Disclaimer: While I don't own Vincent, I do own Victoria and now Allen...although from this chapter, I think you'll be able to see that as no kind of threat. :) Heh.

A/N: How can I resist updating when I've got so many wonderful people begging for more? No, I'm not suffering from ego. I don't think...hmm...well, two more days until I get to see Collateral again! Right now Interview With The Vampire is on TV. Another great Cruise as villian role. Anyway, enjoy!

Situations

She fell into a hard sleep, one that lasted a long time, longer than she'd wanted. When she woke up, she saw that Vincent had already gone on his errands, and had brought back much more than a simple change of clothes.

She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, attempting to push down the tangled mess that was her hair. She sat there for a moment, listening to the sounds of someone in the bathroom - Vincent, no doubt. As if she was going to wake up from all of this and it was going to be ten years ago, she and Allen on their honeymoon...not that that was the greatest memory, only just her most pleasant, up to date.

She pushed off the covers and got up, looked at the clothes Vincent had lain on the chair both of them had occupied last night at some time or another. There was a dress, a rich blue-gray color, very dark and sleek. It was one of those dresses that professional women wore to the office, simple, straight up-and-down, no frills and yet totally elegant. It was sleeveless, with a straight across neck, zipped down the back. She held it up against her body, looked into the mirror.

Funny, she'd never owned a dress like this before. She'd had nowhere to wear it. Usually she had always stuck to her simple black skirt and whatever shirt she felt like wearing, if the need arose. Whatever had compelled Vincent to get this for her---

Her thoughts were cut off as he emerged from the bathroom. He didn't look any different than he had the night before he'd first come to her, except all the blood stains were gone. His shirt, immaculate white, obviously replaced, was open slightly at the neck, no tie. She got the feeling he really didn't like ties, just wore them when he had to. The blood had apparently come out of the jacket well enough that she couldn't see it.

"I also got you a brush and some other...accessories," he said, coming around the bed. She had let the dress slip down to her waist, covering her exposed legs. He stopped a few feet from her, looked up at her, gave her a casual smile.

"You going modest on me?" he asked coyly.

"I don't know when I wasn't being modest," she returned.

He nodded, acquiescing. "The other stuff is in the bathroom." He gestured behind him. "Go on, get dressed. We'll go for lunch."

Lunch...the clock blazed 1:30 P.M. at them. "I take it we missed checkout?"

"Yes, but it isn't a problem. I can't get a flight home until the day after tomorrow."

She nodded, but he didn't see it, as she was in the process of closing the door behind her.

He'd brought her a brush, a hat, a scarf, and some of that spray-in conditioner. She'd never used it, but figured it couldn't hurt, and when she was done her hair was almost back to normal. She wished he brought her something to tie her hair back with, as she usually had it up in a pony tail or a braid to keep it out of her way.

The hat was made of leather, had a visor like a baseball cap, and a wide, blossoming crown that suited her. She twisted her hair up and tucked it under the hat, finding it fit perfectly. She tied the scarf around her neck, a simply colored piece of silk and velvet that he had to have picked up in a tourist shop. It had the pattern of lilies on it, gray and white with black enhancements. The neck of the dress was wide, showing much more of her shoulders than she would have liked, but the scarf helped.

When she was done, she looked at herself and almost laughed. It was like she was playing dress up. And then it occurred to her that it was Vincent who was really dressing her up. The thought made her blush - she turned away from the mirror and stepped out of the bathroom.

He had gone to get ice and was sipping at some tap water when she came out. He looked her up and down, and Victoria struggled not to slow her pace across the room as if she were posing for him. "Nice," he said. "You look nice."

"Thank you for the stuff," she said. "But you really didn't have to go all out -"

"I didn't? Most of the women I know would have been complaining that they didn't have any make-up." He looked directly at her face, smiled. "You don't seem to need any."

"Well, with all the blushing I'm about to do, no, I'm sure I don't," she returned, a bit stiffly. "You said something about lunch?"

"Yeah, downstairs in the lobby. The desk said they make a good cheeseburger."

They didn't talk much at lunch. Vincent was very preoccupied, looking around all the time, watching everything in the room except her. She sipped at her iced tea, ordered another when that one was done, kept drinking. She had no idea what was going on. She wanted to ask him, but sensed he wouldn't say a word to her about their situation in public. But he was right - the cheeseburger was good.

They went right back upstairs when they were done and Victoria took off the hat and the scarf, plopped down in the seat across from where he'd had her clothes draped before, and waited.

Truth be told, she was bored out of her mind. Vincent seemed to sense it, sat down across from her, and said, "Okay, here's the situation."

She looked at him, worrying he was going to give her double-speak and riddles, but dismissed it, remembering Vincent's earlier pledge of always telling the truth. She also hoped that applied to speaking straight.

"There's obviously something rather big going down here concerning your friend Marcus Shakespeare," Vincent said. He had drawn the heavy curtains closed, making the room feel as dark as night. He had turned on the lamp beside them, and was leaning on the table, as close to her as he could get. "You aren't safe here, as they seemed to know that you work for him, and where you live. The early news this morning reported the hits at your office and the police are looking for you, which, considering you practice medicine illegally, is probably not a good thing, although I doubt they're after you to arrest you. More than likely they want you to lead them to Shakespeare. Arresting you will just be icing on the cake."

She flinched. She'd never thought of herself as a criminal before...even though she knew she was, in her own way.

"So, if you want to come back home with me, that's fine."

She knew she looked surprised, as Vincent was giving her one of his hurt expressions. "What, you think I dragged you all this way just to leave you behind? We're in this together, aren't we?"

She frowned. "Isn't that what you said to Max?"

His face fell, went blank. He pulled back, his eyes going inward, and she knew she'd somehow hurt him.

"I don't have my driver's license," she said, changing the subject.

He looked back at her, "You don't?"

"I didn't grab my purse when we left."

"Why not?"

"I don't know, I guess in all the confusion I just...forgot." She added the last word a bit harshly, as if it was really his fault.

"So you don't have any identification on you?" he asked.

"No. So I can't go anywhere. At least in jail I'd be safe."

He let out a rather loud, unexpected laugh. "Yeah," he said. "Safe as houses. Whatever. No, there's another way. We could try going back to your office, but if the police are watching, that's no good. What about your house?"

"What, you think I keep a back-up license beside my bed?" She shook her head. "No dice."

"What about a passport?"

She thought hard for a moment. "I think Allen has it," she said softly. "The only time I ever needed it was when we went on our honeymoon. We went to Paris, thinking it would be all romantic." She pushed the bitterness out of her voice, now really wasn't the time. "I kept it updated until we divorced, and I think I left it in the safe, which he took."

"So we could potentially go to Allen's house and get your passport," Vincent said. "That might work."

"Still, without a license, they aren't going to let me on a plane."

"It's worth a try," Vincent said. "It is legal government-issued identification. Not every single person in the United States has a driver's license. Do you know how to get into Allen's safe? Do you even have a key to his house?"

"Yes on both counts. But we have to go when he isn't there. I don't want him mixed up in this."

Vincent nodded. "I understand. When's the best time?"

She glanced at the clock. It was almost three. "He gets home at five. If we push it, we might beat him and get out before he comes back. Either that or we wait until tomorrow when he leaves for work."

When they pulled up, at 4:15, Allen's car was already sitting in the driveway. "Shit," she muttered under her breath.

Vincent glanced at her. "Why don't you just go in and get it? I'll wait here."

She looked back at him, incredulous. "You think he doesn't know something's wrong? You think he's just going to let me walk in and walk out without a dozen questions?"

"He's your ex-husband. Handle him," Vincent said with a shrug. "Talk yourself through it."

"It doesn't work that way," she muttered.

"Go on, Victoria. I'll wait here."

After a significant pause, when she realized he was serious, she got out of the car and made her way up the lawn. She imagined in her head the way Allen would react to seeing her. He would have a royal fit, that's what he would do. Allen was always high strung, prone to turn any molehill he could find into a mountain that rivaled Everest. First it would be carrying on about the news, about an illegal medical practice with her identification found at the scene along with four dead bodies, obviously the work of a highly-trained assassin. Or maybe she was being too dramatic - Allen's overactive imagination had somehow carried on to her during their years together and even to this day she had a hard time shaking it off. She herself wasn't an incredibly imaginative person. Not that she was dull, she told herself as she reached the front door.

Or maybe she was dull. As she saw that the door had already been opened, was still hanging open by a crack, she did not react in any creative way. Instead, she simply took a step back, her well-trained nose telling her that something inside did not smell right. It smelled like death.

A normal person would have freaked out. Instead, she felt rather calm inside. Professional calm, that was what it was. Dead people weren't out of the ordinary for her. Of course, this was the first time the dead person was someone she knew, intimately-

A hand gripped her forearm from behind. Vincent was at her side, pushing her through the door, his gun drawn. He let her go in the foyer, pushing her into a safe hollow in the wall, after he had already made sure there was no one else in the vicinity. He pressed into the room, looking around everywhere, his eyes crawling over everything, missing nothing. He disappeared for a few minutes, into another room, then slid into the kitchen. He stopped as he went around the island counter.

"Victoria," he said calmly.

She took it as an indication that he wanted her to come to him. But as he approached, he put his hand out. Finally, his eyes turned to her, and she knew.

She shoved his hand away, stepped forward. Allen lay at her feet. He'd been shot right through the forehead, by a hollowpoint. The back of his skull had sprayed across the dark brown tile of the kitchen floor.

Victoria's knees went weak, and she felt Vincent catch her and put her into one of the dining room table's chairs, out of sight of the body. It was a few moments before he came back to her, his hands gently resting on her shoulders.

"Breathe, Victoria," he said calmly. "Come on, breathe."

"You and your fucking breathing," she said, shoving his hand away, getting up. She glared at him. "Fuck you!"

"Hey, this isn't my fault. I didn't do this." Rational, his voice and words were so rational and calm. "If I hadn't pulled you out of your office that night, you would be dead, too."

"They shot him because they were looking for me!" Victoria snapped.

"So, you're saying you'd rather it be you than him?" He looked incredulous. "So much for your self-preservation instinct."

She shook her head, knowing she was inches away from hysterics, but would not let her self fall apart in front of Vincent. "Why...why did they do this? I mean, there wasn't any point in killing him..."

"No witnesses. No one to say who was looking for you. Same with you, from before. Whoever found the mess we made obviously thinks you do know something."

"So then this is your fault," she said slowly, accusingly.

He shrugged. "Like I said, you'd be dead otherwise. Now go get your passport, we're leaving."

She just glared at him, fists clenched hard.

"Victoria," Vincent said, stepping a little closer to her. "Come on, wake up. You want to die? Then you can stay here. Worse, you can go to prison, where you'll wish you were dead. Pretty girl like you won't last a few months. Unless changing your sexual orientation is something you were planning to do next month."

"Fuck off," she growled, tearing away from him and storming into Allen's study. She got her passport, and followed him back out to the car, not speaking to him again for the rest of the time the sun was in the sky.

What Vincent saw for the rest of that day was nothing more than a lump of comforter that shook and trembled regularly, as if powered by an electric motor. But Victoria did not care. All she could do was sob, and sob, and then sob some more, her cries sometimes going up in pitch, her voice giving up and becoming nothing more than the croaking sound of her trying to take in air. Her chest ached, her face streamed, her nose ran, and she didn't care. She didn't think she would ever stop crying, not ever. Just when she thought she was done, when her sobs quieted and became just low, trembling mews, something would pop into her head, some memory - taking pictures of each other outside of the Eiffel tower, picking out a new bed for their new home, the time they had bought a puppy together, then wound up having to give it to his niece because it turned out he was allergic.

She couldn't bear for Vincent to see her, though, and if she felt the urge to blow her nose, she used the sheet. It had bunched up again, too loose for the bed, and she treated it like a giant handkerchief. Eventually, though, she did calm. How long she cried, even she didn't know. She didn't want to stop herself. Maybe she could cry herself to death, and go join Allen in whatever place he'd been sent to. Most likely Purgatory. Allen was no saint.

In spite of the fact that it hadn't worked between them, Allen had been a part of her life. He'd been her husband. Bonds like that never really broke, they just stretched until they were so thin they hardly existed. They hadn't gotten to that point. She knew that someday they would. He was dating someone in his office, on and off. It wasn't serious, but Victoria had met her once and liked her, a clear indication that eventually it would become serious. Allen seemed to have an unwavering trust in her judgement. Possibly the reason why he never pressed her very hard to know what she was doing for a living and how. The poor man...she'd let him stay in the dark, knowing if he ever did find out the truth, she may as well hang herself, as that would be the only way to assuage his shock and hurt.

Poor Allen...it wasn't his fault that he was dead. He hadn't done anything to deserve it. He was just living his life, she was living hers...why would they shoot him? It didn't make sense. It just didn't work for her. Some goons show up at his house, start asking about her, he gets defensive. They notice how high strung he is, think he's a possible liability, find out that he knows nothing, then shoot him to make sure it stays that way. Just another body...nobody cares.

Men who looked like the ones who had come to see her. Men in dark suits, some cheap, some expensive, not quite as high class as government agents but just as deadly.

Men like Vincent, who killed without hesitation.

The thought brought a surge of anger through her body, pushing away, for a moment, the swell of new tears that was rising in her throat. She reached out and arm and shoved the blanket away, sat up. Vincent looked over at her, and she realized for the first time he'd been watching television, a jazz concert on public television. The volume was so low, the sound was more like a background hum than music.

Seeing her expression, Vincent waited for her to say something. But words failed her. As he said before, it wasn't his fault. He didn't do it. He'd saved her. It was the truth. And he hadn't had to save her. He'd done it just out of the goodness of his heart. If such a thing existed.

"Yes?" he said softly, prompting her. She found that all she could do was sniff. She reached down, pulled out the rest of the sheet, and lumped it into a ball, like a giant used wad of Kleenex. Then she got out of bed and went into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

A/N: Sometimes I can be such an awful tease. Reviews will bring the next chapter quicker! It's already done and waiting....in the meantime, here are some responses:

Sweet Treats: Oh, Sweet Treats...you reviews were very sweet, and absolutel hysterical. "A fat kid loves cake." You know, you really seem to have an appropriate nickname. And don't die, I've got a lot of this plot already mapped out so I should be able to keep updating daily.

CrazyCat1: What, only 3 reviews? Why not 4, for chapter 4, when they get all...well, If you haven't read it
I"m not going to spoil it for you. I appreciate the reassurance from you, and from everyone else, about
Vincent being in character. It's sort of difficult to make sure he stays as a bad-ass sociopath with his
strange tendencies to care about the people around him for whatever reason. It's a fine line to walk.
Thanks for the thumbs up.

Chips Ahoy: What is it with you people, you're making me hungry! Mmmm...chocolate chip cookies...
I can smell them now...huh, what? Oh, your reviews. You're not allowed to die either. I will update
soon...you guys all make it very hard not to update twice a day! But I have to moderate, let it last.
IT will be better if it lasts a little bit, don't you agree? DOn't want the fun to be over too soon!

Warm Mittens: That is such a cute screen name. Anyway, yeah, Vincent was a lot of things, but he wasn't
a heartless guy. NOt really. I mean, he had a job. He did it. He didn't want to kill Daniel, you could
tell by the way he caught his face before it hit the table. IT was almost...sweet. If killing people
could ever be described that way. I'm telling everyone to go see Collateral...I'm even dragging two of
my friends to it on Wednesday night. (so there might be no update that night...hmmm...we shall see...)

acrossthenight: There you are! Glad to know I didn't lose you. THank you for your comments about Victoria.
You know, when you're creating an original character, the absolute best advice I could ever give anyone is
to let the character discover themselves. You don't really "create" a character, you really discover them.
Because the only good characters are people you can know. Good characters are as complex and real live people. I am rather proud of how Victoria is turning out. And I don't feel I can take full credit for her, either. She just...is.

firegoddess164: Green, thanks for telling me. I just couldn't tell, so I went with what I thought. But I like being accurate.

Sargonne: Ah, yes, beautiful tension! My choir director is always so excited about tension. Isn't it a wonderful thing? Wait until the next chapter, it gets a LOT worse. Victoria is in really bad shape there. I don't think so much that she refused as that she just didn't think that he was serious. It was something that I thought was a little out of character for him. I just can't see Vincent being all seductive, but I know it's there...hmmm...well, I'll just let you find out what happens. And yes, I would be honored to read your
story, just let me know when you write it and when you post it! I hope more people do write Collateral fanfic
because I'm interested to see everyone's take on it. Each story is unique, simply because every person who writes it is different. Stole that from Neil Gaiman. Don't tell him. (grin)

Byrony Cel: Drama! Drama! Drama! You'll love the next two chapters. No, no sunset. But man, I am really stuck. It's going to be really tricky to do this right. Please keep letting me know what you think and if I screw up big time, I'm always open to fixing things.

Thanks! Candy for everyone!