A/N: Feedback is so very appreciated.
Vincent paced the tunnel under Catherine's building, letting his feet trace the same path back and forth along the sandy floor just outside broken doorway and the light at her threshold. She had another date with Justin tonight, the fourth in as many weeks, and on this occasion the two had attended an art gallery opening.
And dinner, Vincent reminded himself, thinking of the fancy French restaurant Catherine had described to him in such vivid and appreciative detail.
In a bid to show his acquiescence to her rekindled friendship, he had asked her to order the escargot so she could tell him about it. That particular dish was one he had always wondered about, having heard it described in books, but he had never been in a position to try. While the idea of eating snails seemed foreign to someone used to the simple fare of William's kitchen, the delicacy intrigued him.
But on this night, dinner had run longer than expected. Vincent could feel Catherine's delight in her outing, the freeness with which she talked and laughed with her date. By the time Justin dropped her off at her apartment, the hour was near midnight, and Vincent wondered whether he should visit her at all.
But even as his inner desires warred with his demons, he began making the climb, taking the elevator as far up as possible before making use of the access ladder to get to the roof. From there, he swiftly executed a few well-remembered maneuvers until he dropped silently into the edge of her balcony. The alcove of plants where he landed usually remained sheltered from any unintended view into her apartment through the doors to her living room.
Inside, the light was on, and he heard voices. At first, he backed away, loathed to disturb Catherine's privacy. But as he heard a man's voice go on at length, his curiosity got the better of him and he edged close enough to make out more than just their voices and a scattering of words.
"You deserve to be happy, Cathy," the man said and Vincent could not disagree with him.
This must be Justin.
"I know," Catherine acknowledged. "But isn't a little happiness better than none at all?"
"How much is a little?" he asked her, and Vincent wondered the same.
For a long moment, neither of them said anything, and Vincent felt a renewed sense of self loathing for spying on her thus. But he also found himself unable to move until he heard her answer.
"It's hard to describe," she said finally. "I've been in relationships before - as you know."
Through the bond, he sensed a familiarity in Catherine, and he remembered that Justin had known Steven Bass, her ex-fiance, during the man's first and only year of law school.
She continued, "But nothing has ever been like this. With him, I feel… complete. And even if we only see each other rarely… even if he isn't able to give everything of himself… I would still choose him over anyone else I have ever been with."
Vincent's cheeks warmed at the description even as he froze in fear at her talking about their relationship with a stranger. Catherine had always been so careful to guard his secret, and the thought of her having revealed enough to explain their situation-
"But he still gave you permission to sleep with other guys?"
Justin spoke bluntly, and Vincent found it jarring against Catherine's elegance of speech. And even as she had been attempting to hide her feelings from him through the bond, this question elicited in her a deep embarrassment and generalized discomfort.
Slowly, she answered her friend, "He made it clear that for anything he cannot offer me, he does not require my complete loyalty."
"And that includes sex."
Vincent cringed at the man's lack of subtlety, just as he felt Catherine flinch as well. But her lack of response confirmed the inquiry, and Vincent suspected this was a topic which had come up between them already.
"Then what stops you?" Justin pursued ruthlessly. "If you have his permission, and you know what you want, why don't you just… take it?"
To Vincent's ears, the words were an invitation, a not-so-subtle seduction, and he waited in dread for Catherine's response. But she said nothing, and through the bond he felt a strange sort of nothingness, as though she had clamped down on her own emotions so hard that he could no longer feel them at all.
Fear gripped his heart and Vincent suddenly felt both exposed and light headed. Needing to be away from Catherine, away from her balcony and the man who could openly take her to the ballet and the symphony and the theater, he quickly climbed back up to the roof. Even as he neared the top, his fingers nearly slipped as he felt a flash of surprise from Catherine. Pausing in motion, he dangled by one hand for a handful of seconds as he reached out for her with his inner sense. More than that, he felt for that warmth he recalled so vividly the last time they had kissed. He had been expecting it every time Catherine went on a date with Justin, and now he suspected they were finally at that moment.
It would devastate him, if she truly did what he had told her, if she found love with another.
Part of him did not even want to complete the climb. Losing Catherine, even by measures, broke his heart and left him devoid of any desire to go on. But when he felt nothing more from her but her usual mixture of emotions, Vincent forced himself to secure his handholds and pull himself up again.
The rest of his journey to Catherine's sub basement passed without interruption as Vincent clamped down tightly on the bond. He did not wish to feel the secure, firm pillow of contentment she tended to radiate after her evenings with Justin. Usually, Vincent found himself on her balcony after their dates, and they spent a bit of time together before Catherine went to sleep. But he suspected that her renewed happiness had more to do with this renewed acquaintance in her life than her time with Vincent.
Tonight, at least, she could go to sleep with Justin in her thoughts. Taking the last steps down the ladder as he returned to the tunnels, Vincent imagined her not even checking the balcony for him before she began her preparations for bed.
But as he slipped through the door in the apartment basement, he paused on the top ladder rung long enough to breath deeply. Until that moment, his breath had come in small gasps, as though he intended to stave off complete panic at the thought of Catherine with another man. Now, he steadied himself before dropping to the sandy floor, back into his world. But as he stepped through the shaft of white light which shielded the broken brick wall from all but the most determined explorer, Vincent stopped abruptly.
Catherine waited for him just inside the entrance to the tunnels. She had not changed from the evening dress he knew she had worn out on her date, and even more curiously, she held a small white box in one hand.
"Catherine."
He spoke her name in surprise, both at her presence and also her ability to reach the sub basement before him.
"I felt you, on the balcony," she explained. "And then I felt you leave. I wanted to meet you before you returned below."
Vincent stood utterly still as he beheld her, confused that she had cut her date short for this purpose.
"I did not wish to interrupt you."
"I wished you would," she countered.
The bond between them split apart, unable to be contained with her nearness and the strength of her emotions, and Vincent felt from her a river of love. It was like a dam had broken within her with too many thoughts and desires held back for too long. They overwhelmed her defenses and flooded out of her with such force that he almost staggered at the intensity.
"Catherine, please…"
Rather than respond, she held out the white box for him.
"What's this?" he asked, although his strong sense of smell answered him in the same moment she did.
"Escargot," Catherine said softly. "You mentioned never having it before, so I ordered an extra entrée... for you."
Suddenly, jealousy stabbed through him as he was reminded of the person who had taken her to dinner.
"And did you tell him who you ordered this for?" Vincent asked roughly.
Without waiting for an answer, he moved past her through the broken brick wall into the tunnels. The familiar surroundings should have taken the edge off his discomfort, but he found no solace in the rough rock and brick walls. But even as he knew he should stop, should listen to Catherine's answer, his feet continued to take him away from her in silent retreat.
Catherine followed him only a couple of paces before calling after his retreating form, "Yes! And as a matter of fact, it was his idea."
The last statement brought him up short, and Vincent froze in place. Slowly, he turned around.
She seemed to sober at his expression and quickly clarified, "I haven't told him much about you, Vincent, I promise. Only that I am in love with someone and that we cannot be together."
He slowly walked back towards her, his limbs feeling very heavy and tired.
"And you have told him why," he said, remembering some of the conversation he had overheard.
"A little," Catherine admitted.
Nodding, Vincent realized that he could not blame her. She had carried the great weight of not only the secret of the tunnels but also their own personal predicament. And the events a month earlier in her apartment had made their situation all the heavier for her to bear. No wonder she would seek out counsel - and comfort - from someone else. With a heavy sigh, he leaned against the rock wall of the tunnel, suddenly too tired to bear the weight of his emotions any longer.
"I trust you, Catherine," he said quietly. "And I trust your judgment in who you unburden yourself to with this secret."
Shaking her head, she quickly moved towards him until she was only an arm's length away. But she halted before reaching out to touch him.
"It isn't like that," she said urgently. "I haven't told him anything about you or the tunnels, I swear."
Whatever happiness he might have glimpsed in her earlier was now gone, Vincent realized, and he hated himself anew for stealing from her the little light still left in her days. His own damned jealousy was to blame for this, jealousy and longing for what must never be.
"This man... " he said slowly, "You share a strong friendship."
"Yes."
"You enjoy the same passions and interests. Art. Music. The law."
Again, she nodded an affirmative.
"Then why not share more?" he forced himself to ask. "You obviously feel comfortable with this man. You share a history. Why not... more?"
Aware of how miserably he sounded, Vincent left his head bowed as he waited for her answer.
"Because I love you."
The affirmance hit him - hard - not the least because the full force of her emotions followed that statement, reminding him not for the first time that she could not lie to him. But her love contained no imperfections. Nothing about Vincent was offensive to her, not his body or his hands or his face. In fact, she seemed completely enamored with just the sight of his large, cloaked form. The mere thought of his scratchy wool vest against her cheek enveloped her with an unparalleled sense of comfort.
But her next words surprised him.
"And because Justin is gay."
They both stood very still for a long time, Vincent frozen in place and Catherine just as mired in the vestiges of her own guilt.
"I should have told you sooner," she said quietly. "I could tell you were jealous. I guess I just wanted to feel something from you. Some sign that you want more from me than just friendship."
Sadly, he remarked, "I want everything from you, Catherine. But I can ask for nothing as I have nothing to give."
His answer tore through her, and she immediately responded, "That isn't true."
"It is."
"You give me everything. You must know that."
With a sigh, he lamented, "Not everything…"
Catherine looked away for a moment, her thoughts a jumble. Finally, she took a deep breath and then let it out slowly.
"Justin and I dated for a few months in law school. He was always the perfect gentleman - holding open doors and paying for dinner. But after a while, I noticed something was off."
She paused for a second, waiting to make sure she had Vincent's attention. When he looked up at her, she continued, "He never tried to kiss me. He never tried to touch me - at least, no more than holding my hand now and then. And while I could tell he had affection for me, I sensed that it was never going to build beyond simple friendship. So finally, I confronted him. And he told me the truth."
Vincent cocked his head to the side. "That must have been difficult - for both of you."
With a sad smile, Catherine answered, "It wasn't, not really. Once I understood him, I was able to manage my own expectations. We went out together a few times after that, but I always knew it was mostly just to keep up appearances. In my world, being different is difficult for others to accept. I've seen people get black-balled, uninvited from parties, shunned by their upper crust society. Justin could even lose his job, if it became common knowledge. So he has always had to keep that part of himself secret, at least from all but those who are closest to him."
"You are a good friend, Catherine."
"But that was all I could ever be to him - a friend."
She looked at him then, holding his eyes in her gaze for as long as she could. Finally, Vincent looked away, obviously still agitated. She had not meant to draw a parallel between him and her gay friend, but the way he held himself apart from her in all but the most innocent ways did remind her of those early months of dating Justin.
Vincent noted quietly, "If you're concerned that I might be homosexual, that is not the case."
She almost laughed. "I know that."
Her response caught his attention, and once again Catherine found herself melting into the crystal clearness of his beautiful blue eyes.
"But there is something else, something you don't want to share with me," she noted, realizing it herself only as the words left her lips. "Whatever you are afraid to share with me, I wish you would please tell me, Vincent."
He shook his head in confusion.
"I have no secrets from you."
"Then why didn't you tell me you were jealous of Justin?" she pressed.
"I have no right to dictate your life," Vincent declared roughly, although he reserved the vitriol in his voice for him alone.
"You are my life," Catherine said with exasperation, "and you have every right."
"No…"
He started moving, turning to walk away from her, and she knew she had to let him go. But before he reached the bend where the tunnel turned sharply and would take him completely out of her sight, Catherine knew he needed to take with him some parting message, some stray bit of hope to linger in his mind to combat the doubts and recriminations.
"The only life I want is one with you."
He stopped at her statement, ever so briefly. But then he continued away from her.
Very quietly, Catherine said to herself, "And I try harder to manage my expectations. I'm sorry, Vincent."
With slumped shoulders, she looked down at the take-out box still in her hand before turning to return up to her apartment.
Father found him pacing restlessly around his chamber, picking up a book here and there only to turn a page, find no solace in the printed words, and discard it again with disinterest. Taking in his agitation, the older man paused in the doorway before greeting him.
"Zack said you'd returned early from your visit to Catherine," he said, apparently intending to tackle the issue head-on. They both knew that on nights when he ventured above, Vincent often stayed for hours into the night.
"Does Zack always report to you on my comings and goings?" Vincent said thinly, barely sparing Father a second glance.
"Uh… no. But tonight he said that you seemed… unhappy. Is there anything I can do?"
Father's concern touched him, but at the moment, Vincent far preferred to be alone with his traitorous, tortured thoughts.
"Thank you, but no. There is nothing that anyone can do."
Rather than leave him, Father took a few steps further and perched on the edge of Vincent's bed, obviously intent upon having a conversation whether it was welcomed or not.
"We haven't seen much of Catherine below lately," he observed knowingly. "I hope she is well."
Angrily, Vincent responded, "Aside from the frustrating and heartbreaking fate which led her to fall in love with me… yes, she is well."
Father sat in stunned silence for several heartbeats before saying anything else. In the brief quiet, Vincent forced himself to remember that those who loved him and had his best interests in mind did not deserve his rage. Besides, was it not Father who had always cautioned him, all the years of his life, that he could not hope for a normal life? Was he not the first to worry that loving Catherine would bring his son unimaginable anguish?
"Vincent…" Father began, clearly struggling to find a way to both soothe and provide counsel. "Have things between you and Catherine become... more difficult?"
Sighing, Vincent admitted, "I had hoped to be able to give her some sliver of the part of our relationship I know she wants. She never pushed for it, never asked, but for a time, I dared to think it might be possible…"
His father took a moment to process the revelation. Finally, his eyes alight with fear, Father asked in a quiet, stunned voice, "Is she…?"
He shook his head. "I did not hurt her."
With a relieved sigh, Father pursued, "But things went... poorly?"
Vincent felt his body tense as he remembered that night in her apartment. Everything had been going well - very well - until he had almost lost control. And worse, he had become overwhelmed with disgust at the thought of his own body touching hers so intimately.
"I cannot be what she needs," he whispered miserably. Unable to look Father in the eye, he simply held out his hands. "Even the thought of touching her, with these hands... I cannot help but feel like I am doing something blasphemous."
Curling his nails into his palms, he slowly flexed his hands until he felt the claws dig into the sensitive skin. Conscious that Father was still watching him, he let up on the pressure only when he sensed the sharpness almost break skin.
"But Catherine does not feel this way, surely?"
Not trusting his voice, Vincent looked away and shook his head.
"Then why should you believe such a thing?" Father challenged. "Catherine loves you, Vincent. I may be a stubborn old man, but these past two years, even I have seen exactly how much she cares for you."
Miserably, Vincent admitted, "She sees me and professes to see beauty."
"She sees you."
Vincent shook his head, refusing to accept the truth his father offered.
"Whatever she sees... she accepts me, as I am," he intoned slowly, hoping not to shock his father. "She would let me touch her. More - she would delight in it."
But the man who had raised him only nodded slowly in understanding. The surprise or distaste he expected to observe did not materialize. "And you're worried about hurting her."
"Yes."
"I take it that Catherine has no such fear?"
"She does not believe I would ever harm her. But she… she has now given up on that side of things."
Raising his eyebrows, Father questioned, "She's given up?"
"Yes, after…"
He sighed, realizing he would now have to tell the entire story. Ever the doctor and man of science, his father had never been shy about asking questions. When Vincent remained quiet for too long, searching for how to explain, Father finally demanded, "After what, Vincent?"
"We were together. I was… I touched her, loved her, as best as I could. But then she wanted to touch me, and I… I nearly lost control."
Clearing his throat, Father looked away uncomfortably. "That must have been very disconcerting."
"I was terrified," Vincent admitted. "I feared hurting her… I feared it so much, I would have..." He took a breath. "I very nearly…"
He closed his eyes tightly against the memory, seeing Catherine's frightened and determined expression as she stood bodily in his way. But as he knew he must continue with the tale before Father sought more details, he went on, "After that, she said she would never again ask for more. I felt the hope die inside of her, Father. And at the same time, she simply accepted this cursed half-love which is all I have to offer."
"Oh, Vincent."
Anger coursed through him anew at the tone of despair in Father's voice. Knowing as he did how much Catherine offered, how much she accepted, Vincent knew that his person constituted the beginning and end of her torment. She would love him fully, with every fiber of her being, not simply ignoring fur and claws and fangs but marveling at their unique beauty. And even as he denied her that sweet, exquisite release, she would still accept from him whatever he permitted - even if he simply held her close on her balcony for an hour every other week.
Just as she had accepted Justin's 'otherness' and switched to spending time with him as a friend, so would she do the same with Vincent. But the difference between them was that Catherine loved Vincent, and in so loving him, she would forsake all other opportunities for a more perfect love. A more fulfilling life.
"She sacrifices… too much," he lamented. "Sometimes, it is as though she hangs by a thread, holding as tightly as she can. And she will not let go. Not even for her own self preservation."
Turning, he looked at the man who had raised him.
"Why does she love me so?" Vincent demanded in anguish.
If Father seemed surprised by the sudden question, he hid it well. Instead, he pressed his lips together tightly before answering. "Because, Vincent… you are extraordinary."
"I am extraordinarily…" He repeated slowly with disgust, agreeing with the description but not with Father's intended sentiment. "And because of that, the risk to her is unbearable. How does this not terrify her?"
For a moment, his father simply sat and stared at him. Finally, Father said, "Vincent… There is something else I want you to consider."
Vincent glanced up at him, but Father did not say anything at first. Instead, he stood up from his perch on the edge of the bed and slowly rounded the chamber, as if calmly perusing the same objects Vincent himself had just been staring at with such agitation.
"You seem to believe you are a danger because of your differences," he said finally. "But I think you must keep something in mind. For Catherine… for all women… Men are dangerous. Throughout history, men have exerted their will, have dominated and subjugated women. Even today, when a man marries, his wife takes his name. This convention is left over from a time when women were essentially the property of their husbands."
"Father…" Vincent said quietly, as if to remind his parent that he knew all of these things.
Taking a deep breath, Father said more succinctly, "Catherine has already had to face a natural fear of you, as she would any other man. For her to take that extra step, to look past your differences and give you her complete trust, is amazing. It does her credit. But Vincent… You would be a danger to her even without your differences. Any man would be."
The notion had frankly never occurred to him, but he had to admit that what Father said was true. Experience bore it out as easily as her own history. Had not Steven Bass almost murdered Catherine when she rejected his deluded fantasy of their continued relationship together? Or what of the man who had watched her from across the park? Without having even met her, that man had kidnapped her and attempted to kill her out of some psychotic sense of possession.
Such dangers were inherent in her world, but Vincent recognized that no matter who she had chosen to love, there would always be the inherent concern that man might harm her. Abuse her. Even kill her.
"This does not make me feel any better," he said gruffly.
"Well, it should," Father insisted. "Because she trusts you. She has from the very beginning. She trusted you even when I… when I failed you."
At this, Vincent looked up, hearing the hitch in the old man's voice. As he glanced at his father, he noted more than a little embarrassment in his bearing as he deliberately looked away.
They both remembered Vincent's experience with the drug Paracelsus had inflicted upon him - vividly. Father's arm had taken months to fully heal. And no matter how much he had insisted that Vincent had not been at fault, there could be no absolution of guilt in such matters. Not for him.
Glowering to himself, Vincent noted, "I could have easily harmed Catherine as I did you."
"Yes. But you didn't."
At this, he looked up sharply and Father skewered him with a knowing look.
"You did not even try to lay a hand on her. I watched, Vincent. You did not strike out at her, not even in self defense."
Shaking his head, Vincent tried to ignore the memories of those horrible, drug-induced hours. He remembered visions of blood and fire, of a terrible siren with Catherine's features who smelled and sounded nothing like her. But in the end, Catherine herself had broken him free of that prison, he had to admit.
"I would rather die than harm her," Vincent declared, remembering those terrifying images. He had not lashed out for fear of doing exactly what he most feared - hurting the woman he loved more than life itself.
Father regarded him, long and hard. The silence between them stretched uncomfortably until Vincent forced himself to meet his eyes.
"Catherine knows this about you," he reminded his son. "And this is why she places such trust in you. Earlier, you said you almost did yourself harm rather than hurt Catherine?"
The sharp pang of memory forced him to look away, but Vincent made himself nod in acknowledgment.
Father went on, "Then I think we should trust her judgment. Clearly, Catherine has a good head on her shoulders. Not only does she love you, but she knows of your capabilities. And your limitations. And she trusts you above all else."
Vincent said nothing for a long time as he processed his father's words.
"And if her trust is misplaced?" he asked finally, his uncertainty painfully clear.
Father raised an eyebrow, and Vincent knew he undertook the question with the heart and mind of a doctor, of a scientist.
Softly, he answered, "Then I fear you will do as you have already decided must be done. You will cause yourself harm before you could ever hurt Catherine."
A few beats passed as Vincent struggled to collect himself.
Father went on, "But I think that I was wrong." The admission pained him, obviously, but he allowed himself a wry chuckle at the contradiction of so many of his earlier predictions. "I always told you that such a life could not be for you, Vincent. But I was wrong. I never doubted that you were worthy of such love. Truly, I never did. I only doubted that anyone could look beyond their own prejudices and recognize your inner worth. And in that, I was wrong. Because Catherine…"
Father took a breath before clearing his throat. "Catherine does not just look beyond your differences, Vincent. She sees you, completely. She sees into your very soul, and she refuses to be distracted by anything else."
His father's words struck Vincent deeply. Not only did they contradict everything he had ever grown up to believe, but they seemed at odds with his own conflicted heart. However, Father's parting words stayed with him well after the tunnel patriarch kissed his cheek and retired to bed.
"Trust Catherine."
TBC