"All Hallow's Eve"
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: It's Halloween again, but this year Vincent and Catherine are spending it Below.
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������ Catherine shut the door behind her with relief. Leaning against it, she vented her frustration in a huge, gusty sigh. God, what a day! Turning, she locked and bolted the door, then trudged toward her bed, where she unceremoniously dumped the huge stack of case files she had lugged up from the garage. Catherine eyed them balefully.
������ Enough was enough! Every night for the past two weeks she had pored over files, files and more files, til long after midnight. She was taking the night off. Tonight was Halloween, and she had plans.
������ Thinking now of those plans, Catherine walked over to the nightstand and took up the card lying there. Smiling, she re-read the invitation, written in a strong, flowing script as familiar to her as her own:
������ "Catherine,
������ ������ We are holding a costume party for the children on Halloween night, and the honor of your presence is requested. Unless you have other plans, I will meet you below at the threshold at 7:00.
������ ������ ������ ������ ������������ Vincent"
������ Catherine replaced the card and stripped off her suit jacket. One after the other, her shoes flew across the carpet and ended up on the floor against the wall. Unbuttoning her skirt, she moved over to the closet. As she slipped the jacket over a padded hanger, Catherine paused and stood there, lost in reverie. She was remembering last Halloween, and the joy of being in Vincent's company. That night had been magical, special to them both, not only because of the opportunity to walk Above without fear, but also because they had been with each other for the entire night, alone.
������ Rarely since that time had she and Vincent been able to spend more than a few hours together at a time - and those mostly within the bustling confines of the Tunnel community. Catherine had fond feelings for the dwellers Below, but admitted to herself that she was beginning to chafe at the lack of privacy afforded her and Vincent. Except for occasional visits to the more remote sights of the Tunnels, the only chance they had to be alone together was when Vincent came to her terrace - time usually stolen from her sleep. Catherine had endured many a yawn-filled day in order to have a few hours alone with the man she loved.
������ The man she loved. Catherine removed her skirt and hung it next to the jacket, then shut the closet door. Moving over to her bed, she sat down on the edge of the mattress and mechanically started unbuttoning her blouse, her mind still miles away.
������ I remember the first time I admitted to myself that I loved Vincent - no, more than that - that I was *in love* with Vincent. It was during those awful hours when we were frantically trying to save him and Father from the cave-in. Before that day, even though I knew I loved him, I managed to fool myself into believing it was a romantic, Impossible Dream kind of love, one that I could relegate to one side of my life, keep separate from the "real" world.
������ But when I felt Vincent's fear and pain, when I went Below and learned that he was trapped behind that pile of rubble.... All I could think of was that Vincent might die, and the agony of that thought was more than I could bear. It was then, when I faced the thought of a life without him, that I realized just how deeply I loved him - and not in any chivalrous, love-from-afar manner, either. I told Vincent I would have done anything to free him, but I don't think he has ever realized just how literally I meant those words.
������ When I went to Elliot for help, I was desperate. If he had decided to bargain with me for the equipment I needed, I would have promised him anything he wanted: to start seeing him again, to sleep with him - anything. I would have despised him even more than I did then, but I would have done it. If Elliot had refused to help me...well, it's probably just as well that I wasn't carrying a weapon that night.
������ I love Vincent. He is part of me now, as I am part of him. What we share is precious beyond words, but I'm beginning to want more - to need more. I want to spend more time with him. There is still so much I don't know about him. I want to learn about his childhood, about his dreams, his fears, what it was like for him, growing up in the Tunnels. I want . . .
������ Catherine turned her head and stared unseeing at the terrace doors. The curtains were open and the dark sky outside reflected her own image back at her. I want him to kiss me. There; I said it: I want Vincent to kiss me. All right, Cathy, you've said it; now let's see what you can do about it.
������ She checked the time. Good; it was not yet 6:00. She had plenty of time to take a hot, relaxing shower and put on her costume. Briskly shedding the remainder of her clothes, Catherine headed for the bathroom, humming.
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������ Vincent put the final jack-o-lantern in place on a niche and stepped back to survey the room. We certainly won't starve, he thought to himself, his mouth twitching as he looked at the long benches of food which filled one entire side of the chamber. Trays of sandwiches covered one surface, and a delicious fragrance advertised the presence of William's bite-sized meat rolls, fresh out of the oven and keeping hot on warming plates. The next bench contained nothing but pies, cakes and Halloween candies, while fruit punch and other beverages were available at still another table, set adjacent to the food area.
������ Vincent smiled to himself as William passed him and set down with care the keg of beer he had carried in on his shoulder. Beer was William's first choice of drink, and he made sure it was always available.
������ Mary stopped by Vincent on her way to her chamber. "What do you think? Will the children like it?" she asked him anxiously.
������ Vincent passed a reassuring arm around her shoulders. "It's beautiful, Mary," he said. "The children will love it."
������ He surveyed the dozens of Halloween decorations adorning the chamber - witches, black cats, ghosts - all of them created by the children from construction paper. The one exception was a real articulated skeleton donated by Father, a relic of his medical school days. It hung in a far corner, illuminated by a ghostly glow from specially covered flashlights which had been artfully hidden from view. Lest the skeleton frighten the younger children, Father had placed a red, pink and blue clown wig on top of the skull and attached a red clown's nose to the face with a string.
������ It presented quite a bizarre sight, Vincent thought with a chuckle.
������ He looked at the dozens of pumpkins the children had carved, and frowned. "Mary," he asked, "can you see to the lighting of the jack-o-lanterns? I must go meet Catherine now, to guide her here."
������ "Of course, Vincent. You go on now; we can manage," Mary replied, giving him a gentle push toward the doorway. Vincent smiled at her gratefully and moved toward the door, impatience quickening his pace even as she watched. Mary smiled to herself, then sighed.
������ "Why the heavy sigh, Mary? Is something wrong?" A warm, friendly hand descended on her shoulder. Mary looked up and smiled.
������ "No, Father." Her eyes returned to watch Vincent's passage through the room. "I was just...wishing."
������ Father studied her pensive expression. "And what were you wishing, that caused such sadness?" He followed Mary's gaze just in time to see the large figure of his son exit hurriedly through the doorway. He looked back down at Mary. "Vincent?"
������ Mary nodded. "I wish there were something I could do to help him - and Catherine. Their love is so special, it makes me sad to know that their path holds such uncertainty." She hesitated then, glancing up at Father.
������ "Father, I know that in the beginning you had doubts about Catherine. You were afraid that somehow she would hurt Vincent. But you must know by now that Catherine is as deeply in love with Vincent as he is with her. You have only to look at the two of them together to know that. Vincent has always been a warm and loving friend to all of us Below. But when Catherine is with him...."
������ Mary struggled to find the words to express what was in her heart. "When Vincent is with Catherine, it's as though he comes alive. Somehow he becomes even more himself, as if her presence enhances the very essence of him. Watch them tonight, Father, and you'll see what I mean."
������ She smiled shyly. "You'll probably think I'm just being a foolish romantic, but when I look at Catherine and Vincent, there is only one word I can think of to describe the way they seem to belong with one another: soulmates."
������ There was only silence from the grizzled man beside her. His sharp gray eyes still looked in the direction Vincent had taken, but their gaze was unfocused. Then a soft murmur came from his lips: " 'How shall I hold my soul, that it may not be touching yours?' " He inhaled deeply, expelled the breath with a sigh.
������ "I know what you mean, Mary; I've seen it too. I know now that Catherine would never knowingly hurt Vincent, but the situation is just not that simple. You of all people must know that. You were the one who helped me nurse Vincent through those dark days after Lisa. You remember his torment, his anguish of mind...." Father's voice trailed away, then returned, tight with pain.
������ "We almost lost him then. If it were to happen again.... I look at Vincent and see the depth of his love for Catherine, and hers for him - and then I remember Lisa. If ever Vincent were to hurt Catherine as Lisa was hurt...Mary, it would destroy him!" His gray eyes were haunted.
������ Mary tightened her hand on Father's arm. "Father, this situation is completely different!"
������ Father was completely taken aback. That Mary, usually so quiet and diffident, should make a declaration so strongly, so boldly . . . He could only stare. Unaware of Father's astonishment, Mary continued earnestly.
������ "Vincent could never hurt Catherine; never! I know that as well as I know my own name. But that is something Vincent and Catherine will have to work out by themselves."
������ Father nodded soberly, then sighed. "Yes; of course. And now, Mary, if you will excuse me, I must go change, or I'll be late for the festivities." He patted her shoulder in farewell, then turned and left. Mary's eyes followed him, then lit upon a familiar figure scuttling past her.
������ "Mouse!" she called out. Mouse paused and looked toward her questioningly. He was dressed in his usual haphazard fashion, though from the streaks of soot adorning his face Mary thought he must be attempting to look like a hobo. Or a chimney sweep? "I must go to my chamber to change. Would you light the candles in the jack-o-lanterns for me?"
������ "Sure!" Mouse replied, his face creasing with a happy beam. "Mouse'll light candles for you - light them real good!"
������ Mary felt a stir of concern. "Mouse," she cautioned him, "promise me you'll be careful. We don't want anyone hurt."
������ Mouse looked at her in hurt innocence. "Of course, Mary. Mouse'll be real careful!" Mary smiled at him and hurried from the room. If she didn't hurry, she would be late.
������ Mouse scuttled over to the nearest pumpkin and hunkered down to take a look inside. He sniffed disdainfully. "Kitchen candles!" he muttered. "Kitchen candles ordinary...not special. Need special candles for special night!" Mumbling to himself, Mouse made straight for his chamber, his single-minded concentration leaving him completely unaware of the many greetings from his friends.
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������ Vincent walked briskly along the corridor toward Catherine's apartment building. He was not surprised to sense that she was already there, waiting for him, for he knew he was slightly late. He rounded the last corner and stopped abruptly, transfixed.
������ Catherine stood in the shaft of misty blue-white light which streamed down from the storage room above. Her dress was of some white silky fabric - thin white fabric, Vincent noticed; for as Catherine took a step forward out of the direct beam of the light, he was aware for one intense, breathtaking moment of the silhouette of her body through the delicate folds of cloth. For a moment he was unable to take in any more details, then his vision cleared.
������ The bodice was cut low in front and hugged her slender form closely down to her waist; the slim skirt flowed in graceful, ragged layers to her ankles. A braided rope of gold served as a belt, knotted loosely with the ends hanging almost to her knees. The dress seemed to float around Catherine as she moved, shimmering with opalescent hues. A delicately carved band of gold encircled her right arm above the elbow. The crystal necklace he had given her for their first anniversary lay sparkling in the hollow between her breasts, and long crystal and gold earrings hung from her ears.
������ "Vincent," Catherine greeted him softly, well pleased by his reaction. An impish smile threatened one corner of her mouth as Vincent continued to stand in stunned silence before her. "Are you well?" she asked with innocent-sounding concern.
������ Vincent somehow got his mind in working order. "Catherine," he managed, his voice a soft, husky rasp, "I was not expecting - you - your costume...." Slowly he moved forward until he stood directly in front of her, and looked in her luminous eyes. He whispered, "You are so beautiful."
������ Catherine tilted her head back, mesmerized by his nearness and lost in the azure depths of his gaze. The moment hung before them breathlessly, alive with possibilities. She took one step forward. Without thought, Vincent bent to meet her, gathering her in his arms. Her arms slid around his neck and, as simply and naturally as breathing, their lips met.
������ Sweet, tingling warmth spread through her veins, touching every portion of her being. Yes! This was what she had longed for, what she needed. She felt Vincent's arms tighten around her and gave herself up entirely to the unimaginable sensation of his mouth on hers, the soft warmth of his uniquely-shaped lips. The occasional hint of pressure from his fangs offered a further excitement to her senses.
������ An eternity passed. Slowly, slowly, they pulled apart, gazing at each other with shining eyes. Happiness bubbled through Catherine, and she smiled joyfully at Vincent. He tenderly stroked her hair, kissing her lightly and holding her as though she were the most precious thing in the world. Catherine slid her arms down and embraced him tightly, leaning against the strong, warm breadth of his chest. They stood a moment, locked together. Then,
������ "Come," Vincent took Catherine's hand in his, holding it caressingly. "We must go. The others will be wondering where we are."
������ Catherine nodded slowly, her eyes never leaving his. Turning, she gathered up her soft, thick shawl from the floor where it had fallen, then they set off through the tunnels, hands clasped tightly.
������ "Where are we going?" Catherine asked in surprise, as Vincent turned down a tunnel unfamiliar to her.
������ "To the concert chamber," he replied. "It's where most of our minor festivities are held. We have another room, the Great Hall, where important ceremonies take place - marriages, namings. Someday you will see that, too." He smiled down at her, for now keeping to himself his private plans for the upcoming Winterfest celebration.
������ Catherine sighed, suddenly despondent. "There's still so much I don't know about your world, Vincent. Sometimes I feel like an intruder."
������ Vincent stopped and turned to face Catherine. He touched her face, his thumb lingering on the soft curve of her cheek. "No one considers you an intruder, Catherine. All who know you - Father, Mary, Jamie, Mouse - value your friendship. And the children love you. Samantha talks incessantly about becoming a lawyer; did you know?"
������ Amused, Catherine smiled, her momentary depression vanishing. "If she really means it, I'll be glad to help her when the time comes." She looked at Vincent and said softly, "Thank you." They stood a moment longer, gazing at each other, then resumed walking.
������ The party was in full swing when they arrived. Catherine looked guiltily at Vincent. "I'm afraid I made us late. I'm sorry."
������ Vincent cocked his head to look down at her. "Are you?" he murmured, smiling slightly. "I'm not." His tone was low and intimate, his blue eyes caressing.
������ Catherine gazed at him steadily, feeling her heart quicken. The warmth evoked by their first kiss resonated strongly between them. "No," she breathed, "I'm not sorry."
������ "Vincent! Catherine!" Slowly, reluctantly, they turned to face this unwelcome intrusion. It was Father, hobbling toward them through the crowd.
������ "There you are! I was beginning to wonder!" Father began. He stopped, abruptly aware that something was different between the couple. They both seemed in a daze, as though their attention was elsewhere. "Is something wrong? Has anything happened?" he asked sharply.
������ Vincent looked at him, his eyes not quite focused. "Why, no, Father, nothing is wrong. Nothing has . . . happened."
������ Only everything. The world has opened up and shown me possibilities I have scarcely dared to dream of. Somehow he managed to keep a calm face, though it was not easy. Catherine's joy was singing through his blood, her presence beside him a siren call, the touch of her hand in his luring him with a promise of further enchantments.
������ Father raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I see. Very well. Catherine, my dear, forgive me for not welcoming you properly. I am very pleased you were able to join us tonight. Off you go now and enjoy yourself."
������ "Yes, thank you, Father," Catherine replied, somewhat vaguely. She drifted off with Vincent. Father watched them make their way through the crowd, concern shadowing his eyes. He had not missed the quiet radiance in Catherine's face, a deep wellspring of joy which was reflected in Vincent's eyes. He guessed that their relationship had taken a significant step forward. For a moment, the image of a frightened young girl, scratched and bleeding, warred with memories of Margaret, and he sighed. Then Father straightened determinedly and went over to the children to oversee the apple bobbing.
������ "Would you care for something to eat?" Vincent asked. Catherine looked at the appetizing array of food and realized suddenly that she was hungry. She looked at her watch.
������ Well, no wonder - it was after eight and she hadn't eaten since noon, if you could call cramming down half a stale bologna sandwich left over from yesterday's lunch "eating."
������ Vincent handed her a plate filled with samplings from each tray and she dug in with a hearty appetite. Catherine polished off the food in rapid order, saving for last a small meat pastry which gave off a savory aroma. She bit into it and her eyes widened in appreciation.
������ "Vincent, who made these?" she asked around the bite. Vincent indicated William, who was standing nearby talking with Rebecca. Seeing their eyes on him, William looked at them questioningly, then excused himself and came over.
������ "What's up, Vincent?" he asked, nodding to Catherine. "Catherine, it's good to see you again. How have you been?"
������ "You have a new admirer," Vincent told him. He nodded toward Catherine, who was just swallowing the last of the pastry.
������ "William, these meat rolls are wonderful! I've never tasted anything like them," Catherine said with enthusiasm. "Where did you find this recipe?"
������ William smiled at her, gruffly pleased. "Family secret," he replied, "handed down from mother to daughter - or in my case, from mother to son. Glad you like them." He nodded again to them both and walked away, his gratification obvious in the proud set of his body.
������ Watching him, Vincent laughed softly. "Those meat rolls are his pride and joy," he told Catherine. "You have made him very happy."
������ "I meant every word!" Catherine exclaimed. Taking Vincent's arm, she hugged it closely to her side, savoring his solid warmth. There was a scuttling sound off to one side and she turned her head. Mouse appeared beside them, his eager, streaky face split by a grin which stretched from ear to ear.
������ "Hi! Glad you're here!" he said happily. He leaned toward them and lowered his voice mysteriously. "Mouse has surprise planned. Big surprise! You'll like it!" He beamed at them again and scurried off.
������ Catherine watched him go, slightly worried. "Vincent," she began, turning to him, "don't you think maybe - " She stopped, seeing the frown on his face. Vincent looked at her.
������ "Yes," he agreed. "I think we should try to find out more about this 'surprise'." They moved through the throng in pursuit of Mouse. As they walked, Catherine was surprised at the warmth of the greetings she received, many of them from people she barely knew.
������ Maybe, she mused, they do accept me, after all.
������ Vincent, sensing the change in her mood, looked down at Catherine quizzically. She was smiling at Mary as the older woman complimented her on her costume.
������ Mary had chosen not to wear a costume, and had on only a dressier version of her usual clothes. This dress was made of beautiful blue-gray wool; with it Mary wore a crocheted shawl, dusty rose in color, over her shoulders.
������ "Mary, what lovely, soft colors," Catherine said admiringly. "That blue matches your eyes perfectly." Mary flushed with pleasure. Before she could reply, there was a flurry in the group ahead of them and Jamie burst through, adorable in a witch's costume. Her long blonde hair, brushed to a glossy sheen, streamed over her black-clad shoulders. Jamie stopped in front of Catherine and gasped.
������ "Catherine, your dress!" Jamie cried out in delight. "It's so beautiful! You're beautiful!" It was Catherine's turn to blush.
������ "Thank you, Jamie," she murmured. With every nerve in her body she was aware of Vincent's eyes on her, agreeing with Jamie, telling her she was beautiful. The memory of their kiss, which had occupied the main part of her attention all evening, rose even more strongly to her mind. As though it were just happening, Catherine felt again the distinct touch of Vincent's warm lips on hers, and she quivered inside.
������ Vincent's hand tightened around hers; his thumb moved in slow circles over her wrist. Catherine's mind whirled, and the scene before her blurred. With gargantuan effort, she grasped at the first thought she came to.
������ "Mouse!" The word was half-gasped. Jamie looked at her with surprised curiosity. Catherine cleared her throat. "Have you seen Mouse, Jamie? We need to talk to him."
������ "Last time I saw Mouse he was over in that corner," said Jamie, nodding over her right shoulder, "fiddling with one of the pumpkins."
������ "Mouse told us he had a surprise planned for tonight," Vincent put in. "Do either of you know anything about it?" Jamie shook her head. Mary looked worried.
������ "Oh, dear! I hope it's not something to do with the candles. I asked Mouse to light them, as I needed to dress. He promised me he'd be careful!" Mary peered toward the corner Jamie had indicated. "Maybe we'd better - "
������ At that second a bright flare of light illuminated the corner where the majority of the pumpkins had been grouped. Conversations came to a startled halt as people gasped and looked around. The initial flash was immediately followed by a sharp hissing sound, and suddenly multi-colored sparks were spitting out everywhere. Those adults nearest that side of the room drew back warily. The children, however, broke into cheers, and loud "Oohs!" and "Aahs!" filled the room, along with delighted laughter and clapping of small hands.
������ "Vincent! What on earth is going on?" Father pushed his way anxiously through the crowd, coming up beside his son. He stared in consternation. "What in the world - " He started forward, only to have Vincent hold him back.
������ "Father, don't worry. If I'm right, this display will end very shortly." Sure enough, in only seconds the bright shower began to sputter and then ceased altogether. Father and Vincent waited a few moments more to be sure no further outburst occurred, then slowly approached the corner. Jamie, Mary and Catherine followed close behind.
������ Mouse's grinning face looked up at them over the blackened remains of the huge jack-o-lantern he was hunkered over. He straightened up as they approached. "Like my surprise? Special surprise, for special day!"
������ Momentarily, Father stood speechless. "Do you mean to tell me you are responsible for this, this - display?" He gestured with his cane toward the pumpkin. "Mouse, don't you realize how dangerous this could have been? What if one of the sparks had caught something on fire? What if - good heavens, what if one of the children had been standing close by? Someone could have been burned!"
������ "Not dangerous!" Mouse protested hotly. "Mouse was careful! Made sure no one was close before lighting candle. Only little sparks, not big!" He looked to Vincent for help.
������ "Father, the danger really was minimal," Vincent assured his agitated parent. "Mouse consulted me about his special candles a while ago - although I had no idea he was going to use one tonight. I made sure he understood the risks involved, both for himself and for others. You will notice that he waited until he knew all the children were at the other side of the room before lighting it."
������ Father nodded, slightly mollified. He looked at Mouse with an all-too-familiar feeling of sinking resignation. "Yes, well . . . " He sighed, defeated. "Let us have no more surprises tonight, Mouse, hmmm?"
������ Mouse nodded agreeably. "Only brought one candle anyway. Need to make better candle for next time." Everyone exchanged alarmed glances, and Father put his arm around the boy's shoulders.
������ "Now, Mouse, you must be very careful . . ." The rest of his lecture was lost as they disappeared into the chattering throng.
������ Jamie turned to Catherine and Vincent. "Mouse didn't mean any harm," she said defensively. "He just wanted to make tonight special." Catherine laughed softly.
������ "Mouse never means any harm," Vincent agreed. "His mind just . . . runs on a different track. With Mouse around, our lives will never be dull!"
������ Jamie smiled a rueful acknowledgment, then looked in the direction Father and Mouse had taken, and sighed. "I better go make sure he's all right." She turned and began squirming her way through the crowd.
������ "Jamie and Mouse are good friends, aren't they?" Catherine asked curiously, looking after the young girl.
������ "Yes, they've always been very close." Vincent, too, was watching the determined passage of the blonde head through the lively crowd. "Sometimes I think Jamie is the only one of us who truly understands Mouse."
������ Catherine made a vague sound, a kind of absent-minded murmur which told Vincent that this conversation was not really holding her attention. He looked down then, and found her studying his face. He watched her eyes as they moved from the sweeping arch of his eyebrows down the expanse of his softly-furred nose. They explored his cheekbones and strong jaw, then settled on his mouth, lingering there for so long that Vincent began to feel nervous. What was she thinking?
������ Cautiously, Vincent began to probe her feelings, then froze in sudden dismay as a chilling possibility occurred to him. In a second, his happiness and contentment shattered into a million razor-tipped shards, each one flaying him unmercifully.
������ Two large brown eyes, wide with revulsion and terror, swam in and out of his memory. Lisa's eyes. Was Catherine also feeling disgust at the thought that his misshapen lips had dared to touch hers? Shame flooded over Vincent in harsh, ugly waves. How could he have forgotten, even for a second, who he was - what he was? How had he dared to sully her perfection with his tainted caress?
������ "Catherine," he managed, his distress almost choking him. "I'm sorry - "
������ "Hmm?" Catherine lifted her gaze. She smiled at him. "Sorry for what?" Her eyes were languid, almost sleepy. Speechless, Vincent stared down at her, utterly confused. She reached for his hand.
������ In a daze, Vincent allowed Catherine to lead him to the secluded corner behind the lighted skeleton. The cave wall made a sharp turn at this point, concealing a depression in the rock just large enough to hold two people - if they were close together. A short wooden bench had been placed there at some time in the past.
������ "I thought I saw something to sit on back here," Catherine murmured in satisfaction. She guided Vincent to the bench, seating herself close beside him. Without hesitation, Catherine nestled against Vincent, reaching under his cloak to put her arm around him. "All right, love - what are you apologizing for now?" She closed her eyes and burrowed more closely into his warmth, sighing when she felt his arms close hesitantly around her.
������ "I - I was afraid that you were revolted because I . . . kissed you," Vincent confessed in a low voice. Catherine twisted around to stare at him with open-mouthed amazement.
������ "Vincent! How on earth could you think something like that? What did I do to make you think such a thing?" Her astonishment and dismay were obvious.
������ Vincent lowered his eyes, unable to meet her distressed gaze. "You were . . . looking at me." Catherine waited, but Vincent seemed to have no intention of continuing.
������ "Vincent?" Catherine placed her hand against his cheek, moved it in a caressing stroke down to his chin, and exerted gentle pressure, forcing his head up. His eyes met hers, filled with shame. "Please - I don't understand. I look at you all the time. How was this different?"
������ Vincent took a deep breath. Inwardly, he was writhing. But he owed Catherine an honest answer to her question. "You were - I saw you studying my face. Your eyes fell on my mouth and stayed there. I knew you must be comparing me with other men, and I . . ."
������ His voice failed him. Then, averting his face, Vincent continued in a whisper so low that Catherine had to strain to hear. "I was ashamed that I had allowed myself to forget my differences, even for a moment - that I permitted my emotions to overcome me."
������ Vincent forced himself to look at Catherine. "Catherine, I am sorry. You need not be afraid that it will happen again - it won't, I promise you." He made his eyes remain steady on hers, hoping she could feel the truth of his promise. She must believe him.
������ Please, Catherine, believe me. If you do not trust me, if you do not wish to see me again - that would destroy me. You are my life; I cannot live without you. Please, believe me -
������ His agonized thoughts were interrupted by a gusty sigh. "Oh, Vincent!" Her tone was one of tender exasperation. Startled, Vincent blinked, then looked at her face, this time really seeing her. Her expression as she shook her head matched the tone in her voice.
������ "Vincent, you know what I'm feeling, always. How could you get into such a muddle? Didn't you even try to sense my emotions?" Her brows knit together in honest bewilderment.
������ Vincent shook his head, glancing away. "I was . . . afraid to. If I had actually felt what you were feeling . . . I think it would have destroyed me. Catherine, please don't torment me this way!" He started to rise to his feet, only to be halted by Catherine's hand pressing down hard on his shoulder.
������ "Vincent, if you don't stop this nonsense, I'll scream!" Vincent stared at her. Catherine's soft voice was now edged with anger. She gazed at him for a moment before continuing, in a softer tone.
������ "Yes, I was looking at you, examining your features. Don't you know by now that I think you're beautiful? Yes, you are 'different.' I love your differences! Vincent, you are beautiful! When I looked at your mouth, I was remembering how soft and warm and exciting your lips felt on mine, and wanting to feel them again."
������ Her words knocked the breath right out of him. Vincent sat, stunned. Exciting? His lips . . . his kiss?
������ Catherine ran a caressing finger over his mouth, further taking his breath away, then leaned forward, looking deeply into his eyes. "Vincent, feel what I'm feeling now."
������ Before Vincent could gather his scattered reflexes enough to block her, Catherine's emotions flowed through their connection, as rich and powerful as the tide - and as inexorable. What he felt then was almost unbelievable, but Catherine would not lie - could not, anyway, without his knowing it.
������ She was not disgusted by his differences, not regretting their kiss. Catherine was remembering it with pleasure, with joy. She . . . she was thinking that he was . . . beautiful. She wanted to kiss him again!
������ In a daze, Vincent dared to meet Catherine's eyes. The love he found there almost overwhelmed him. "Catherine, I..." he began, then stopped, not knowing what to say. He drew her to him, holding her tenderly, feeling his soul come alive again. Tears welled up, and he closed his eyes, bending his head down, breathing in the fragrance of her lustrous hair. Her arms tightened around his neck, and without thought Vincent responded, pressing her more closely to him.
������ Suddenly, he was intensely aware of the pressure of her warm body against his, of her thinly-clad softness in his arms, and he drew back in startled confusion. Or tried to.
������ Catherine felt Vincent's attempt at withdrawal and held him even more tightly, just for a moment. Then she loosened her hold on his neck and moved away slightly, feeling the rapid beating of her heart. More than anything in the world, she wanted to kiss Vincent, to feel his mouth on hers, his arms around her, but instinct - or perhaps their bond, weak though it was on her part - told her that events were happening too fast for him.
������ Always during the course of their relationship Vincent had held back from physical contact, unless she initiated it. Or unless I was in danger, she thought wryly. How many weeks had passed following their wondrous reunion on her terrace, eight months after they had first parted Below, before he even embraced her? And even then it had been a delicate, tentative gesture, the touch of his encircling arm so hesitant, so light, it was a wonder she could feel it at all. But felt it she had, right down to her toes, as she had felt every touch since. She had always instinctively sensed that Vincent could not - should not - be pressured toward further intimacy, and though puzzled by his reticence, always she had followed that instinct. Until tonight.
������ Right now that same sense was telling her that this was not the time to press him any further. With an effort so physically difficult that it shook her to the bone, Catherine removed her arms from Vincent's shoulders and stood up. She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths, hoping to calm her racing heart, and met his eyes evenly. "Shall we return to the party?"
������ After a tense instant, Vincent relaxed and tentatively returned her smile. He stood up and turned to step out of their secluded niche, only to be stopped by Catherine's hand on his arm.
������ "Vincent."
������ He turned and met her luminous gaze. Catherine put her hands on his shoulders and rose up on tiptoe. Before he could move, one hand was pulling his head down to hers. She kissed him, a fierce, yet tender caress that lingered only a few seconds before she pulled away. Vincent felt his heart begin to thump.
������ Catherine took his hand in hers. "I love you, Vincent, and I meant what I said. I will always want your kisses." Her eyes locked briefly with his, then together they rejoined their friends.
<><><><><><><><><>
������ Catherine slid into bed and pulled the covers snugly over her, flinching at the coldness of the softly scented sheets. She had forgotten to switch on the electric blanket before beginning her nightly routine in the bathroom, and lay curled in a tight ball for several minutes before finally feeling its warmth reach her shivering body. As the chill gradually receded, she was able to relax and set her mind to reviewing the events of the evening.
������ All in all, definitely a night to remember. But then, any time spent with Vincent fell into that category, whether it was an entire evening or a single hour.
������ Or five minutes. Catherine smiled to herself, then yawned. It wasn't really very late - only a little past midnight - but the evening had been so packed with emotions, both high and low, that it felt as if a much longer time had elapsed. Rapture can be exhausting, Catherine thought, with a sleepy chuckle. Then she sobered.
������ Why is Vincent so hesitant to touch me? I know - I think I know that he wants to hold me more often than he does, and more closely. He certainly seemed to enjoy our kiss tonight, but then...something happened. Even after we resolved that ridiculous episode about my being repelled by his appearance, he seemed to pull back from my touch, to be almost...afraid. Of getting too close? But why?
������ I know he loves me; does that love perhaps not include physical desire? Is Vincent *that* different? I find that difficult to believe. There are times when I can almost feel his need to touch and be touched, but he always retreats from it - from me. No, his reticence is not because of lack of desire. There is a reason for that iron control he keeps on himself, and sooner or later I'll discover what it is. And until then, well, I'll try to be patient and understanding, and not push for more than Vincent is comfortable with.
������ Catherine's eyes closed and her breathing deepened, slowed. As she hovered on the brink of sleep, one last thought flitted through her mind, almost too quickly to catch. I love you, Vincent. I want to make love with you. Someday, we will . . . .
������ She sank into deep, contented slumber; her dreams were of trees and sunlight.
������ And of Vincent.
THE END
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