New York City Central Park

1988

On a cold, wet late October night, Jenkins walked along the path at a steady clip, his dark brown eyes darting constantly around him in search of potential danger, his ears straining to catch any sound. It was quiet and secluded along this stretch of the path, perfect for an ambush, and he was on alert. One hand tightened its grip on the strap of the canvas bag slung across his body. The other hand found the hilt of the dagger on his hip, hidden beneath his raincoat. He silently scolded himself as he hurried along the path; perhaps he should have stuck to the busy sidewalks of the city after all. Not even a bone-chilling evening like this would deter a determined thief or a desperate addict.

He rounded a turn in the path. It was especially dark here, the light from the nearest streetlight barely penetrating the darkness here. His ears caught a slight rustling from the thick tangle of barberry bushes next to the path, followed by the soft snap of a breaking twig—there! Just behind him, to his right. Jenkins stopped and spun around, the dagger sliding easily from its sheath. He saw a massive black shadow, human-shaped and as tall as Jenkins. The hair on the back of the man's neck stood on end as his soldier's instinct warned him of certain, messy death if he didn't turn and run right now. He ignored the instinct and instead set his jaw.

"If you know what's good for you, you will show yourself now!" he hollered at the shadow in a stern voice. He was astonished to hear a low, rumbling chuckle in reply to his challenge. As the shadow stepped into the weak light, it raised its hands and pushed the heavy hood of a dark-colored cloak off of its head. The action revealed the terrifying face of a man-beast, leonine in appearance, its head covered with a thick, shaggy mane of long hair, sharp canines and eerie yellowish eyes. Its human hands were fur-covered, each finger tipped by a long, sharp shining black claw. It bared its teeth at Jenkins in a horrifying parody of a human smile.

"Welcome to New York, Uncle Galahad!"

Jenkins cocked his head and peered more closely at the creature.

"Vincent? Vincent?! Is that you?" he finally demanded wonderingly. He dropped the hand holding the dagger and his entire body sagged as the battle-ready tension in his muscles disappeared. He quickly replaced the dagger back into its sheath as he began to scold the creature sharply. "Why are you skulking about in the dark like that? I could've killed you!" There was another rumbling chuckle.

"I knew that I was in no danger," Vincent replied, his voice low and warm and soft as he stepped further into the light. "'A true knight never strikes without first being certain of his opponent, whether he be truly friend or foe'—isn't that what you taught me?" The huge lion-man closed the gap between them and threw his arms around the old man, nearly crushing him in a bear hug.

"It's good to see you again, Uncle!" Jenkins struggled to breathe as he gladly returned the embrace.

"It's good to see you, too, Vincent!" he said as he stepped back and let his eyes sweep the large figure. Jenkins was tall, over six feet, and Vincent was now every inch as tall as he. "Every time I see you, you've grown at least another six inches!" He then cast an anxious look around them.

"But should you really be outside like this? Perhaps we should go somewhere a little more out of the way?"

"Have you forgotten, Uncle?" Vincent said, amused, "Tonight is Halloween! On this one night of the year, I may move about freely, without fear of discovery or of frightening others!" A mixed look of chagrin and relief fell over the old man's face.

"Of course—how stupid of me!" he answered, shaking his silvery head. "I sometimes think I would forget my own head if it wasn't attached! But then, I was expecting to meet up with Jacob, not you. Is he nearby? I have some things from the Library for him." He patted the canvas bag at his left hip as he spoke. Vincent shook his head.

"No, I asked if I could meet you in his place," he replied. Before he could get any further, Jenkins began to protest.

"Oh, Vincent, no! Not tonight of all nights!" he reprimanded his friend, "You should be out and about the city, having some fun and enjoying yourself! There's no need for you to waste valuable time walking an old man around—I know my way to the World Below, I can manage by myself. Go! Go!" Jenkins made an impatient shoo-ing motion with one hand, but Vincent ignored the command.

"Time spent with you is never wasted, Uncle," he answered as he gazed at Jenkins with affection. "Besides, the less law-abiding elements of New York have only increased in number over the years. If anything happened to you while I was off having fun, I would never be able to forgive myself!" He placed one furred hand on Jenkins's shoulder and turned, indicated a direction with his other hand. "Come, Uncle, there is an entrance to the World Below nearby; we can talk along the way."

The two men left the path and began walking through the lightly forested area beyond. Jenkins could barely see here in the near-total darkness, but he knew that Vincent could see their way clearly and so followed his lead, grateful whenever Vincent warned him of sudden dips or bumps in the grassy ground or of any stones or branches that he might have tripped over in the dark.

"How is Jacob?" Jenkins asked the feline-like man next to him, "Is he well?"

"He is," Vincent confirmed, though his voice carried a note of concern. "He is older now, of course, and that brings certain challenges health-wise, but overall he is very well." He turned his great head and looked at Jenkins, his voice now taking on a teasing tone. "He still reads your adventures to the children of the World Below every Sunday night, you know." Jenkins grunted in disgust.

"How can he in good conscience fill their heads with that nonsense?" he complained irritably, "Ninety-nine percent of what's written in Malory about me is utter garbage!" The old man's sudden tetchiness amused Vincent and he laughed softly. Jenkins suddenly stopped and eyed Vincent warily.

"He hasn't told them about me, has he? The truth, I mean?" he demanded, almost accusatory. Vincent walked back to him and laid a hand on Jenkins's shoulder.

"No, Uncle," he assured the old knight gently, "I am the only one besides Father who knows the truth about you. We've both kept our promise not to reveal your secret to anyone else, and we never will." He felt Jenkins's body relax beneath his hand. The old man began to fidget, awkwardly running one hand over the front of his clothes and clearing his throat.

"I know you won't, Vincent; I apologize if I sounded a bit…paranoid," he offered sheepishly, "It's just that…I've gone to great lengths over the years to leave that life—that man—in the past. Start a new life at the Library, and…well…" He shrugged.

"There's no need to explain anything, Uncle," Vincent said to him, "It's what you wish, and that's enough for me."

"Thank you, Vincent," Jenkins replied, "You're an honorable man; I know you'll keep your word. Jacob, too." The two began walking again.

"And what about you?" Jenkins asked, eager to change the subject. "How have you been since the last time I was here?" He was surprised to hear an almost shy snort of laughter from the tall man next to him.

"A lot more than my height has changed since then," Vincent answered with a brightness that wasn't usual for him, and it piqued his companion's interest. "I've met someone." Jenkins halted in his tracks and stared at him.

"You've met someone?" he repeated carefully, fearful of taking the words at face value. "What…kind of someone? What do you mean exactly by 'met'?" Vincent turned and faced him in the dim, scattered starlight.

"A woman, Uncle," he replied patiently, as if attempting to explain something complicated to a small child. "From the World Above. Her name…is Catherine." Jenkins's dark eyes widened in astonishment.

"The World Above!?" he exclaimed, alarmed. He took a couple of steps toward Vincent. "She's seen you? She accepts you? As you are?" There was low growl from the lion-like man, barely audible.

"She has," he answered stiffly, "She has seen me. And spoken with me, and she accepts me. Just as I am!" Realizing foolishness of his words, Jenkins held up both hands.

"My apologies, Vincent; I didn't mean to sound like that," he said quickly, shaking his head. "It's just that…" He paused for a moment and then heaved a heavy, almost weary, sigh.

"I've been around long enough to know that oftentimes people can be…less than forthright," he went on, a sad bitterness coloring his words at the same time.

"You mean they lie, and they use people for their own purposes," Vincent translated dourly. For a moment, Jenkins thought about denying the subtle accusation, but instead he pulled his large frame upright and raised his head as if meeting a challenge.

"Yes," he answered defiantly, "That's exactly what I mean. God knows that I've seen it happen countless times in the course of my life, experienced it for myself, countless times!" His concern for Vincent vented, Jenkins's temper cooled.

"I just don't want to see you hurt, Vincent," he went on quietly, sincerely. "Not you, not Jacob, not the World Below. I know I sound like an angry, bitter old man, but…I have seen the darkest sides of humanity. I know what human beings are capable of doing to get what they want. They are so easily prone to selfishness, greed, and treachery! They care for nothing or no one but themselves and what they want!"

"You're a human being, Uncle," Vincent replied in a soft, sad voice, "Are you saying that you do not truly care about me, or about Father, or the others? That one day you'll turn against us when it's beneficial to you?" Jenkins felt his cheeks flush with shame and he dropped his head.

"Point taken," he answered in a low voice. He rolled his shoulders as he raised his white head to meet his friend's gaze again. "I still fear for your safety, though." He caught a glimpse of white fangs as Vincent grinned.

"You have nothing to fear, Uncle; I trust Catherine," he reaffirmed for the older man.

"She makes you happy?" Jenkins asked tentatively. Vincent's voice became dreamlike as he thought of Catherine.

"From the moment I saw her, Uncle, she captured my heart with her beauty, her warmth, her courage. I knew then, as I know now, she would change my life... forever."

"Then that's all I can ask," Jenkins said in a tone of finality. He started walking and Vincent fell into step next to him.

"What about you, Uncle?" he asked, curious. "Is there anyone in your life right now who makes you happy?" There was sharp derisive snort from the immortal.

"Romance is young man's pursuit, Vincent," Jenkins replied, a touch of acidity in his voice, "And even if I were inclined, I'm far too old for such nonsense. Besides, a woman would never find me attractive enough to be interested."

"Never say never, Uncle Galahad!" Vincent reproved him as they walked. "I never dreamed that someone would ever find me attractive, and yet here is Catherine!"

"It's hardly the same thing!" Jenkins protested, wishing Vincent would change the subject.

"You think I am ugly, then?" Vincent asked bluntly, without emotion.

"I do not!" Jenkins vehemently denied at once, "One's appearance doesn't define what's in one's heart! I know that you're a good man, Vincent, with a good heart—And I suspect that that is what has attracted your lady Catherine rather than your outer appearance, ugly or handsome." Vincent took two long, quick strides forward, turned and planted himself directly in front of Jenkins, stopping him.

"Then it only stands to reason that if Catherine can see past my appearance and into my heart, it's possible for someone to see past your 'ugliness' and into your heart," he declared, his tone making it clear to Jenkins that he was not talking about Jenkins's physical appearance at all. Vincent reached out to lay his large hands on his beloved adopted uncle's shoulders. "Your heart has always been pure, even if some of your actions have not."

"Yes, well," Jenkins answered uncomfortably after a few moments of awkward silence. He looked away, Vincent's words having touched a nerve deep within. He automatically armed himself with sarcasm as he sought to ward off Vincent before he could get any closer to the old immortal. "It's clear that you've grown in wisdom at least as much as in statue since my last visit; you're turning into a regular Phil Donahue." But Vincent was undeterred.

"You are still a man of goodness and honor, Uncle Galahad," he pressed on, and gave Jenkins's shoulders a squeeze for emphasis. "Someone will see that, someday. I know it."

A lump suddenly formed in Jenkins's throat. He turned his head away from Vincent's earnest eyes and stared into the darkness that surrounded them for a moment as he tried to swallow it down. When he believed he could control his voice, Jenkins turned back to look at him again and sighed.

"I suppose time will tell," he said crisply, hoping he sounded suitably dismissive. Vincent removed his hands as a low rumble of laughter sounded deep in his chest.

"You certainly have enough of that on your hands, Uncle!" Jenkins gave him a look of bored reproof.

"Oh, joy! A two-bit psychologist and a comedian," he grumbled sourly, "I shall have to have a little talk with Jacob about letting you take this little act of yours on the road!" Vincent laughed again and stood aside, held his long arm out to usher Jenkins along.

"This way then, Uncle," he said warmly, "The entrance to the World Below is just over here..."


The Portland Annex

2022

Jenkins looked up from the scroll he was reading to give his eyes a break and looked around the workroom. Flynn and Eve were huddled over the Librarian's desk, going over the Guardian's next self-defense training schedule for her young charges. Cassandra was at the end of the worktable nearest him, reading a book while absently scratching Franklin's belly. Jacob and Ezekiel were bickering intensely about whether American football or rugby was the more manly sport. Jenkins snorted softly and shook his head.

As he took them all in, there was a sudden pang in his heart as long-forgotten words rang in his ears once more.

You are still a man of goodness and honor, Uncle Galahad. Someone will see that, someday.

Vincent was gone now, so was Jacob Wells. Neither had lived long enough to meet Cassandra or Eve or the other young Librarians. Young Jacob, Vincent's son, led the World Below now. It was years since Jenkins had last spoken with him…

"Jenkins?" Cassandra's quiet voice cut through his memories gently and brought him back to the present. He turned to her, his eyes blinking like an owl's. Her brow furrowed slightly in concern. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine, of course," he dismissed, keeping his voice low so that the others wouldn't hear him. "Why do you ask?" She glanced at the others to make sure no one was watching, then lightly placed the fingers of one hand over her heart, silently telling him that she too, through their Sealing, had felt his sudden stab of sadness. Jenkins got up from his desk and went to stand next to her.

"I'm all right, my dear," he repeated and reached out to give Franklin's belly a rub, much to the little tea dragon's pleasure. "I was just remembering something someone once told me, that's all. Someone who's no longer with us."

"Something sad," Cassandra said, her eyes filling with sympathy. To her surprise her husband shook his head.

"It was something rather prophetic, actually," he replied, turning his eyes to hers. "He said that someday I would find someone who would love me despite my many faults." There was lopsided smile as he discretely waved his hand at the others in the room.

"It seems he underestimated the count, however. It turns out I found five someones!" A smile brightened his young wife's face as she stood up and slid her arms around his waist.

"But I love you the most!" she chirped happily, then stood on her toes to kiss his cheek, then his lips.

"Hey! Get a room, you two!" Jacob Stone yelled sourly as he and Ezekiel crossed the workroom. Stone looked directly at the Caretaker as he turned to give the younger man a repaving glare. "Jenkins! Which sport takes a tougher man—football or rugby?"

"Neither," Jenkins sniffed haughtily and looked down his nose at the two men. "A no-holds-barred melee is clearly the manliest of all sports." Jake glanced at Ezekiel, who only rolled his eyes.

"Explain!" Ezekiel barked, cocking his head expectantly.

"Dozens of men in full armor, all wielding actual swords, battle axes and maces, in a no-holds barred free for all until only one man is left standing—no matter how much blood is spilled." Jake glanced over at Ezekiel again; this time the Australian's eyes were alarmed.

"Yeah, okay," Stone growled, backing away. "You win!"