A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. The holidays demanded more of my attention than I had expected. As this story nears its end, please feel free to let me know how you like it. I have other Beauty and the Beast stories in the works, but I won't be posting until I have a full draft roughed out. Feedback is wonderful.

"Catherine?" she heard him say, interrupting the quiet stillness between them.

"Hmm?"

"I was wondering…"

The way he said the words, she had a feeling his inquiry exceeded the boundaries of propriety he so often observed between them. The tension in his body was suddenly evident to her, and Catherine forced her eyes open to look at him.

"Yes?"

"I don't know the… propriety of such matters, but…"

He looked away from her, obviously unsure of himself.

"What matters?" she pressed.

The expression on his face betrayed that his question was of a personal, likely sexual nature, and Catherine realized the nature of his hesitation.

"Tell me what has you so concerned," she appealed to him, wanting Vincent to feel comfortable bringing such inquiries to her without a cloak of embarrassment surrounding them.

When he finally found the will to speak, he could not look at her, his voice low and drawn with uncertainty. "I was wondering, how often…" He paused, fighting against obvious mortification as he sought to rephrase the question. "I do not wish to ask too much of you," he admitted finally.

The statement dumbfounded her, and Catherine struggled to understand it. What could he possibly think might be 'too much'?

And then, reflecting back on their experiences in this isolated chamber, Catherine realized the nature of his concerns.

"Do you mean to ask how often we can make love?" she asked, not bothering to take the time to couch her answer in as careful of terms as he used.

The way he steadfastly refused to look at her, the way he held himself so utterly still and quiet, affirmed that indeed was the question he could not bring himself to voice.

"Vincent…" she said, fighting not to show her bemusement. "There are no rules. There is no 'propriety,' as far as I'm concerned."

But her answer appeared to offer him no solace, and she watched as he became more and more agitated, almost to the point of leaving the bed they shared.

But before she could offer another reassurance, he confessed, "I'm not sure if a single moment has passed in the past two days when I haven't… wanted you."

As he made the statement, his voice filled with shame, as though he had no right to experience either lust or longing. As he so often did, Vincent hid his expression behind the untamed curtain of his straw-colored hair, and Catherine sat up so she could see as much of his face as he might allow before she spoke.

"I'm not sure a moment has passed in the last two years when I haven't wanted you," she said.

That statement garnered his attention, and he glanced at her swiftly, as if to ascertain whether she were telling the truth. But Catherine only met his gaze, daring him to contradict her.

"It isn't the same," he said finally. "You don't have the same urgings I feel. You aren't consumed with it, with the bloodthirsty desire…"

"Vincent," she said, trying to stop him. But his agitation only grew. Before she could reach out to him, he had left the bed and crossed the chamber, putting distance between them.

"Part of me would keep us here forever," he told her archly, his voice full of desperation. "I would never let you leave my sight. My chamber. My arms."

Trying to reassure him, she stated, "And a part of me would stay here with you. Willingly, Vincent. Gladly. Ecstatically."

Indeed, the very thought of leaving filled her with dread, although she knew they both needed to return to their own lives - she above and him below. But she still regretted the necessity of their parting.

"You cannot understand how much I want you," he declared, his distress increasing. She watched as he paced from one side of the chamber to the other, each step more hurried than the one before it. "It feels like a drug or an addiction, this need. It consumes my every waking thought."

"Vincent-"

Slipping out of the bed, she approached him gingerly, not wanting to spook him by moving too fast. But even as she came close, he seemed alarmed at her nearness.

"You shouldn't have to endure such… animalistic urges." His statement came out with a hiss, a dismissal of his physical needs so bathed in disgust that it momentarily stunned her. Before she could say more, he added, "I thought - I had hoped - that what passed between us before would help me to control these… abhorrent thoughts. But now I can think of little else…"

His hand gestured to her plaintifully even as he looked away in mortification, unwilling to meet her eyes. But Catherine knew she could not leave him to his own doubts and frustrations. Determined, she grabbed his hand and held it to her steadfastly.

She waited for him to look up at her, and when he finally did, she poured as much reassurance into her words and thoughts as she could.

"Vincent, what you're feeling is completely natural. We have just begun to experience each other on a physical level. Between the two of us, I can't imagine a couple more burdened with sexual frustration."

But he seemed undeterred. "It isn't you who is consumed with such thoughts of… lust," he pointed out, his voice dropping low as though he had curse word in her presence.

Tears burned Catherine's eyes as she heard the self chastisement in his voice, as if his needs, now finally being met, were some sort of burden or abomination in her eyes. Did he think she had only taken pity on him, that the long-awaited culmination of their bodies was something she merely endured for his sake?

"Vincent," she appealed in desperation, "You have no idea how much I want you, how much every moment we spend apart has filled me with pain and longing." Sighing, she admitted, "Sometimes it is frightening, to think about how much we can need another person, to crave their presence beside you. To feel that all-encompassing completion when you can finally be together. But what you're feeling is normal. It's how I feel, when I let myself feel it."

Deliberately, she closed her eyes, and the motion pushed a small river of tears down her cheeks. But as she focused, she allowed her own desires to surge through the bond so he could feel them as clearly as she did. With those emotions, she gave him glimpses of her thoughts, of ways in which she wanted to make love with him - passionate and creative. As the more experienced partner, she felt the need to introduce him to their burgeoning physical relationship slowly, at a pace at which he felt comfortable. But the weight of that responsibility did not mean a primal desire did not reside in her as well.

Opening her eyes, Catherine gazed at him with all the love and hunger in her heart.

Vincent looked back at her enigmatically, taking it all in.

"Do you believe me?" she asked.

Slowly, as if entranced, he nodded.

For a very long time, they simply gazed into each other's eyes. Catherine knew he was taking the time to feel her emotions, to reassure himself that all that she had said was reflected in her heart. And she did not try to rush him.

Finally, he noted with a deep sigh, "We should get back. It is past dawn. If we hurry, we can still make it to breakfast."

Grinning, she joked, "You mean the pears weren't filling enough?"

With a smile in return, he shook his head. "No, I think next time…"

He paused, taking a breath before glancing at her. She understood his hesitation - did he presume too much by suggesting a 'next time'?

"We should pack more provisions, when we do this again," she agreed readily.

Relaxing at the certainty of her response, Vincent inclined his head.

"And until then," she went on, "there is always my apartment. No one can interrupt us there."

His eyes sparkled with renewed desire, and he seemed pleased by the reminder that they had someplace else private enough for such activities.

Within twenty minutes, Vincent had returned the chamber to its usual state, bagging up the used sheets to take with them back for laundering and changing out burned out candles for fresh ones. They walked quietly, although he made sure to set a quick pace which would get them back to the more inhabited tunnels in short order.

At breakfast, they earned a few sidelong glances from the other tunnel residents, and Rebecca had even asked Catherine how she liked the private chamber.

She answered for them both, joking that the extra privacy had outweighing the lack of hot food - but only for one night. However, Catherine quickly noticed that the extra attention left Vincent feeling ill at ease. Taking his hand in hers, she kissed it, not caring who among the community might notice. But the action seemed to make Vincent all the more nervous, and as soon as they had finished eating, he offered to walk her back above.

"It's early yet," she admonished him before teasing, "Are you that ready to be rid of me?"

He shook his head in response, but she sensed something else was bothering him. The tension in his shoulders had not been there before, nor had the weary way he seemed to avoid looking at the other members of his underground community in the dining hall.

With a barely perceptible smile, Catherine leaned forward so only he could hear her. "They can't tell a difference," she assured him.

He did not even pretend to mistake her meaning. "How do you know?"

"Because no one is looking at us. Not Rebecca. Not Elizabeth or Brooke. Father is sitting with Mary, completely relaxed. Don't you think they would be more… obvious with their curiosity, if they suspected?"

Slowly, Vincent swept his eyes towards where Father sat at another table. While the tunnel patriarch had greeted them when they entered for breakfast, he had barely given the couple a second glance since. Nor did any of the others seem especially interested in them after they had sat to eat.

"I feel as though I am a child again," he confessed, "with a secret I both wish to keep close and also proclaim to the heavens."

"I know what you mean."

"Still, I…" he paused and looked away, conflicted.

"You're worried what people will think."

A nod and then he refocused his eyes on the table. She still held one of his hands in her own, and he focused on their intertwined fingers - his so different from hers, coarse and foreign.

"I am."

For a long moment, he said nothing, and Catherine finally prompted, "We should go to your chamber. I think we should talk before I return above."

He nodded in agreement. But rather than escorted her with a polite bit of distance between them, Vincent allowed her to hold his hand the entire way.

Once they reached the comfortable surroundings of Vincent's chamber, Catherine smiled to herself as she sank onto the edge of his bed. She loved this space like no other. Not only did it remind her of peace and safety from her days convalescing below after her attack, Vincent had transformed a bare stone chamber into a true home. Between the eclectic possessions he kept displayed and the worn carpets on the floor, everything reminded her of him.

Even his scent seemed permanently infused into the air, a rich mixture of candle tallow, old books, and Vincent.

After moving his chair close to the bed, he sat down near her but not touching. As Catherine regarded him, she could tell he still seemed uneasy.

"Vincent," she said, catching his attention, "are you ashamed of what we did?"

The question came naturally to her, and she hoped she had guessed wrong at his quiet agitation. But if she was correct, she wanted to address his apprehension before returning above.

His eyes snapped up to hers.

"Of course not," he said, slightly offended. "I will treasure the memories of your weekend below until the day I die."

"Then…"

He sighed deeply and looked away again. Something in the set of his shoulders suggested that his inner turmoil revolved around other's opinions - of him, of them, of the disgust she knew still existed in his heart at the thought of defiling her with his touch.

"I know you're concerned about the others. But, Vincent, surely you must realize by now…" She paused, waiting for him to meet her eyes. When he finally did, she continued, "They love you. They want you to be happy. And Vincent - they probably assume that we are already physically involved."

Her last statement elicited a stunned reaction, and he gaped at her openly.

Having been a part of Vincent's life for two and a half years, having visited him below and gotten to know his community, she had become an acknowledged part of his life.

Vincent's Catherine, as mouse referred to her.

And while Vincent always showed extreme restraint whether others were around to see it or not, Catherine had been able to observe what he would not allow himself to see. The others accepted her, not because of what she could offer to the tunnels materially or because they enjoyed her company. No, as welcoming as they were to those who needed help, they embraced her from the outset because of who she was to Vincent. And even now, as much as they might have come to value her for her own attributes, she was still Vincent's Catherine. They all - even Father - recognized his love for her and her feelings reciprocated.

Having watched Vincent live his life alone, set apart by his appearance and lack of history, they gloried in his having found someone to love. Even those who initially were leery of Catherine had to admit that after almost three years, she would not betray him. Her love was real, as true and unadulterated as his love for her.

But in that acceptance of her, the tunnel community had long since passed judgment on their relationship. To the extent that anyone might have noted their newfound intimacy, they probably would have smiled to themselves and wished the couple joy. And in truth, she believed exactly what she had told Vincent. She felt certain that most of the tunnel residents already believed them to have made that step into the realm of physical love.

Over the past weeks, Catherine had slowly come to realize that not only did Vincent struggle with feelings of disgust at the thought of being with Catherine, of sullying her body with his own, but he assumed everyone around them harbored those same thoughts. All of his friends and loved ones, even those who had known him since he was a baby, accepted him out of the kindness of their hearts, not because of his inherent worth. His differences would always make him a pariah in his own eyes, someone who must prove himself worthy at every opportunity.

Catherine desperately wished to make him see the truth.

"They see how much we are in love, and they assume that extends to all aspects of our relationship. Why wouldn't they? They are so happy for you, Vincent. They know you deserve every sliver of joy this life has to offer, and they rejoice that you have found some."

He shook his head, and Catherine knew she had not gotten through to him. So ingrained were the lessons of his childhood, that he was different and would always be treated differently, that breaking through them was not the act of a single night. But she would hammer her point home again and again until one day, it might hopefully breach the shell of his defenses. Then, he might truly understand the depth of not only her love but of everyone else's love for him.

"Vincent," she said quietly. "Have you ever spoken with anyone else about… about what we've been doing lately? Have you had a confidant?"

The sudden guilt in his expression confirmed that he had talked with someone, but it took her a minute of patient waiting before he was willing to answer.

"Peter," he managed finally.

Catherine nodded slowly, a little surprised and then not as much when she considered his position. Peter was a medical doctor, and he had likely spoken with the man from that point of view.

So as not to harm me.

She closed her eyes as she thought about that particular fear. Despite his concerns, at no point in any of their lovemaking efforts had he ever hurt her. Even the night before, when their shared passion had cast all other matters of import to the winds, he had not pierced her skin with his claws. He had not scratched her with his fangs as he drew the sensitive skin of her areolas into his mouth. And he had not hurt her or harmed her or caused her the slightest twinge of discomfort with his immense strength and considerable size.

"And how did Peter seem, when you spoke to him?"

Vincent took a deep breath before answering. "He was kind. Professional. He gave me some good advice and information-"

"No," she interrupted, "how did he seem when you talked about you and I having a physical relationship? Did he seem shocked? Horrified?"

He stared at her for the span of two heartbeats before blinking.

"No," he stated, sounding almost surprised himself. "No, he…" He stopped and looked away. "He seemed to take it as a matter of course. An inevitability."

Smiling at the word, Catherine echoed it, "An inevitability. Vincent, you must know that he isn't the only one who sees us that way. Nearly everyone below accepts us. They accepted you long ago. And they have come to accept me and what I mean in your life."

As she spoke, he listened intently even if he would not meet her eyes. She suspected that she had hit upon a deep-seated fear, one he had always internalized even if he had not truly admitted it to himself.

She went on, "Vincent, your family below loves you. They want you to be happy. And they don't see anything wrong in you finding love with someone else."

He hesitated only a moment before looking back up at her.

"Father…" he began, but his voice died as he looked away, clearly conflicted.

"Father wants what is best for you," Catherine reminded him. "He also wanted to protect you from heartbreak."

The sort of heartbreak Lisa had visited upon him in his youth, she reflected. That episode coupled with Father's lectures in the years afterwards had chipped away his confidence when it came to matters of love and sexuality. No wonder he had such trouble accepting the reality of them finally being together - it flew in the face of everything he had ever known. He could be of value to his friends as a teacher, protector, and worker. But if he ever sought more than that, if in pursuing passion he could potentially lose himself to the violent side unleashed in times of need…

Catherine closed her eyes tightly as she tried not to curse Father. She believed what she had stated, that the man only wanted good things for his son. But through his own experiences, left fractured and disillusioned by the world above, Father had assumed that Vincent would never be able to find someone who could look past appearances. He never even dreamed that his son's looks would not need to be ignored; they could be appreciated and adored in their own right.

"Besides," she said more casually, hoping to bring him out of the deeply contemplative mood she had likely stoked, "Father isn't exactly a seasoned authority in matters of love."

This observation prompted a slight smile from her beloved and Catherine moved off the bed so she could stand directly in front of him. He looked up at her then, and she very slowly sat down in his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as she did so. At first he stiffened, uncertain about the intimacy of the position she had taken with him. But even as he did so, his arms automatically wrapped around her and brought her close to him.

Slowly, as minutes passed, she felt his muscles relax as he accepted her warmth and weight. Beneath her, she felt a resurgence of his earlier desire, but she made no mention of it. Rather, she rested her head against his chest and sighed softly as she took a deep breath, holding in his scent as long as her lungs would allow.

"I love you."

The words had come from him, she realized with surprise. Even as she had been about to say them, his voice had made the declaration instead.

He had said the words before, of course, but this time felt different. This time, he seemed to actually allow himself to express the sentiment, to have the right to it. Before, those words were confessed like a thief taking that to which he was not entitled. But now…

"I love you," she answered him simply.

TBC