The woman in white had returned to his dreams. Only this time in a red dress. And she wasn't smiling. Those luminous eyes made accusations. She didn't like the lies, the omissions. Then suddenly she was in red flannel and shutting the window on him. A week ago it wouldn't have mattered, wouldn't have hurt. But now it did—because he remembered. There were just little flashes, glimpses into the past—their shared past—the past he'd suddenly remembered when he grabbed her hand in the elevator shaft to keep her from plunging to her death. She was there, in every memory, just like she'd said she was. So now he had to believe her.

Vincent had wanted to believe her before. I mean, she was gorgeous and telling him they were 'meant to be' and other mushy stuff he hadn't really cared about until now. Then the window was closed on him right after he finally had the proof! His timing sucked and beautiful Catherine had had too much. Bad enough he'd been rough with her, then he'd lied for his own purposes only to have it all backfire on him.

He growled and shifted on the bed. Nothing felt right. Now he was desperate for her to believe and forgive him. He couldn't blame her if she didn't, but their connection was something he hadn't anticipated, and he didn't want it to end.

Vincent twisted again, slowly waking from his fitful sleep. He smoothed a hand across the empty side of the bed. The sheets were cold. She was in his head. Now, if only he could get her back into his bed!

He needed to call Condor, figure this whole thing out. Condor wouldn't approve, that was certain, but there wasn't anyone else he could talk to about it. And maybe he knew something that would help. He sat up and rubbed a weary hand over his face. Perhaps he could exercise her out of his mind. Yeah, like that was going to happen! Still, it was worth a try. He dragged himself down to the kitchen, anyway, where his work-out bar hung suspended from the ceiling. Until he got another assignment, she was going to be all he could think about, whether Condor like it or not. And he didn't. The call came through while he was doing his pull-ups. He ended up slamming down the case when it was through. There would be no help from that end. Condor's only order was to leave Catherine alone.

Vincent understood how having his focus split made him vulnerable, although Condor's specific command to stay away from her seemed a bit odd. Yes, he had a sworn duty to carry out his very important missions, but how could regaining a little of his past and some of his humanity possibly hurt anything? Unless there was something Condor didn't want him to know. He sighed. No answers would be forthcoming from that sector. Condor was not family, nor was he necessarily on his side. Was he friend or foe? There was a time when he wondered that about Catherine. No more. Vincent shook his head to clear it. Too many secrets. He just wanted to get all these missions over so he could pursue this woman.

He kept seeing that window being closed against him. He was on one side; she was on the other. They'd both proved they could play the game. Now they were both hurting from it. What had she expected him to do? She'd lied, too! He hadn't known what her true motivations were. Nothing had prepared him for that! He shouldn't have tricked her; he knew that now. But how could he explain it if she wouldn't listen? Did she really need space, or was this just another female game of cat and mouse? No, Catherine wasn't one to do that. Something inside him knew the truth.

He closed his eyes and reviewed those flashbacks in his head—what he saw, smelled, heard, felt. Then he grabbed his pad and pen and started to write.

As he had lain in the hospital bed, the oxygen mask to his face, he'd realized the folly of his idea to go after a beast alone. It was the first time he'd been vulnerable. And it was embarrassing as hell. Catherine had stood over him, a look of concern on her face. And Gabe Lowen, the one-time-beast-but-no-longer-a-beast ADA, stood to her other side. Even though he didn't trust the guy, he'd jumped at the chance to go after another target. And then he was lying in a public hospital, of all places, sucking in oxygen! Catherine had said he used to be able to heal himself. Wouldn't that be nice now?

Even though she'd just told him to stay away, there she'd been standing guard and ready to protect him. She was still hurting over his lies, yes, but she couldn't stay away either. The kid who he now understood to be his nephew brought out even more flashbacks. He'd panicked. It wasn't one of his best days. But it had solidified who his true allies were. And it had brought him and Catherine back together again.

When she showed up at his place after he'd jumped out the hospital window and he asked her why she'd come, she said, "Are you kidding me?" There had never been a question. She was so sweet. And the concern she showed when he went back into the fire, this time after Aaron, said it all. He couldn't help leaning in for a kiss. Those luscious lips drew him in every time. As set as she was to keep her distance now, she cared. It was in everything she did, including the lies and evasions. Maybe they truly were 'meant to be.' She wasn't just in his head; she was slowly weaving her way into his heart. If he had one. Now that he thought about it, it ached, so he was beginning to suspect that he did.

She was afraid for him. Perhaps she didn't understand how strong he was—that would come in time. She would learn to trust him. He could handle almost every situation. But now he had an even greater motivation than his mission to accomplish—he needed to make it back to her.

Catherine stood next to him before the massive memorial of water where the Twin Towers once stood. His past was becoming clearer, and so was his future. He held out a hand, and as she willingly wove her fingers through his, he knew now where his future lay.

Back in the houseboat, he took out pad and pen. She liked the 'roof' note; perhaps that was how he'd communicated with her in the past—with letters. Maybe it would help get his thoughts in order. He wrote:

Catherine,
I know you are not sure about me right now, but I have things to tell you. Not everything you want to know—yet. That will come in time. But about what's going on in my head—you. I have memories of us. Just scraps, but they are there and they are real. Please don't turn away from me. To be honest, I have no one else I can talk to. I tried to tell myself there was nothing between us but a physical attraction, but I was lying to myself and I know it. I told you about the 'pull.' It's still there, stronger than ever. So much so that I can't walk away from you, even if I tried—even if you try. But I don't want to scare you away. I will never hurt you again, physically, but now I worry that just my being in your life hurts you. Not that it will change anything.

I ache for you. If the President, himself, were to order me to stand down and walk away, I doubt I could do it. You are my new reality. In the beginning it was too much, too fast—that's my only excuse. But now that I keep getting more and more glimpses of my life before—of you—I realize everything you've told me is true. And that's good because I want it more than anything. I want us.

That heartbeat. You called it annoying. I said distracting, but it's more than that. It's a connection to you that is as physical as it is emotional. I don't walk around the streets of the city aware of everyone's heartbeat. Only yours. I feel it pounding deep inside me—so much that sometimes I feel my own heart change its rhythm to match yours. Crazy, but real. And just as real as the memories I'm getting back.

Please wait for me. Give me time. When my missions are done, I'll be free. And then we'll dance again…