I admit to being a tad disappointed in Episode 3, Liar, Liar—with scenes I felt were missing; therefore, I have writ my own here! Oh, if only I were the lead writer on this show, what fun I could have… This scene picks up right after the end of Kidnapped.

"You were right. He's too dangerous."

Gabe shot to his feet at the look on Catherine's face. "What happened?" he asked, alarmed, as she gingerly moved to the table to sit down. "Catherine—"

"I'm all right. Just . . . sore. He—he pushed me away and it was a little harder than I was expecting—"

"He hurt you?" Gabe came around his desk and stood over her.

"Can you not hover?" She shushed him away. "I don't really need any lectures right now. I thought—I just thought we were making progress. Then I pushed too hard."

"Catherine, there is no excuse—"

She held up a hand to cut him off. "I know that. I'm not . . . pushing it under the rug, believe me. I have a plan and I need your help, but you need to promise me that you won't tell Tess about this."

"You think she won't figure it out for herself? You're limping, for God's sake!"

"Right now. I'm just a little stiff. Nothing a long, hot soak in my tub won't cure. After that I'll feel a lot better. This isn't the first work-related injury I've received and you know it."

"This isn't a normal work-related injury." She heard the undercurrents of anger in his voice but he at least made an attempt to moderate it for her sake. Thank God Gabe's eyes no longer went yellow or he'd certainly beast out over this.

"Gabe, please? I need your help." She was taking advantage of not only the debt he felt he owed her but of his growing feelings for her, which were possibly more apparent to her than to him at that point.

"Okay. My lips are sealed. But no more going it alone."

"No."

Vincent left the boathouse and headed back uptown. He walked, needing the time to calm himself. He wanted to be reasonable by the time he got to her place because he had to see her, talk to her, try to explain even though there was truly no good explanation for what he had done. It took him only minutes to get to the street where she lived. The lights weren't on in the apartment. Perhaps she had already gone to bed. He climbed the stairs, but as soon as he got to the top floor he knew she wasn't there—he couldn't hear her heartbeat. Where could she have gone?

To see a friend? She had a partner, though he had yet to meet her. Make that re-meet her. He growled. This whole memory wipe thing was confusing as hell! No, the logical place Catherine would go would be JT's. She was close to him, or so it appeared. If she needed a shoulder to cry on, who better than her boyfriend's best bud? Not that he felt any closeness with the professor, himself, yet. He found JT working out and alone.

"Hey."

He must have startled the guy because as soon as he spoke, JT stopped what he was doing and took a step back. No, that was fear. He could read the signs. So Catherine had been there and given him an earful. Except, when he started talking to him, it was obvious JT knew nothing about him hurting her. Okay, now what? He listened with half an ear as JT nervously babbled on about he and Catherine's previous relationship, trying to give him more clues to a memory that was null and void. It didn't help his disposition. He asked JT to find her, but he really needed to do that himself. The phone call from Tucker was a distraction he didn't need, but he couldn't do anything about that yet.

He left the club as fast as he could get out of there and soon found himself once again on the street beneath her apartment. Only this time there were lights.

He quietly let himself in the porch door. He knew she was a cop and could protect herself, but she really should get that latch fixed. It was extremely easy to manipulate. The living room was in shadow but light shined from underneath her bedroom door, which was slightly ajar. He tapped gently, but got no answer. He pushed it open further and realized she was in the bathroom. The faucet wasn't on, but the humidity level of the air indicated she'd been running it for some time. She was preparing for bed. He shrugged. Better than finding her already asleep.

Catherine stood in front of her bathroom mirror—a full-length one on the side of the vanity—dressed only in her bra and panties. Her legs were long and bare, and she was twisting around to view what he realized with shame was a large, purple bruise that wrapped from her stomach to her back. He gasped when he saw it. She jerked at the sound and stumbled backward into a sharp corner of the vanity, yelping as she bumped the tender area.

"Did I do that? And . . . that?"

Catherine grabbed up her robe and held it in front of her. Her eyes darted around the tiny room looking for something—a weapon, he guessed—but there was nothing within reach. He was so focused on her injury he didn't really register her fright or the wary stance she had taken.

"It's nothing," she said, trying to sound blasé, but her heart rate was very elevated. "Just a bruise where I fell."

"That's not nothing. Catherine—"

"How did you get in here?

His eyes lifted to hers. "Uh. You left the porch door unlocked." It was a small lie, but necessary. "I, um, I came to see if you were okay—which you're clearly not—"

"Well, you need to leave."

She had backed up a step and he suddenly realized how frightened she was, despite her bravado. He held up his hands.

"Catherine, please. I'm not going to hurt you. I came to apologize."

"For this?" She looked down at the long dark mark. "Don't worry about it. I've received worse in the line of duty."

"Not from me."

Catherine regarded him in silence. "Nope. Never before from you."

There was another bruise on her neck on the left side, and he clamped his eyes shut at the sight. "I am so sorry. I . . . I don't know what came over me."

Catherine slid her arms into her robe and tied it tightly around her waist, crossing her arms over her chest when she was finished. "I don't either. Because I don't know who you are anymore."

He opened his eyes and held her gaze. She had every right to the contempt he heard in her voice. Her eyes, though, they held—what? Regret? Despair? He leaned heavily against the door frame. She obviously wanted to escape him, but if he let her go, now, he'd lose the opportunity to make things right. Or to try.

"That guy you knew—I don't know him, either. But I know tonight I made a very big mistake."

She shook her head. "No. I think the mistake was all mine."

In trusting him. "Catherine—" He took a step forward.

She held her stance but leaned farther back from him. There was nowhere else to go.

"You're afraid of me."

Her gaze darted to his with a sharp intake of breath. "What?"

Her eyes lowered again. "Nothing. What? You think I shouldn't be?"

He swallowed, ashamed, and looked away. "I can only promise you it will never happen again. Ever."

Catherine shrugged. Her heart rate was still elevated, but not as much. "Or until your next memory wipe. I believed you before, and look where it got me. You know, if you weren't who you are, you'd be in jail on assault charges right now."

"I know that, okay? And I know I'm not because . . . you are protecting me."

"Kinda foolish, isn't it? Because who needs protecting now?"

The question fell flat in the silent room. There was nothing he could say to that, was there? As justified as he'd thought he was in getting frustrated with her relentless questions, she hadn't deserved his brutality. She shifted uncomfortably and he realized she was in pain.

"You should ice that."

"Thanks for the advice, but I've got it."

Before she could blink, he disappeared and returned with ice cubes wrapped in a hand towel from the kitchen. "Come here." He took a seat on the toilet lid and beckoned her to him.

"I don't—what are you doing?"

With a careful hand, Vincent gently tugged her toward him, just like in the boathouse. And just like in the boathouse, Catherine was powerless to resist the 'pull.'

He parted the robe with his free hand and let the drawstring fall slack to her side. When she started to protest, he shushed her. "Doctor, remember?" he said. "Let me see."

His hand was warm on her skin. As he measured the size of the bruise she realized it was the length and size of his hand. He noticed, too, and his head dropped as he caressed her there a moment with the lightest touch.

The gesture was so gentle, she forgot her anger for a brief instance. She wasn't used to reading this Vincent's face, but she thought she saw true regret in his eyes as he examined her. He pressed his forehead into her rib cage just above the bruise and she felt her own eyes start to sting and closed them. No. She wouldn't be swayed by this. She needed to hang onto her distrust. Straightening, she said, "That Hippocratic Oath went out of the window long ago, didn't it?"

A muscle clenched in his jaw, but he didn't respond to her baiting. Instead, he carefully pressed the cold cloth against her angry, purpling side. She gasped and he snaked an arm around her inside the robe and held her to him.

She didn't need this right now. She really didn't. Was he really here to make amends, or just because he didn't want her to expose him? Because she did still have some power here. He wasn't forthcoming with any answers. Oh, but what he was doing felt so good.

His head moved inside her robe and he kissed her side now, his touch light and gentle but so hot on her tender skin.

She tried to maintain her focus. "I thought you were a soldier."

"That, too," he answered, and she felt his breath pass over her now chilled skin.

He pushed the robe off her left shoulder. Reaching up to brush her hair out of the way, he placed his lips there, too, while his other hand caressed her unbruised side just beneath her breast. Breathing suddenly became difficult.

Catherine fought to stand still. Her knees wanted to buckle. It hadn't been that long since he'd made love to her in the boathouse, but that seemed like a thousand years ago. His touch was magic and it was playing with her mind. She tried to focus.

"What is this? Some kind of new age healing remedy?"

She felt him smile against her skin. "No. It's me trying to tell you how sorry I am," he whispered, fluttering the fine hairs at her neck. She shivered. His deep voice rumbled through her body in such an achingly familiar way. She wasn't certain what he'd said, but the tiny hairs of his chin stubble were giving her goose bumps all over.

"If you think you can just kiss away—"

"I don't. I don't."

"Then stop." How she found the strength to say that, she didn't know, but he pulled his face back to look into her eyes. What he saw must have convinced him because he leaned away and released her.

"You should be lying down."

Catherine shook herself. This wasn't the man she'd fallen in love with. Not yet. But lie down right now? No! Absolutely not. The last thing she needed was to let him carry her to bed. She rallied herself. "If you think you're going to seduce me right now, you're out of luck, and out of your mind. I've become immune."

He gave her that assessing gaze again. He could tell if she was lying. Truth be told, she wasn't sure, herself, if she believed her own words, but she could be as determined as he. Whatever he saw, he decided to let it go.

"I wasn't intending to. I don't deserve to even look you in the eye."

Catherine took over holding the ice pack to her side and looked away from his mesmerizing eyes. "Good. Because—unlike you—I have a real job to do."

"What?" He stood up. "Like this?"

"I'm tougher than I look."

"It's nearly midnight."

She shrugged. Cops didn't have nine-to-five jobs.

He lifted his eyes to hers. "You're one of the strongest people I've ever met."

She tied the robe back around herself. "Funny. I didn't feel very strong earlier tonight. The way you . . ." her voice trailed off and she seemed to change direction. "Look. Thanks for the—" she held out the ice pack—"but I can't . . . I can't do this . . . with you. I think it would be best if you just leave."

Vincent looked up into her determined face. The wall had gone back up. He didn't blame her. And she was damn tough. But was she implying that she'd rather seek help elsewhere? And if so, with whom? Another thing he didn't remember . . . .

He left the same way he came.