study of the problem at hand.

In the morning, he would guide her above, he decided. And after doing so, he would not hide away in the bowels of the earth as he had a tendency when his emotions pushed him to the limit. Instead, he would keep working to address the problem.

Because Catherine deserved everything he could possibly offer her - and more.

"While I am surprised to see you, I'm happy to accept the escort," Peter joked as Vincent met him at the tunnel entrance in the aging obstetrician's basement.

"I confess... I arrive with an ulterior motive," he told the older man as they began the long walk to Father's library.

Peter smiled enigmatically. "Surely you don't think Paracelsus would try to infiltrate the tunnels again so soon? But please, test me as you will. I would rather you be satisfied that I am who I say I am."

With a shake of his head, Vincent answered, "No, that is not why I'm here. I think I have learned to sense Paracelsus' presence. At least, I hope so. Rather… there is something I would speak of with you."

Peter replied with his usual jovial tone, "Whatever assistance I can provide, please ask."

Perhaps sensing Vincent's hesitation, the older man allowed him to walk silently for a long time without prying for a response. But eventually, it came. He froze abruptly in the middle of a tunnel, and Peter stopped a few steps later upon realizing Vincent had halted.

"I know…" Vincent began slowly, "... that you are not a surgeon. Not, in a general way. But… would it be possible for you to… remove something?"

Sensing the seriousness of the query before him, Peter froze. Carefully, he pointed out, "Well, I obviously have some experience. But in general matters, Jacob is a far better surgeon than me."

"Father would never even consider…"

Vincent's words drifted off, and Peter began to nod in obvious understanding of the younger man's entreaty.

Catherine stood at the center of Vincent's existence, the obstetrician knew. While Jacob had only given him a vague summary of the recent troubles with John Pater, Peter suspected that things had transpired between the young lovers which could not be so easily remedied as banishing the troublemaker from their midst once again.

"What do you want removed?" Peter asked.

Slowly, Vincent held out his hands, palms up. Surprisingly, it took a long moment for the physician to understand the younger man's wishes.

"Your… claws?" he asked.

"They can do it with cats," Vincent stated simply. "I have heard reports from above."

Peter sighed deeply. "I'm no expert in this regard. Far from it. But as I understand it from veterinarians, removing a cat's claws isn't just that. The surgery essentially amounts to removing a cat's entire first joint…"

To demonstrate, he reached out and made a pinching motion across the end of one of Vincent's fingers. But the younger man did not flinch. Rather, he showed no reaction at all.

"I know you are not an expert, and I would not ask if there were anyone else…" he trailed off, and Peter realized that Vincent already held a full understanding of what such a surgery would entail.

"You're asking me to cut off the tip of every single one of your fingers?" he demanded in earnest.

Vincent looked away, obviously abashed, but Peter recognized that his natural embarrassment did not bely the nature of his request.

"Catherine would have me… love her," he managed, the strangled confession barely making it past his lips, and Peter slowly nodded his head in understanding.

"So, you want to remove your claws as a way of… minimizing the risks to her?"

Vincent nodded. "Is such a thing possible?"

Peter would have smiled, had he not recognized in the younger man's question an uncompromising desire to give Catherine Chandler anything and everything her heart might desire. Instead, he already knew the answer he would have to give.

"Possible? Perhaps. But I would never do such a thing, Vincent. It would violate everything I believe in as a doctor. Surely, you must understand that, of all people. I know you have no formal training, but you have practically been apprenticed to Jacob since you were a boy…"

Slowly, Vincent nodded, his head hung low so that the curtain of his hair fell forward to hide his face. However, Peter could tell by the slump of his shoulders that the other man's main hope to be able to move forward in a relationship with Catherine had been dashed.

"What about gloves?" he suggested.

But Vincent shook his head slowly. "Even the thickest leather is too easily pierced."

Taking a deep breath, Peter began afresh.

"Well, then I have another suggestion - one which doesn't involve mutilating yourself but would ensure Catherine remained perfectly safe during any intimacy you two may wish to share."

Vincent looked up, his curiosity piqued, and he listened with rapt attention as Peter outlined his suggestions.

A week went by and then another as Vincent meditated on Peter's advice. In his journal, he ruminated on Peter's advice. Instead of surgery, he had suggested the use of restraints, and Vincent spent a great deal of time thinking about exactly the weight and thickness such chains would need to be to ensure he could not break free. He would also need to find appropriate anchor points. If this occurred in his chamber, the noise of installing them might draw unwanted attention, and he would require help in getting the chains from above at the very least.

The other issue he had only touched briefly with Peter, but the physician's concern about his unique biology mirrored Vincent's. The notion of taking something to weaken his body was discarded as too risky, to both Vincent himself and also - more importantly- to Catherine. A sedative might have the opposite effect than intended. Instead, Peter had pointed out that like any living creature, Vincent was weakest when all his bodily stores were nearly depleted. Exhausted from a long day of manual labor would probably be the safest time for him to attempt anything physically amorous with Catherine.

And yet, the risks still weighed on his conscience. He had not broached the subject at all with Peter, not after the doctor had dismissed his desire to have his claws removed, but Vincent still worried about the danger his teeth posed. Like an animal, his canines were larger and sharper than those found in the mouth of a human being. But removing teeth was an act Vincent knew he could perform himself, if he decided to take that path. Of course, in the back of his mind, Vincent was wary of removing his body's natural defenses. As much as he despised his physical differences, those very same attributes had saved Catherine's life more than once. Even if his own natural fear of altering his body did not already make him hesitant, the thought of being unable to defend Catherine in a time of need concerned him.

With a sigh, Vincent set down his pen.

For the moment, it was all an academic thought exercise. He could not imagine actually broaching the subject with Catherine even though she had made it clear she preferred that their relationship… evolve. Just discussing it with Peter had been difficult enough.

The thought of Catherine led him to focus the bond on her, and as he did so, he realized she was on her way below. In addition to her increasing nearness, he sensed within her the usual excitement and joy which accompanied her whenever she came to see him. Rather than meet her, he chose to wait for her in his chamber.

Within ten minutes, Jeffery and Samantha entered the space with a rosy cheeked Catherine a few paces behind them. The two children had been asking for more important duties and had been assigned as runners so the centuries on duty would not have to leave their posts.

"Thank you for such a swift escort," she told the two of them. Jeffery grinned at the praise while Samantha quietly beamed, and the two quickly scampered away to resume their responsibilities.

Once they were gone, Catherine flashed him a look of shy anticipation.

"I was a little afraid, when you did not meet me at the threshold."

Of course she would worry, he chastised himself, especially after what occurred before, with Paracelsus.

"I'm sorry. I was deep in thought and did not feel your approach until you were nearly here."

The statement obviously piqued her curiosity and Catherine asked, "What were you thinking about?"

Gently, she took his hand and pulled him to sit on his bed beside her. In the relaxed position she had made for them, Vincent could not find the words to answer, and Catherine resorted to a leading question. "Was it… what we talked about last time I was here?"

He nodded before answering, "Yes."

He could barely force the one syllable word past his lips. But if Catherine noticed his reticence, she gave it no mind.

"And what were you thinking?" she pressed.

Eager anticipation strummed through her along with a myriad of other emotions - hope, desire, love, worry…

The last feeling was for him, for his state of mind and inner feelings. She would not rush him, but she would not continue to hide the depths of her wishes for them both, for the pleasures she wanted them to experience together.

"I was considering ways to fulfill your wishes… while also ensuring your safety," Vincent answered truthfully.

"Any ideas you are ready to share?"

She beamed at him with obvious anticipation, but she kept her enthusiasm carefully tempered so as not to frighten him away from the subject.

"I… discussed some things with Peter."

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "About us?"

"No. Well, somewhat. More about me and my… physiology. And how we might…"

"Work around things?" Catherine prompted with a small smile.

He had intended to say, "neutralize all threats," but her version sounded less ominous so he nodded.

For a long moment, he searched for more to say, for a way to actually impart to Catherine his concerns without frightening or disgusting her.

"And what did Peter say?" she asked finally.

"He said…" Seizing on the least objectionable recommendation, he went on, "When I expressed concern about my strength and size… he said perhaps if I were very tired, it might be a better time…"

Nodding, Catherine moved closer to him on the bed until their knees were just barely touching.

"Are you tired now?" she asked.

"Yes..." he acknowledged.

She nodded and waited for him to continue.

"He also said… Well, I was thinking of a way to make sure I didn't… harm you. Even by accident." As he said the words, he made a vague motion with his hands, and Catherine gave a brief nod in instant understanding.

"And Peter's suggestion?"

Not wanting to explain the entirety of their conversation, especially his suggestion of surgically removing his claws, Vincent briefly explained about the possibility of using restraints to keep him harming her in the heat of the moment. With Paracelsus' lies still so close fresh in his memory and the images they evoked at the forefront of his mind, nothing less than the fullest protections would suffice in keeping Catherine safe.

"I will ask Kanin to purchase some sturdy chains from above. I won't need to tell him why, and I should be able to make the necessary modifications myself. There is a chamber not too far from here-"

His statement startled her, he felt instantly, and Vincent looked up to meet her eyes.

"Chains?" she repeated, incredulous.

He looked away then, dipping his head slightly to let the long waves of his hair hide his expression of fresh shame and mortification. Not for the first time since they had discussed the matter of intimacy, he wondered why Catherine could possibly want that from him. And yet, he knew that she needed a physical outlet for her love.

Sighing, Vincent wondered if his life's lament would always be all the things he could not provide for her. Beyond material possessions, which she did not care about but he wanted to give her anyway, he failed in so many other ways. And the topper on the cake of the mountain of his shortcomings was this: his inability to love her without risking her safety. Without risking her very life.

Catherine moved from the bed, and for just a second, he thought she might be getting up to leave. Instead, he noticed her cross over to his wardrobe to begin pursuing his possessions, obviously looking for something in particular. When she finally found it, a burst of excitement made its way across the bond to him. Turning around a moment later, she had a long ribbon in her hand. It was made of a soft red cloth, and Vincent recognized it as a piece Catherine had used to wrap his Christmas present the previous year.

"Do you mind if I cut this?" she asked.

"No," he answered despite his confusion.

She used a pair of scissors he kept near his desk to cut the long ribbon into equal lengths before turning back to him.

"I don't think chains will be necessary," Catherine informed him, stepping close to him.

Before he could protest, she reached down to wrap the ribbon around one of his wrists, and he struggled to find the words to explain the inadequacy of what she was suggesting.

"Does this hurt?" she asked, moving the ribbon gently against him, as if testing whether it would chafe. He could barely feel the ribbon through his thick fur. Vincent shook his head and would have said more except Catherine looked down at him so tenderly, he momentarily lost the capacity for speech.

"Do you trust me, Vincent?"

Swallowing hard, he gave her a silent nod. Of course he trusted her. But terror still flooded through him at whatever she had planned, whatever she was about to ask of him. The ribbon was hardly strong enough to hold him even if he was in control of himself, but how could she hope-

Slowly, Catherine pushed him down onto the bed, letting his feet remain over the edge as she leaned him back with his head towards the stained glass window beautifully lit from behind. With careful motions, she stretched each arm up over his head and fastened the ribbons around his wrists before tying them to something out of his line of sight. He gave a curious tug on each ribbon, and while there was resistance there, he could tell it would give way the instant he imparted his full strength to the task.

"Catherine, I don't think-" he began, but she interrupted him by placing a gentle finger to his lips. Then she let her hand caress the side of his face before explaining.

"Don't think of these as restraints," she told him. "They're more like… reminders."

Shivers ran along his spine and extremities as uncertainty toyed with evolving into all-out fear at whatever she intended for him.

But Catherine smiled.

"Don't worry," she told him. "We can take this slowly. Very slowly."

With that, she moved to lay down at his side, her face tucked into the crook of his shoulder with one arm stretched across the broad expanse of his chest. The contact was nothing new. Even when he embraced her shyly, more of their bodies touched than in this position. Whatever she intended, thankfully it was not a full frontal assault on his reserved sensibilities.

"I'm so glad you're willing to try," Catherine murmured after a moment, when he had finally begun to relax. Her hand felt warm against his chest, despite the multiple layers of clothing he wore, and he wished he could move his arm to wrap it around her.

"You ask for so little."

If there was a way for him to give her this, to fulfill her desires without hurting her, it would help assuage his conscience over all the other things he could not give her. In a way, they were things he had stolen from her life, selfishly taken from her without offering anything in return.

Sunlight. That one always came to mind first, perhaps because he saw it so rarely. Any relationship with him meant a loss of sunlight in her life, and while beautiful in their own ways, moonlight and starlight were pale comparisons.

Concerts and dinners at restaurants. The beauty and splendor that living above could provide would be forever denied to him, and in turn, to her when she wanted him by her side. But as he considered this point, he was reminded of the music recitals below. The concerts in the park where they could listen to the music from the safety and comfort of the storm drain beneath the bandstand. Catherine had never complained about such tradeoffs; rather, she had genuinely marveled at the simple pleasures afforded by life below.

Her family and friends. Even as he considered this last, he faltered. Catherine had no more family, or at least none besides her family below. And while she still had friends above, her relationships with others had either been focused on a few treasured individuals or expanded to include those in his community. Everyone below loved Catherine, not just as someone special to him, but for her own sake.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked after a time, interrupting his brooding thoughts.

"You."

He did not need to look down to feel her smile at the answer. "What about me?" she asked.

"About your generosity and spirit. How much you give of yourself. How…"

How beautiful you are, in every way, he had wanted to say, but he trailed off, unable to give voice to the feelings welling up within him.

The hand Catherine had kept on his chest began to move ever so slightly across his clothing until it came to the first leather tie of his padded vest. With exquisite slowness, she untied the lacing as she spoke.

"I want to give you everything, Vincent," she told him, moving from the first knot to the second and then to the third. They each gave way in turn until she had opened the padded vest to reveal his dark, woolen sweater beneath. But from there, she simply slid her hand back across his chest, this time under the vest until her palm rested overtop his heart.

The simple change in contact felt both soothing and electrifying. While there were still layers of fabric between them, he could tell she was slowly working her way through not only his physical barriers but mental ones as well. That thought alone terrified him.

"Catherine," he said, barely managing a whisper.

Beneath her hand, his heart had begun to race. Fear pulled at him, and he once again flexed against the ribbons holding his arms and hands away from her. They held more strongly than he would have thought.

"I know you want the same, Vincent." She spoke matter-of-factly, and the amount of emotion in her tone startled him away from the physical sensation of her touch. "I know you want to give me everything you can. But your lack of trust in yourself holds you back."

She spoke neither with reproach or admonishment but rather with a truly intimate knowledge of his inner workings. He did want to give her everything possible. The sacrifices which would have been far too great for anyone else were next to nothing if made for Catherine's sake. Balling his hands into fists, Vincent reminded himself that he had actually asked Peter to remove the tips of his fingers so he could touch Catherine without fear of mauling her.

"I want you to learn to trust yourself," she told him quietly. "While I trust you, but you will never be comfortable in this until you can trust yourself… with me."

Before he could respond, Catherine moved her hand from his chest and slid it up and around the side of his neck. She moved then, allowing her upper body to press sensuously against him until her lips were at his. Gently, almost hesitantly, she kissed the side of his mouth, and Vincent gasped.

Instinctively, he tried to move his arms, but the ribbons reminded him of his place. In beginning this, he had ceded all control to Catherine, and he could not now go back on that implicit promise.

For her part, Catherine did not move quickly. Instead of kissing him more fully, she let her lips trail down his face, the nearly ephemeral contact lighting the tiny hairs covering his skin on fire, until she reached his neck. She paused at the more sensitive skin there and placed another kiss, this one slow and languid.

The heat of her permeated through his clothing, and he could feel the softness of her breasts through the layers of fabric. Without consulting him or his tightly held control, Vincent's body had begun to respond to the sensual turn of their contact. As he always did when this sort of thing happened, he began to panic.

"Catherine, please," he whispered, unwilling to break the restraints she had put on his hands in order to push her away.

She stopped immediately and pulled away from him enough to look in his eyes. "Too much?" she asked.

Flushing with embarrassment, Vincent could only respond with a curt nod.

Catherine gave him a smile in return before moving herself back to his side.

"Would you like me to free you?" she asked, and he focused on her feelings through the bond.

Expecting to find disappointment and perhaps even resentment, Vincent felt only joy from her. The emotion sobered him.

Joy. Elation. Happiness.

All of these things poured from her because he had let her untie his vest and press her lips against his skin. Her touches had been so simple and exploratory, and yet he had stopped her at the slightest challenge to his inner control. That she could feel so wonderful from him allowing so little threw his mind into turmoil. Surely, if she was willing to go so slowly, he could let her go a little further? If it gave her pleasure…

"No," he told her. "Not yet."

His response sparked even more positive feelings from Catherine, and she moved her hand back to where it had been beneath his vest. The casual way she touched him now felt neither unusual nor improper, and Vincent allowed himself to relax again.

After a brief silence, Catherine began to muse aloud. "You know, I've always loved the way you dress." As if to emphasize the point, her hand began making very small movements against him, as though she were exploring the lines of his muscles beneath the thick sweater he wore. "I know it's mostly for warmth, but… it suits you."

For some reason, her admiration, both its unexpectedness and the genuine way in which it was given, left Vincent feeling uncharacteristically proud. He rarely felt anything of the sort when it came to his appearance, but he could tell from the bond that Catherine spoke the truth. And more than that, he noticed from her a sense of something she had not said aloud. Admiration of not just his clothing, but also the form beneath it. In the past, the thought had occurred to Vincent that if not for his unusual features, he might strike a powerful figure in the world above. Height and muscle, both sought after traits by dominant males, were his in abundance.

"Thank you," he mused aloud, both for the spoken and unspoken compliments.

Her wandering hand had not stopped, but whilst it had kept itself firmly confined to one side of his chest, he now felt it wander to the other side. She kept her fingers flat, gliding firmly across the planes of his muscles but without any expectation of more than the simple feel of him.

"I've always wondered…" Catherine began, and then her musing stopped. Through the bond, he could feel her sudden embarrassment as well as something else. Self chastisement, perhaps?

Curious about what she had begun to say, he prompted, "Wondered?"

Catherine stayed her hand, and he sat up enough to glance down at her. Biting her bottom lip in indecision, she looked almost like a child.

"Catherine?" he said again.

Summoning her courage, she finally forced out the remark she had thought better of before. "I always wondered what you look like. Beneath this."

To emphasize the point, Catherine gathered a handful of his sweater into her fist and tugged at it slightly, as though it were something distasteful separating them.

Sighing, Vincent laid his head back down on the bed, not sure what to say in response. Of course she would wonder. Curiosity was as natural as breathing, and for someone with Catherine's investigative background, it was no wonder she might muse on exactly how human - or not - he might appear beneath his clothes.

"I have more... hair… than other men," he said slowly, purposely avoiding the word 'fur.' Catherine treated him like a human being, and he hated to startle her out of that assumption. But he also wanted her to know the truth so she could re-evaluate her stated desire to be with him.

While he intended to go further with his description, Vincent paused suddenly. Nothing else came to mind. In the most basic sense, other than animalistic teeth and claws, his body simply boasted a great deal more hair than his more human-appearing contemporaries.

Beside him, Catherine let out the smallest of chuckles. "I had assumed that," she said in amusement. "I suppose I should be more blunt."

But she did not go on. Rather, she moved away from him and stretched up to untie the ribbons which bound his hands above his head. Taking great care with each, she helped him to move his arms down by his side, mindful that they had been in an unusual position for some time. And then, once both hands were completely free, she took each one in turn, gently massaging his wrists.

Vincent waited for her to say more, but she took her time with her ministrations, moving from his wrists to his hands, working the large muscle at the base of his thumb while simultaneously mindful of the almost-healed wounds across his palms. She actually paused at the sight of those, and he could feel a tremor go through her body as they both remembered the heated argument between them which had resulted in that self mutilation.

Finally, she looked up at him.

"Next time, I would like to see you," she told him frankly, fingering his vest and sweater, "without these."

The thought of appearing naked before her, even if only his torso, flooded him with fear, and Vincent automatically turned away from her.

"Catherine…"

She persisted, "At least think about it."

The hour had grown late and with a weary smile, she stood up, apparently intent upon going back above.

"Walk me back?" she asked sweetly, reaching out to pull him to his feet.

"Of course."

When they reached the threshold to her building, Catherine stopped and turned to him before going up. "Thank you," she said, her heart full of lightness and gratitude.

"I have done nothing deserving of your thanks, Catherine," he dissembled.

Moving forward, she slid her arms around him, bringing his body into full contact with hers. "You have," she told him. "You've given me hope. Will I see you tomorrow evening?"

"If you wish."

"I do. My apartment, if that's all right."

He inclined his head slightly in acquiescence, and she rewarded him with a kiss. The movement surprised him as she quickly and gently placed her lips atop his before moving away from him.

"Goodnight, Vincent," she said before disappearing into the column of light which hid the ladder rungs up to her building's basement.

"Goodnight, Catherine," he murmured into the stillness after she had gone.

TBC