A/N: To my lovely reviewer, thank you for the feedback. It means the world to me.
Vincent woke a long time later from a deep and complex sleep. As reality began to materialize around him, slowly taking shape and form, it reminded him of all the beauties life had in store. But he also grew decidedly uncomfortable.
First, he was in Catherine's apartment. This eventuality was extraordinary in and of itself because he had so rarely permitted such an offending abuse of hospitality. But second, and more importantly, Vincent felt the warmth of the sun streaming through Catherine's apartment windows.
Snapping his eyes open, he realized quickly that he had stretched out across her entire bed, and a quick look confirmed that he was still bare-chested. Further, the button of his jeans open and the top of his zipper caught half-way down. Looking around frantically, he expected to find his clothing on the floor but instead it had been neatly folded and placed beside him on the bed.
As he moved to pull on his sweater and vest, he finally noticed her.
Catherine sat absolutely still on the step leading up to her balcony. While the French doors remained closed, the curtain had been pushed open a few inches to allow in the path of sunlight which had fallen across Vincent's face.
She had changed from her silk gown the night before into jeans and a long sleeve shirt with a turtle neck. As the weather outside was not yet cool enough for such choices, Vincent instantly recognized her clothing as a means of covering every bit of stray skin.
Dread filled every inch of him as he met her pain-filled eyes. But inexplicably, a river of love flowed to him through the bond.
"Good morning," she greeted him softly.
"I… I'm not sure what happened last night," he confessed, feeling confused. "I remember everything, I think, except at the end. I feel as though…"
Guilt instantly flooded the bond along with Catherine's love and a moment later he sensed from her something unusual: hatred. Looking up sharply, he knew the sudden anger and disgust were directed inwardly at herself.
With a sigh, Catherine told him frankly, "Vincent, you almost killed yourself. Because of me. Because I pushed you too far."
Her confession stunned him, but the words let him piece together those final moments, completing the picture of how a night which had begun so well had ended in near devastation. Then, something occurred to him as he looked at Catherine's strange post by the balcony door.
"Have you been sitting there all night?" he demanded.
"Vincent…"
Her voice betrayed a level of anguish typically reserved for their most heart-wrenching moments, and her eyes were full of sadness. But nothing he felt through the bond indicated that she had been physically harmed during their interlude the night before.
Yet she looked so devastated.
"What happened was my fault," she said softly. "I'm so sorry."
Slowly, the last moments of their night came back to him. He recalled her touches, her kiss. But nothing she had done had been in the least offensive to him. Instead, his own reaction had betrayed him, his body responding to hers of its own accord rather than remaining under the tight control his circumstances demanded.
"You did nothing wrong," he contradicted her.
He remembered her look of desire while she looked at his body. Perhaps it was her strong reaction to the sight of him which had caused his usual steely will to evaporate. But he knew without doubt what had nearly transpired was his doing, not hers.
But Catherine shook her head.
"You asked me to stop, Vincent, and I didn't. I was in the wrong. I know that."
She spoke so forlornly, he might have thought he were listening to her confess to a crime rather than what she had actually done: attempt to love an man for whom physical love was impossible.
"Catherine," he said sharply, her name sounding unnecessarily sharp on his lips. "You are not to blame for what I am. You have loved… selflessly. Bravely. Far beyond anything I could have imagined. No, it was I who lost control. And when I feared regaining it, when I thought all must be lost, you… you saved me."
She agreed with nothing he had said, Vincent could tell. Through the bond, her self loathing strengthened, and with tears in her eyes, Catherine shook her head again.
"Vincent… because of me, because of how hard I pushed you, you almost…" She paused, awash with internal agony. "You almost died because I wanted more from you than you were comfortable sharing. That makes me the monster here, not you."
"No!"
Tears glimmered in her eyes as she answered him definitively. "Yes, Vincent."
He did not stand up from the bed but lowered himself to the floor to kneel at her feet. Staying close to her but just far away to avoid touching, Vincent lowered his head as if in a small bow.
"Catherine, you deserve to be loved. You should be cherished, honored, revered. Last night I learned for the first time how it feels for you to find completion with someone else. And I cannot conceive of how you have given that up for so long to endure a platonic relationship with me. Your longing and your sacrifice are unendurable. And were I any other man, it might be safe for me to pursue those pleasures with you. But I am not…"
Her need to reach out to him intensified so strongly that it nearly overwhelmed the bond. Vincent even closed his eyes as he anticipated her throwing herself into his embrace, ready to contradict his every word. But while he could feel her intentions through the bond, Catherine did not move.
"You deserve those pleasures too, Vincent," she remarked. "And perhaps if I had been more patient, more careful, I could have convinced you of that. But…"
She stopped, swallowing hard.
"...but I won't push you like that again. I promise."
With that statement, he felt hope die inside her.
The seeds of possibility shriveled into nothingness, replaced with a deep well of guilt and personal recrimination. She tried to hide her feelings, pushing them away, but Vincent could still see them in her body. Her shoulders slumped, her entire body devoid of animation. Dark circles had been painted beneath her eyes, remnants of a sleepless night. But on her heart beat, slowly and steadily, as if defying the feeling he had that it had just been ripped from her chest.
With the sun having risen while he slept, Vincent could not return below until morning without risk being seen. While Catherine knew he hated the thought of being trapped in her apartment the entire day, there were no other options but to wait for nightfall.
They spent the rest of the morning in relative silence. Eventually, Catherine made tea and they sat at her dining room table together as though it were the most normal thing in the world for him to be sitting in her apartment during the daylight hours. When she seemed assured that his impulse to hurl himself from the balcony the night before had completely passed, Catherine left to run errands. First, she was to go below and alert Father and the others to his whereabouts so they would not worry. Then, she needed to find some food for them. At present, the contents of her refrigerator were hardly fit to sustain a mouse, let alone two people, and she did not want him to be hungry while he waited for the cover of darkness.
Plus, the temporary distance between them would help her to clear her crowded mind.
Catherine had grown used to ignoring emotions she did not wish for Vincent to feel through the bond. The easiest one to banish was fear. She simply pushed it away, as though it could not be a part of her. When Paracelsus kidnapped her the prior year, she had utilized that technique to keep from drawing Vincent into a trap. Now, she used it to conceal her utter devastation and guilt at what she had almost wrought.
Had he reached the balcony…
Catherine shuddered at the thought, and she gave herself one sharp stab of inner castigation before pushing those feelings away.
If he had reached the balcony, he would have died. And his blood would be entirely on her hands. Just as the blood of so many attackers had drenched his beautiful soul because of her, she had nearly led him to his own self-inflicted death.
No more. Catherine told herself. I will not do this to him again.
Vincent had always lived contently with the notion of sharing a loving but decidedly non-sexual relationship with her. Only when she asked for more did he have to contend with such strife and pain.
No more, she thought again.
If her only way to love him and preserve his sanity was through gentle hugs and chaste hand holding, then she would continue to find her happiness in those moments. Catherine knew he would consider that a sacrifice, but to her, losing him entirely was a far greater loss.
When she returned to her apartment a few hours later, she found him in the bedroom, reading on the step to the balcony by the light filtering in through the window. The volume of Shakespeare's sonnets he had once given her lay open in his massive palm, and he looked up as she set the bags of spoils from her outing on the kitchen table.
He looked so inscrutable, and Catherine smiled sadly, wishing she could feel the bond the way he did. Perhaps if she could feel his emotions, she might have been able to...
No, stop thinking about it. That's past.
She pushed the notion away, angry at herself for continuing to torture the poor man with such thoughts.
They ate a late lunch in companionable silence with Catherine resisting the urge to fill the gulf between them with chatter. A deep sadness had overtaken her and she found it difficult to shake until she realized the true source.
You harmed him last night. You irrevocably broke something between us and what you feel now is regret and guilt. So much was lost because of your hurried demands on him…
Clamping down on her feelings again, Catherine did her utmost to cast them aside, not wanting Vincent to experience her inner torment vicariously. But she could tell he was still deeply affected by her thoughts. While she had spooned out Chinese food for them into separate plates, Vincent had eaten little. And for what he did consume, he seemed to find the dishware more fascinating than her company as he rarely looked up from it.
"It won't be dark for several more hours," she said with a sigh. "Is there anything you would like to do?"
In another time, perhaps her question would have sounded flirtatious, or at least mildly alluring. But in their present state of discomfort, her tone came out hollow and empty.
"Perhaps we should talk."
While he made the suggestion, she could tell from his tone that said it for her sake. But talking was the last thing that she wanted to do, especially after the disaster of the night before. But Catherine nodded in agreement anyway.
"Perhaps we should."
After clearing the table, Catherine joined him in her living room. At first he seemed awkward and out of place attempting to find a comfortable spot on her sofa. But after a few moments, he nestled among the pillows and put one long arm across the back, settling in weight feigned serenity, as though he were utterly used to such furnishings. Pressing her lips together to suppress a smile, Catherine sat on the opposite couch.
For a long time, silence simply stretched out between them. But rather than the quiet interludes they sometimes shared, this one held a multitude of unspoken regrets which neither could give a voice.
Eventually, it was Vincent who spoke first. Leaning forward, he asked frankly, "What can I do, Catherine, to make up for what happened last night?"
She almost laughed aloud.
"You did nothing wrong, Vincent. If anyone should be asking that question, it should be me."
Shaking his head, he insisted, "You were not in the wrong. It was I who-"
Catherine held up a hand to stop him. "I don't think it is useful to continue debating who did what to whom or which of us was more in error. I guess the real question is… where do we go from here?"
Carefully, he asked, "I suppose that is the question. Then I must ask you - do you wish to end what is between us?"
The thought of it left her cold. So cold. As cold as she had ever been. Without Vincent, her life would have no meaning. Joy would abandon her as surely as purpose and mirth. Losing him would mean snuffing out the light inside her, and she felt certain she could not survive if that flame was ever lost.
But if being with her might drive him to suicide…
"I don't ever want to hurt you again," she told him after a few moments of thought. "If my being with you forces you to self destruction, then I'd rather say goodbye right now and let you go forever. But I would do anything, anything at all, to keep from losing you, Vincent."
Her emotions sang to him through the bond, as sweet and clear as any music he had ever heard. They included notes of melancholy and regret, but beneath it all he could feel her love. It beat strong and true, an ever-present refrain which reminded him of not only the possibilities which lay before them but also his unworthiness to receive them.
"I do not wish to lose you, either," he murmured quietly, unable to meet her gaze. The admission proved more difficult than he was willing to admit. While his love for Catherine was no secret to anyone, he also knew that by not giving her up, he doomed her to a life of shadows, to a relationship which could never truly meet her needs and desires. While he had lived with that knowledge before, it tore at him afresh as he considered the events of the night before.
With a shy smile, Catherine offered, "Then we go back to how things were before."
"That was not enough for you," he pointed out, attempting to avoid an accusing tone.
She shook her head. "No, you are all that I need, Vincent. Anything else is…" She paused, looking for the best word, "...a gift."
Unable to answer her for a long while, he simply let his attention wander around her living room. The couch beneath him felt strange and alien. There were few such oppulent pieces of furniture in the world below, being too bulky to easily navigate the long and winding corridors down to the lower levels. The rest of the apartment's furnishings were much like Catherine herself: light, beautiful, and undoubtedly more valuable than their settings demonstrated. Unlike his own chamber, her rooms were spacious and airy, the walls uncluttered by mismatched bookshelves and discarded objects. She truly lived in a beautiful tower in the clouds.
He had no place there.
"Catherine… how long can we continue like this? How long until the pain of this… partial love… begins to destroy you? I know you have hope that I will be able to get past my reticence, that I might come to see things as you do. But I don't know-"
Interrupting him, she said quietly, "I don't have that hope anymore, Vincent."
Her words surprised him, and upon looking up at her, he could feel through the bond a distinct realization. Not only had it settled into her but she had allowed it to take root around her heart. She spoke truly - the hope she once harbored in her heart was gone.
Catherine continued, "I made a promise to you this morning, and I intend to keep it. I won't kiss you. I won't try to touch you. If you ask me to go, I will go. If you ask me to stay, I will stay. But I won't ever again require more of you than you are prepared to give me."
She spoke matter-of-factly, but the sadness within her confirmed how difficult it was to speak the words aloud. A dull ache had taken residency in her gut, and it reminded Vincent of when a brilliant flame was snuffed out, leaving only smoke and ash behind.
"I don't know that I can accept such sacrifice from you," he sighed, awash with guilt at so thoroughly destroying Catherine's hope.
She squared her eyes at him, and for just a moment, she looked like a stranger. She smoothed her features into a calm, dispassionate mask. And when she spoke, her voice sounded wrong - mechanical and forced.
"The only other option is to give you up," she stated blankly, "and that is a sacrifice I'm not sure I could live with. If there was no other choice to keep you safe, I would. But you are the love of my life. Nothing is more important to me than you. And I will abide by any restriction-"
Before she could finish, Vincent found himself on his feet, pacing the length of her living room in agitation. Outside, the sun had just begun to dip low on the horizon, reminding him that he would not be able to safely return below for at least another hour. An hour of enduring Catherine's humble professions of love and sacrifice. An hour of wishing he had succeeded in killing himself the night before, if for no other reason than to spare himself the hell of this conversation.
"You deserve everything," he whispered harshly as he moved back and forth. "You deserve a life with every pleasure, with every need met."
Stopping abruptly, he turned to her. Her mask had broken momentarily and she looked up him with concern and love. He felt it through the bond, sweet and beautiful.
"Catherine, I am the one who began all of this. I wanted to try, to at least attempt to give you some of what I always thought would be impossible between us. You have never asked me for more. You have never made it a condition of our love."
As she closed her eyes tightly, he could tell she was fighting back tears. "And I am glad you were willing to try or we might never have known. Thank you, Vincent."
Her thanks hit him like a slap to the face, and he recoiled. "I am like a shadow over your life. Please do not ever thank me again."
Catherine dropped her gaze, momentarily chastened.
"That you should endure such sadness, such tremendous and horrible longing, just to be with me…"
"Do you really not know what you mean to me?" she demanded finally, her face no longer an inscrutable mask but full of expression and passion. "You act as though I lose something by choosing to remain in a relationship with you when all I see is the love you give me. Vincent…"
She stopped, her voice cracking with emotion. Her feelings were in turmoil, coming and going and morphing together so quickly he could not keep up. But deep below it all, her love raged like a fierce and unstoppable river.
"Vincent, when we met, I felt complete for the first time in my life. It was as though my soul had always needed something - someone - and I did not realize it until you came into my life. You are so caring and compassion. You give so much to others while never asking for yourself. Your heart is so full of love and generocity, when the world has rarely shown you any kindness-"
"Catherine-"
She halted at the sound of her name and the anguish in his voice, but love still spilled over from her through the bond. Every word was true, in her mind. To Catherine, he was treasured and precious. Whereas he often felt like an albatross around her neck, weighing her down, she felt as though he had given her wings.
Vincent searched her emotions nevertheless, needing to know if she spoke the truth about her willingness to go back to the way things had been. Her physical need had always pressed at him, a beautiful but worrisome notion weighing heavily on his conscience. Now, she proposed to ignore that need entirely in a desperate bid to keep him. He had to be sure that sacrifice would truly benefit Catherine, that the tradeoff was enough.
Anger built in him as he combed through her feelings - at himself. He had brought her pleasure! The night before, prior to his loss of control which had made everything go horribly wrong, he had brought her to a sweet, aching climax with his mouth. That had happened, he reminded himself. The scent and taste of her could never be confused with a dream.
Why couldn't he give her that again? The overwhelming disgust he felt at the thought of her body being tainted by his touch eased a bit when he considered the tremendous pleasure it brought her. But Catherine had wanted to love him in return, he recalled. Her desire to give him that same pleasure had nearly overwhelmed them both, and Vincent remembered the exact moment when passion had given way to terror.
One moment, she was sitting astride his lap, kissing him while exploring his unclothed chest. And, he ached at the memory, she had taken delight in his body. Catherine overlooked the dense fur to focus on the strength of his muscles.
No - she overlooked nothing. Everything about him had been beautiful to her, including his differences.
But the next moment, Vincent had lost himself. He had no awareness of flipping Catherine onto her back and fitting his body between her legs. It had only been when that evil desire to free himself from the confines of his trousers, to enter her warm sex, had nearly overwhelmed him. Only then had Vincent had recognized the need to stop. As much as Catherine loved him, she needed care and tenderness, not brute force and primal urges. And his desires, the ones which sometimes haunted his dreams, were not lovely and delicate. They were dark and coarse and demeaning to her.
He could so easily harm her. He could easily harm any woman, but Catherine, in her faithful love, might allow him to…
Paracelsus had convinced him of exactly this, and Vincent had believed the man because he knew how much Catherine loved him. She would endure pain to keep loving him, like the proverbial frog left in the pot as it slowly heated to a boil. Catherine's devotion would tie her to his side through any inhuman act he might inflict on her.
Even now, she offered to give up physical love completely. She sacrificed the hope of finding a path for them in the future on the altar of her love.
Vincent knew he should end things. While it would hurt them both, eventually she might find a less painful destiny. But he couldn't. He could not bare to hurt her in such a way again, to cleave himself into anguished pieces.
Catherine sat waiting, as if preparing herself for the judgment of one of her courts. With a sigh, Vincent knelt on the floor at her feet and she looked at him with surprise. Taking one of her hands in his, Vincent brought the skin to his lips and graced it with a brief, innocent kiss.
"I love you, Catherine, with all that I am. I am honored that your feelings for me run so deep, that you give so much of yourself for my sake. But I want you to know, you are not bound to me. If ever the pain is too great, or you meet someone else who can complete any part of you…" He took a deep breath, forcing back tears. "You must do what is best for you, Catherine, without regard for me. Please promise me that."
She stared at him a long time, processing his words. He could tell when she finally worked out his meaning, the open invitation to find sexual completion elsewhere, when she let out a small gasp.
When Catherine began to argue, to no doubt affirm her love for only him, he gently placed one finger to her lips, the bare touch enough to silence her protests.
"Please?" He begged. "Promise me."
Perhaps she sensed that he could not go forward without this vow on her part because Catherine waited only a handful of heartbeats before reluctantly agreeing.
"I promise," she said, although he could almost hear her unspoken addendum, but it will never happen.
TBC