[Beasties, I realized this week I may be confused as to the term 'Condor' and who it refers to or what it means, so I hope I haven't confused any of you. I think the BatBwriters are keeping us in the dark because there is lots of disagreement out there about it. So from here on out, I will discontinue using that term until I know how to use it right, lol! Enjoy this next section...]

Vincent swept the last of the debris in the houseboat kitchen into a dust bin and dumped it into the trash. Zach had left a mess. As he surveyed his place, he took stock of his situation. The memories were coming more frequently now—at least for some things. He didn't know why his memories of Catherine—other than those quick flashes he had in the elevator shaft—were taking so long. His 'boss' didn't understand his urgent need to get them back, but he no longer felt as strong a loyalty to that man as he had before, and Catherine was the reason. His loyalty to her was definitely growing. Even JT was beginning to feel 'comfortable.' Funny, he wasn't the type of person he imagined his 'best buddy' to be, and yet he kind of liked the guy. He seemed genuine, and he definitely cared about Catherine.

Catherine, of course, was a whole 'nother ballgame. She was becoming the air he needed to breathe. He hadn't liked her pushing him away in favor of her girl's night get-together, but he understood it on a certain level. The more he realized how much she sacrificed for him, the more he found he owed her, and not just one night out with friends—so much more. All the more reason for him to get his own life together so he could be 'whole' too.

Feeling the need to communicate even though he couldn't see her, he picked up his notepad again. This was becoming a habit. Maybe one day he'd share them with her and they would make a nice log of their journey back together. For the time being, it just helped him sort everything out in his own head. He started to write . . . .

Catherine,

When I showed up at your place earlier, I just . . . needed to see you. I thought we had a really great moment together at the 9/11 memorial and I'm anxious to find that connection again to make it complete. Because I need you. Maybe I haven't showed you that in recent weeks, but I do. I need to see you, talk to you, kiss you, touch you, love you. When we're together, even just walking and talking, I feel like I'm regaining a part of myself, of who I am. I know you want to figure out who are now, as well, and you need space. I don't mean to crowd you, but I feel the need to make up for lost time with you. Every day our lives contain some form of danger—to you and to me. And I can't lose you again.

The houseboat no longer feels like home. Home is where you are. So I was hurt when you pushed me away. It wasn't as bad as you closing the window on me that other time—after the lies—and I'm very thankful we're not still at that place. I can't tell you how hard that was for me. It still hurts because you are the woman from my dreams, the woman in white.

When your friend Gabe turned up at JT's (or I should say our old place), he didn't know I was there. He came to tell JT that you were attacked by another beast. I guess he didn't want me to know, but why would he think I shouldn't? It filled me with terror at what might have happened to you, although he assured us you were okay. I had to see for myself. Had he hurt you like I hurt you? Or Worse? My head was filled with so much rage and anguish, I almost couldn't see straight. Did he touch you? The thought of another guy, another beast, putting his hands on you . . . Catherine, you should have called me right away! I wish I had been there for you, protecting you. I should have been, and it's eating me up that you were so vulnerable. I felt so helpless. I don't ever want to feel that way again.

By the way, I don't like that Gabe guy. There's just something about him that rubs me the wrong way, although I'm glad you have friends helping you. I don't know our history together, but I'm not comfortable with the way he looks at you—like he wants to take care of you. That is my job! I may have been out of the picture for a few months, but I'm back, and there's no room for another.

Catherine, I don't know how Zach found you, but I'm sick that he did. It makes me want to stick to you like glue. (Not that that would be a bad thing!) He came after you because of me—because of what you mean to me. You know, today I made a big mistake. Because of that, I'm not sure I can trust my own judgment any longer. When I realized Zach was an old friend who'd survived what they did to us in Afghanistan, like me, I changed my mind about killing him. I didn't want to hurt him. I thought we were the same. But it put you in danger. I'd never have forgiven myself if something terrible had happened as a result.

I didn't realize what those ten years had done to him. See, I had you to keep me sane. Zach had no one but bitterness and a desire for revenge as his companions. I know that, even if I don't remember it all. What can I ever do to repay you?

My boss, whom I can't explain to you yet, might be playing games with me. I used to trust him implicitly, but now I don't think I can, because he kept the knowledge about Zach from me.

By the way, when I was with Zach I had flashbacks—memories. Not long or very detailed, but they are coming more and more often now. I'm embarrassed to admit to you, though, that these were of another woman. Our relationship was brief and long before I met you. But oh, Catherine, you don't understand how badly I want to remember you. Us. It's killing me that I'm getting bits and pieces of the past and other people in my life, but I've only had the briefest flashbacks of you. I know you're there, in the deepest part of me, but when will it all come back? How can I remember another woman from just a smile and not recall our most intimate moments together?! It hurts you, I know. It's starting to hurt me, too.

I want to believe the reason is that you are so important to me. Maybe remembering you will reveal things I don't want to know about myself. That's always a possibility. I've found, in recent weeks, that I don't like the me I am today very much. I hope I was a better person before. I have to believe someone as strong and beautiful inside as you are would not have fallen for a guy like me if I was a real jerk, so I hope it's true. By the way, why did you fall in love with me? I can't tell you how much I wish I knew the answer to that.

Perhaps what they did to me to make me forget specifically targeted my memories of you? That's actually something that makes sense. You were a link that someone was afraid of me discovering. If I couldn't remember you, then I could keep being their machine, their assassin—and go on their missions. But if I remembered us, there was a chance they'd lose me, and they're right. I stopped caring about the missions when I started understanding our connection.

Catherine, I know you want to know who 'they' are. I want to tell you so badly, unlike I felt at first. But I have to ask you to be patient a little while longer and I'm so sorry for that. I'm sorry for a lot of things, actually, but I don't want that to be the only thing I say to you every time we are together, even if it's true. I'll sound like a pathetic, broken record.

So please wait for me. A few more missions, that's all, I promise. Until then, I have to keep my focus for your sake as well as mine. I can't afford mistakes (or any more of them). And I'll wait for you, as long as it takes, as you try to get yourself on solid ground again. God knows I've thrown enough rocks into your path. It won't be easy, for either of us, but I'll be here. You're all I think about anymore, especially at night. You know, not being able to be with you, it makes me feel like I'm locked out of heaven . . . .