"In Dreams He Came"
by Debbie Nockels
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: None of the characters are mine (I wish!). They belong to Ron Koslow, who created them, and I'm not sure who else at this point in time.
SUMMARY: Takes place during the events of Though They Sink Through The Sea." Diana POV.
________________________________________________________________________________
In sleep he sang to me
������ In dreams he came
That voice which calls to me
������ And speaks my name
<><><><><><><><><>
������ How many times had she dreamed this dream, in its various and seemingly infinite forms? In her waking hours she was able to subjugate the ever-present ache, keep it firmly relegated to its proper, subordinate place in her life. But when night came...ahh, in sleep she relinquished control, and night after night the longing emerged, filling her dreams with its crystal clarity.
������ He was standing in front of her, so close she could see the individual hairs on his nose and jaw, each one distinctly visible in the unknown light which bathed them both in its blindingly white brilliance. Her heart skipped a beat, and she spoke his name, her tone breathless with emotion - but he gave no indication of having heard.
������ Hesitantly, yet compelled by a yearning which would not be denied, she reached out and touched his face, surprised at its softness; the stubble coating his jaw and chin was not whisker-rough as she'd always assumed, but rather a covering of short, fine hairs providing a texture at once soft and intriguing to the touch. From nowhere, a wind appeared and whirled around them, lifting his glorious hair into a corona of fiery gold around his head.
������ When her touch elicited no response, she moved a step closer, putting her hands on his shoulders. His stillness was so absolute he might have been carved of marble, save for the soft whisper of his breathing and the occasional blink of eyes fixed on some inner vision denied to her.
������ Desperate to gain his attention, she cupped her hands around his face and again called his name, stroking his cheek gently with her thumbs. Suddenly his eyes came alive with a joy so intense she felt it like a blaze through her body. She gloried in the emotion, and her own happiness and anticipation rose to meet his - until she saw his gaze slide to a point behind her. A sudden chill swept over her, as of icy water being thrown from a bucket. Knowing what she would see, dreading it, yet unable to resist the compulsion, she slowly turned around.
������ Yes; there she stood - the other one. With the blithe disregard for logical sequence that was inherent in dreams, she now found herself standing to one side in the role of onlooker, watching as he started toward the slight figure dressed in flowing white raiment.
������ The scene shimmered, as though a translucent curtain were being drawn before her eyes. Time itself faltered then slowed, providing her with an eternity in which to absorb the potent grace of his gliding steps, the eagerness with which he bent to enfold the waiting woman in arms at once powerful and impossibly tender. He whispered a name - not hers - and the love and passion in his husky voice resonated through her soul. Their embrace was ardent, their slow kiss prolonged to unbearable proportions, so that she turned away with a familiar ache in her heart, uncontrollable tears running down her cheeks.
������ She jerked awake, finding herself sitting straight up in bed, its rumpled bedding mute testimony to the restlessness of her sleep. Damn! When would these nightmares end? Lying back against her pillow, she nursed a throbbing headache, willing her tense muscles to relax, impatiently wiping away the dampness on her cheeks.
������ "You've got to stop this, Bennett. You'll drive yourself crazy. You knew - the minute you found out Cathy Chandler was still alive, you knew that it was hopeless."
������ Diana grimaced, glad there was no one around to hear her scolding herself aloud. Talking to herself was a habit she had gotten into many years ago, when it became obvious to her that any relationship she became involved in would not last long. Somehow, hearing the sound of her own voice made her feel less alone. Sometimes, it helped her clarify her thoughts, especially when she was working on a case, when the nebulous impressions first began forming themselves and were the only help she could rely on.
������ Giving up on her headache, Diana threw back the covers and went in search of a remedy, finding the bottle of ibuprofen, surprisingly, just where it should be - in the bathroom medicine cabinet. Tossing three tablets in her mouth she turned on the faucet and cupped her hand beneath the water flow, thankful yet again that she wasn't one of those who needed a whole tumbler of water just to take one little pill. Or three.
������ She turned back toward her bedroom, intending to get her robe, for it was quite chilly in the loft, when a sudden sound made her freeze. It was a tapping, light yet insistent, on the window which looked down into her living room. Only one person of her acquaintance announced his presence in such a
fashion.
������ Vincent.
������ Grabbing the first item of clothing which came to hand - the oversized, dark blue sweater she had removed only a few hours earlier - Diana hastily yanked it over her head, then pulled on her discarded jeans over the gray thermal underwear she wore for sleeping. A frantic search for her sneakers finally revealed them buried beneath the avalanche of covers from her bed. She crammed them on her feet and ran for the lift, the untied laces slapping loosely at each step. Diana stepped out onto the rooftop, and walked slowly and - she hoped - casually toward the silent figure waiting for her.
������ "Vincent." How difficult to keep one's tone light and easygoing when one's heart was thumping wildly and one's breaths insisted on behaving so erratically.
������ "Diana." Vincent turned toward her and once again she was shaken by absolute disbelief that a being so perfectly designed for the pages of mythology actually walked the streets of this most modern of cities. Well...walked beneath them, anyway.
������ "I apologize for coming here so late. I could hear you moving around so I knew you were not sleeping, but I hope I have not interrupted something important."
������ "You haven't interrupted anything, Vincent. I was sleeping but I - woke up. A nightmare." She turned away from Vincent's unsettling gaze and looked out over the city, clasping her hands loosely in front of her as she leaned over the parapet. Below, traffic crawled along the streets; at least, at this late hour, the usual cacophony of car horns and shouted imprecations was missing. Or perhaps it was just that the beating of her heart was drowning it out.
������ "Diana, I had to come - to thank you." She threw him a brief glance, saw his eyes fixed on her face and immediately turned back to her contemplation of the city.
������ "Thank me for what?"
������ "For giving me back my life." His voice, low yet vibrant with emotion, touched places in her she never knew existed; but his words sliced into her like a knife through butter.
������ I don't want your gratitude, Vincent.
������ Diana shook her head. "You don't owe me any thanks, Vincent."
������ "I owe you everything, Diana!"
������ Taken aback by the fervency of his tone, she turned her head, and was immediately caught in the crystalline intensity of his gaze.
������ "Without your help, I would not have survived the explosion of the Compass Rose. Without your help, my son would still be in the hands of that madman. Without you, Catherine would still be in a coma - or truly dead - and I...I would at best be only half-alive. You gave me your friendship without hesitation or question. I owe you more than I can ever repay."
������ Diana shook her head again, refuting his assertion with an outward calm that was deceptive, keeping at bay the disconcerting mixture of pain/pleasure that swept through her with his words. "Vincent, I told you once - there was no way I could not have helped you. You owe me nothing."
������ She changed the subject abruptly. "When does Catherine get out of the nursing home?" Might as well bite the bullet.
������ "Tomorrow - that is, today. They are releasing her this morning, around 10:00 she thinks."
������ "And then what?" The question was out before Diana knew it. She hurried to retract it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry - "
������ Vincent made no reply at first and shifted position to gaze out into the night. Finally he said, "Catherine has not yet made a decision about whether she will return to her job. She needs more time. This past month her attention has been directed mostly toward regaining her strength - "
������ And toward you. The thought flashed with certainty into Diana's mind.
������ " - and now Catherine looks forward to being able to resume her life, see her friends." Vincent paused. "And take care of Jacob."
������ Diana regarded him silently, struck more by what he wasn't saying than by what she had just heard. No mention of a life together; was it even remotely possible that Catherine Chandler didn't want a life with Vincent?
������ Diana considered that notion. The deep love Cathy had for this unique being was self-evident to anyone with half an eye to see it. And with that love came desire; this Diana knew for a fact.
������ Once and only once had she been present in Catherine's room when Vincent appeared at the nursing home for his nightly visit. She had taken care never to repeat the experience. The cross-currents of passion and longing had been almost visible in their intensity, and she had left after a few minutes with only a brief word of farewell.
������ It had taken her some time to regain her inner composure. If she had regained it. No; Cathy Chandler most definitely desired a complete, physical relationship with the man she loved. Diana was fully, bleakly aware that Vincent's wishes were the same.
������ But even if they shared a bed, it didn't follow as night the day that they would also share a life together. Cathy had an important, if backbreaking, job with the D.A.'s office, and one she evidently cared a great deal for in spite of its inherent frustrations. As a police officer, Diana knew all too well the sense of impotent anger engendered by the unending violence of a large city, by seeing scum from the sewers escape scot-free on a legal technicality while their victims lay in hospitals or cowered in their homes, too terrified to leave.
������ But occasionally, just occasionally, a battered wife would find the courage to speak up against the husband who was making her life a hell - or a rapist be convicted in a court of law - and these moments of fulfillment were what kept the law enforcement personnel going. Yes, Cathy might very well think twice before giving that up.
������ "It's a tough decision to make." Diana spoke finally.
������ The great maned head nodded. "Yes. Catherine has always found great fulfillment in her job." He paused. "I would not wish her to sacrifice that."
������ "Vincent, I know how committed Catherine was to her work, how much it meant to her. But perhaps part of the reason Catherine put so much of her heart into her job was because she was unable to give it to you the way she yearned to - fully, completely, withholding nothing."
������ The words were out of her mouth almost before Diana was aware of them, but in the next instant she knew, with a deep inner certainty, the truth of them. "You told Cathy she was a woman of both worlds, but you denied her the chance to fully share your world with you."
������ Vincent had turned toward her, looking intently in her face. Slowly he nodded. "Yes, I believe that is true. For so long, I refused to consider the idea of Catherine coming to live Below, fearing that she would regret leaving her life Above - that she would miss her friends, her job, the ability to move about freely."
������ "That was not the real reason," Diana said flatly.
������ There was a moment of silence. Then Vincent released in a gusty sigh the breath he had unknowingly drawn in. "No," he admitted, softly. "That was what I told Catherine - and myself - but it was not the true reason."
������ He gazed into the night, absently surveying the twinkling panorama of lights. "I was afraid."
������ "Of physical intimacy." Her voice was gentle.
������ "Yes. I feared the act of love would release the beast within me, that I would harm Catherine. And that would have destroyed me." His words sank to an anguished whisper.
������ "Vincent, you can't still believe that. You did make love, after all, and Catherine wasn't hurt." Diana knit her brow, at a loss to account for his obvious tension.
������ "Diana, I still have no memory of the time when Catherine and I loved. Logically, with my mind, I know that I did not harm her; Catherine has assured me of this." He fixed her with a piercing gaze. "But I don't know it in me, not inside me, not with my heart. Remnants of the old fear still haunt me."
������ Diana shook her head. "Vincent, I don't know what to say. I don't believe for one second that any part of you is capable of injuring Catherine, under any circumstances. If you didn't hurt her before, when you were completely out of control, then why you imagine you might now is beyond me. I guess the only thing that will convince you is to just do it."
������ She finished drily, then chuckled as her words brought to mind the ubiquitous TV commercial. "Just do it, Vincent."
������ To her faint surprise, Vincent echoed her chuckle. "I intend to." At her look, he smiled. "I will no longer permit fear to rule my life. Tonight, I go to Catherine."
������ Diana suppressed an involuntary shudder as the image rose to her mind of Vincent and Cathy together, as they had been in her dream. Pushing the memory away, she surveyed Vincent with exasperation.
������ "You didn't need my reassurance, Vincent. Why did you let me meander on like that?"
������ "You're wrong, Diana." His eyes were entirely sober now. "You are the only one I could talk to about it. Father still has his own fears, and there is no one else Below I would feel comfortable discussing this with. Your words have helped."
������ "I'm glad," she said quietly.
������ A silence descended, easy and relaxed. At last Vincent straightened up. "I must go now," he sighed, turning to her. "Diana - "
������ Diana held up a hand in mock-stern warning. "Don't say it!" Together they smiled. Vincent regarded her for a long moment, his eyes warmly blue.
������ "Goodnight, Diana."
������ "Goodnight, Vincent." She watched him leave, then called softly into the night, "Good luck." She returned to the cold sheets of her empty bed.
THE END
Return To BATB Menu
OR
Return To Main Menu