"Your Pain is My Pain" - PART VI - Destiny
by Teri

Passion is not so much an emotion as a destiny. What choice have I in the face of this wind, But to put up my sail and rest my oars? Jeanette Winterson

     A soft, mewling cry pulled Vincent instantly from a sound sleep, his instinctive senses expanded over the last two months to include both the audible and not so audible cues from his son. Catherine stirred beside him, that sound drawing her just as surely, though the response was inevitably different. He felt the fluid rush of sensation as her milk let down, and slipped from the bed to bring the child to her.
     A soft light filtered through the chamber from the twenty-four hour candle resting behind the stained glass wheel at the far side of the bed. In the past that light had often been extinguished at night, leaving the space about them enclosed in a deep, comforting darkness, but no more. The transition from sleeping to waking for the frequent late night feedings and changings was eased considerably by that mellow glow, and Vincent privately thought the baby preferred it, his bond tie to their child weaker than that he shared with Catherine, but present yet on a low level of consciousness.
     As usual, their son was wide awake, his blue eyes immediately drawn to his father's as he knelt beside the small cradle. The two, so like, stared at each other in silent communion, a complete, trusting innocence in the eyes of one, a stunned awe and amazement in the eyes of the other. Vincent wondered if he would ever not feel that fragile sense of wonder in his son's presence. He shook himself out of that still reverie, and began to change the child's diapers, crooning lowly to him all the while.
     "I'm here, little one. You're hungry, aren't you? Come, your mother is waiting for you."
     Vincent's breath caught at those last words, the idea of Catherine as a mother, as the mother of his child, overwhelming him as it always did. He turned towards the bed with his precious burden and found her awake, her lips trembling with a poignant joy at the sight of them together. He hesitated for just a moment, absorbing that sensation from her, then moved to settle the baby in the center of the bed along her side. Catherine untied her gown and pushed it open, offering her breast to the babe, and he latched onto her hungrily. Vincent never saw that sight without experiencing a fierce rush of emotion, a swell of protectiveness, love and desire that filled him entirely, holding him captive to that tender scene. At first he had been embarrassed by that need in him, but Catherine would have none of it. Even now, as the child drank greedily, her free arm drew him down to cuddle next to them, making him a part of that nurturing tableau. A ragged sigh of happiness escaped him as he settled beside them, his arm circling Catherine to enfold them both in his protective embrace.
     Catherine's sigh mirrored his own, a blissful joy filling her. They had almost everything now, and soon nothing would stand between them and their happy life, of that she was certain. Only one thing yet remained to make it perfect, and she swore -- like Scarlet over Tara, she thought wryly -- that it would be theirs, come hell or high water. She had a plan.
     The topic of a physical relationship between them had been notably absent during her pregnancy, as it had been prior to that. Oh, they had begun to approach that territory over a year ago, when they'd first discovered the unsuspected depths of their bond in this area, but that progress had been interrupted by, of all things, the conception of their child. It was really ironic, when you thought about it.
     Still, it was true nonetheless. Their expanded bond had brought them closer than they'd ever been, giving them pleasures beyond imagining, but it had also brought about a weakening of the tight control Vincent had always maintained with her, especially where her biological cycle was concerned. Still, he would have kept that strict distance between them during the crucial time of her ovulation had fate not stepped in. Thinking the danger was past, Catherine had gone to the work site far below in search of him. Her fall in the river, and their resultant struggle for survival, had broken all barriers.
     Vincent still didn't remember those hours in the way-station, but she did. She held those precious memories close to her heart, bringing them out frequently to assuage the aching need which he could no longer bring himself to fulfill. Too afraid, he was too afraid of those hidden emotions to let them go back to what they had before, much less move forward to what yet awaited them. Only three times during her pregnancy had he allowed that bond experience between them again, and then almost as if it were against his will. Yet the need was so strong in them both it couldn't be ignored. And though there had been nothing since their child's birth, Catherine wasn't deceived.
     Vincent wanted her desperately. Any fool could see that, and Catherine was no fool. Now, more than ever though, he didn't know how to change the situation between them. She saw it clearly; eleven months of living together Below, sharing his chamber, sharing his bed...sharing a child. These things were so far beyond what he had learned to expect for his life. Somehow, fate had given them almost everything they craved, yet still contrived to deny them the one thing they so yearned for -- a true physical union and fulfillment of their love. Catherine tried to discuss it, but that forgotten conception was an obstacle she couldn't break through. Well, she was through talking. Where words had not succeeded, a brazen, shameless seduction would, of that she was certain. In one more month the Naming Ceremony would take place, and so too, she was determined, would their long awaited consummation. * * *
     "It's hard to believe, but there's only one more month remaining until the Naming Ceremony. Have you two made a decision yet?"
     Grins were exchanged surreptitiously about the table at that blatant attempt for information. Though Father well knew the traditions of their community, and was usually their staunchest defender, he was almost insatiably curious about the name Catherine and Vincent would give to the new, magical addition to their world Below.
     All eyes turned expectantly toward their favorite pair. The topic of discussion slept peacefully in the chest harness his mother wore, oblivious to the avid interest he sparked.
     "We've discussed it, but haven't settled on one yet. Rest assured, Father, we will have a name for him in time for the ceremony."
     The grins widened at Vincent's gentle teasing. No one else but Mary, and now sometimes Catherine, ever attempted it, and everyone enjoyed witnessing those rare occasions when their patriarch was rendered speechless by those few who could always manage to throw him into a stammering state of confusion.
     Jacob resisted that now, well aware of the humor shared at the table but determined to hold onto his dignity, despite his overwhelming curiosity. He was quite chagrined at his own behavior, to tell the truth, but just couldn't seem to help himself. After all, this was a special case, wasn't it? You'd think, that at least in private, Vincent would include him in this momentous decision, all things considered! He sighed heavily, knowing that was unlikely to occur, much as he thought it should, and moved the conversation away from that frustrating topic.
     "Mouse, how is the construction of your new security system going? Will it be ready for testing soon?"
     "Finished it. Ready now. Tightened the doohickey, adjusted the knobs." His fingers fiddled in mid-air as he spoke. "All set to go. Should work fine -- better than best, right Jamie?"
     All eyes turned toward Jamie, his habitual partner in crime, and she nodded in agreement.
     "We can run the test today if you like, Father. It's already set up in the abandoned area just above Elizabeth's painted tunnels. We figure we'll let Arthur loose up there and see what happens. If the motion detectors are set off by him, no person, not even a child, should be able to get through undetected. Of course we're going to have a limited range on it, just one specific tunnel area or junction at a time, and we'll have to be careful about the power we're tapping for it."
     "Yes, of course, but it should be more than adequate for our purposes. We won't use it except in emergencies, and luckily those are few and far between here. Still, it will be nice to have that extra security when we need it."
     William had stopped by their table a few minutes before, and now threw in his two cents worth.
     "Well, personally, I'd like to see one of them set up in my kitchen. I baked fourteen dozen cupcakes yesterday afternoon and this morning I found almost two dozen missing."
     Vincent and Catherine exchanged a guilty look, missing the similar expressions on the faces of Mouse, Jamie, Pascal and Rebecca. And though Father managed to maintain his stoic appearance, Mary blushed beet red. Glaring about the table, William didn't miss any of it.
     "I thought as much. Well now, who here will volunteer to make up for the shortfall, or will you all give up your treat tonight?"
     Rebecca immediately chimed in, a merry smile amidst her blush.
     "I'll do it, William. I don't have any candle-work to do at the moment."
     Catherine was about to offer her services, too, but held her tongue when Pascal spoke up shyly.
     "I'll help, Rebecca. Kipper can handle the pipes for a few hours."
     Everyone turned stunned gazes in his direction at that cavalier disregard for his beloved pipes, then the looks quickly melted into indulgent smiles of benign satisfaction. * * *
     Catherine slowed to a walk once she reached the swings, well pleased by her progress. She had been jogging in the park almost daily now for over a month, and between that and breast-feeding, was definitely feeling the effects of her labors. Vincent waited watchfully near a park tunnel entrance while Mary baby-sat. Nothing Catherine said could dissuade him from his vigil. He never said why, but Catherine knew; he wouldn't let anything risk the happiness they had finally found together, anything. Truth to tell, she wasn't at all displeased by his watchful presence. More than most, Catherine knew how dangerous a place this park could be, even during the daylight hours. She was no more willing than Vincent to jeopardize their new life. Still, the dirt running paths were much easier on her feet than the rocky terrain Below, and she was determined to get in shape again, so four or five times a week she came Above for an hour at dawn, and Vincent waited patiently for her at the junction between the two worlds.
     She had been a little worried at first, concerned that her early morning forays Above would remind him of his nightly wanderings there, revive his yearning for the breezes, grass and stars, but it never did. He hadn't been Above for more than a few minutes at a time since their last late night walk in the park more than three months ago. She asked him about it once, but he only shook his head, saying everything he needed was here, Below. Still, Catherine looked forward to the resumption of those quiet evening strolls, the thought of them alone together beneath the pale moon a precious image that she held close to her heart. And despite his denial, she knew that he, too, waited with a patient anticipation for that time when they would once more enjoy the solitude and pleasure of the starry nights Above, together. Soon, she silently vowed. Very soon. * * *
     "Catherine, Father is right, we should decide on a name soon."
     Vincent referred to the lunch conversation three days past, and they both grinned as the memory of the 'cupcake incident' washed over them again.
     "You're right. Let's do it now. Have you got your list?"
     "Yes."
     Shortly after the baby's birth, they had decided that each would develop a list of names over the course of the next two months. They agreed that they wouldn't discuss their lists until they were ready to make their decision, sometime in the weeks preceding the Naming Ceremony itself. It seemed that time had now come.
     He retrieved his journal from the bedside table and sat beside her, turning to a section where a list of names and notes resided.
     "You go first," she said, and he nodded in assent.
     "Charles, for your father, or perhaps Chandler. Both are beautiful."
     Catherine smiled tremulously at him. Tears filled her eyes at his thought and consideration for her and she rapidly blinked them away. That look held him speechless for a few moments, and she urged him on.
     "What else?"
     "William, for our favorite playwright."
     He looked somewhat sheepish at that suggestion, but Catherine knew he liked the idea of it as much as the name itself.
     "And don't forget our favorite cook!" she added teasingly.
     "And for our favorite cook, of course," he repeated, unperturbed.
     Both had the simultaneous thought of the extra goodies that choice might ensure them and burst into laughter. Finally Catherine wiped her eyes and turned back to the serious business of naming their son.
     "Go on."
     "Nathan. It means..."
     "The Gift." Catherine finished his sentence for him and they exchanged a tender glance.
     The Gift -- it had a sweet poignancy that touched her heart, and her hand covered his, their gazes drawn inexorably to the cradle where their son slept even now. Precious, priceless and unexpected. Both knew, regardless of the name chosen, their son would always be seen for the gift he was. Finally Vincent turned back to his list. He hesitated for a moment before giving the last of his selections.
     "Jacob, or perhaps Peter," he added hastily, "for their help during your pregnancy."
     She kept her smile hidden, instead nodding gravely as though she accepted his words at face value.
     "That's all I have, Catherine. What about your choices?"
     "My list is shorter. There are only two names on it."
     He nodded encouragingly at her.
     "Vincent."
     He blushed and looked surprised at her choice; it was apparent the idea had never entered his mind. He had begun to shake his head ruefully, when Catherine continued.
     "But then I decided I didn't want that."
     Vincent couldn't stop the quizzical look that flashed in his eyes for a moment, though he tried to cover it smoothly. He wasn't sure he wanted to know her reasons for deciding against his name, a large part of himself still questioning his role in the changes of her life.
     "There's only one Vincent. That's the way it always should be."
     She smiled tenderly at the confusion her words inspired, letting him absorb that thought completely, and its inevitable meaning. Finally he regained sufficient composure to ask about her last choice.
     "And the other name, Catherine?"
     "Jacob."
     She held his gaze steadily for some minutes, not missing the hopeful look that he tried so hard to hide.
     "It's got to be Jacob, Vincent. Father will always be 'Father' to everyone else, but not to Devin's children, if he ever settles down, and not to ours."
     He gasped at that last reference, but she blithely ignored the shocked expression on his face and went on.
     "He'll be 'Grandfather' to them, he has to be. You see that, don't you?"
     Vincent was incapable of responding. The idea of 'their children' filled him simultaneously with a dizzying pleasure and a fearful trepidation. There was still so much unresolved between them, but her words implied an airy dismissal of all that, as if it were nothing more than a minor irritant to be banished, calmly and surely, in its own time. Catherine's touch upon his hand, and her gentle words, drew him back to their chamber.
     "Vincent? I really want it to be Jacob. What do you want?"
     Her question spoke of more than just a name, it spoke of all the other yearnings in their hearts. Though he couldn't see clear of all the obstacles just yet, he couldn't deny that their desires were one and the same, not now. He knew that she had seen beyond his weak rationale for offering up his father's name on his own list, that she knew that was the choice he wanted more than anything, both as a tribute to the man who had raised him as his true son, and for the continuity it would give both to him and his own son. It gifted him with a beginning, unlike his own, that had known roots and ties, be they ever so vague. In addition to all the friends and family Below, their child would have a special grandfather and uncle, he knew that deep inside. The name would merely clarify those ties for all to see. He wanted that for their son and for Father, and even, he had to admit shamefully, for himself -- but not at the expense of Catherine's own lineage.
     "Your father, Catherine, is just as important..."
     She interrupted him once again, her hand squeezing his arm with a fierce insistence.
     "Jacob, Vincent, it's got to be Jacob. We can save Charles for later."
     She added those last words teasingly, enjoying the flustered state of confusion Vincent was immediately cast into. He ignored them as best he could and finally gave in, a blushing, tremulous joy filling him.
     "All right, Jacob." * * *
     Catherine paused just outside the entryway to their chamber, captivated by the sound of Vincent's low, hushed tones. The words were ones she knew well, the lyrical poetry of Tennyson stirring her as it always did. It seemed that all their reading was done aloud now, always to each other, and just as often to their son. No matter how fidgety or out of sorts Jacob might be, his parents' voices never failed to soothe him, his response almost instantaneous. Catherine was convinced he had developed that tie in her womb, so deep and strong was the effect.
     She leaned against the tunnel wall for a few minutes more, her eyes closed, as she let Vincent's voice drift over her, weaving a sensual spell about her heart with a binding love that was irresistible. Finally his voice alone was no longer enough. With her eyes still closed, she slipped silently around the curving chamber entrance. Though his words never faltered, she felt a dizzying expectancy through their bond, and when she opened her eyes she found his gaze pinned inexorably upon her.
     He sat in his worn, velvet padded chair, the blanketed bundle in the crook of one arm, a book held loosely in his other hand. Candles glowed brightly off to one side and the book was tilted in that direction to catch the light while keeping the glare out of their son's eyes. He sat before her in all his magnificent, terrible beauty; father, teacher, warrior...beloved. He was everything. His powerful aura drew her and Catherine went to him slowly, her motions almost hypnotic. She reached his side and immediately laid her hand upon his shoulder, needing to feel the solid strength of him. His voice fell silent then, a shivery stillness filling the chamber. She leaned down to stare into their son's eyes, and the child met her gaze, his blue eyes watchfully alert and grave, as if he knew this was a special moment and he the only observer allowed. Catherine nuzzled gently against his soft features, pressing warm kisses along his cheeks, brow, and the downy silk of his nose before finally turning her attention back to the trembling gaze of her love.
     Slowly, her touch never leaving him, she circled his chair until she stood behind him. Her left arm slipped down about his and they cradled their son together while her other hand slid down his shoulder and across his chest, tenderly caressing that muscled expanse. She felt an undulating shiver traverse his length, and paused to feel the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm. Below her she heard the book close with a heavy snap, though her concentration was focused almost entirely on his chest and throat. Her hand slid back up along that tempting length and lightly traced the pulsing column of his throat, drawing him gently back to rest against the upper curve of the ornate chair. His eyes fluttered closed as she leaned slowly down to press her lips against the warm pulse just beneath his ear. Vincent drew in a shuddering gasp but stayed still, drinking in the erotic sensation of her lips, warm and moist upon him. Finally she began to nuzzle there, as she had with the child, but with a considerably different effect. Her nuzzles progressed to soft, mouthing nips, the pulse beneath her quickening to a frantic pace. Without pausing in her sensual ministrations, her eyes drifted down his body, noting the tell-tale signs of his growing arousal; the flush of his golden skin and the quivering, taut muscles of his chest, belly and thighs. And though the book, held in a shaking hand, now covered that crucial region, she could easily imagine the inevitable straining response at the front of his jeans. Catherine felt a shiver race through her, culminating in the tight clenching of her feminine muscles in response to his virile power.
     "Please, Catherine."
     His husky voice pleaded with her, his muscles trembling violently now, though the arm that cradled their son was amazingly strong and secure, seemingly unaffected by the wild sensations swinging through the rest of his body. The chaotic confusion in his voice was impossible to miss; embarrassment, shame, love and desire all mixing together in a jumbled mass of conflicting needs.
     She heeded his plea, but not before her hand slid further up to cup his chin and turn his mouth to hers. She kissed him then, holding her full passions in check, her mouth cherishing his with a tender promise and commitment that was unmistakable.
     "I love you, Vincent."
     His eyes closed helplessly at her whispered words, absorbing them into the deepest part of himself with a greedy need that grew daily. A moment later her hands left him, and when he opened his eyes, she was gone. * * *
     Vincent sat up with a start, gasping for breath.
     A dream, it was only a dream.
     His panting breath caught in his throat as he heard the soft sounds of their son. He checked his internal clock as he moved toward the cradle, certain that it was not yet time for the baby's feeding. Within moments he confirmed that thought. Jacob quieted immediately upon being picked up, and Vincent suspected that his own tumultuous emotions were responsible for the early waking. He sat in the mahogany chair beside the cradle and rocked them both, quieting his own rapidly beating heart. He hummed softly, so as not to wake Catherine, and the baby soon fell into an easy sleep, but Vincent did not go back to bed. Such precious moments these were, holding this small being in the still silence of the night. Catherine slept soundly in his bed, and that sight, along with their son in his arms, thrilled him beyond anything he could imagine.
     Now, while all was quiet about him, he let the dream images come back, trying to make sense of them. It had started off dark and cold, a chill in his very bones, no warmth or comfort for him anywhere. And then that changed. The sensations were faint at first, building slowly to a blazing heat, then Catherine was in his arms, a silky softness that defied description. Her scent, her taste, they overwhelmed him completely and he was lost...lost. The sensations were hazy and indistinct, but impossible to misinterpret for all that. Their bare skin touched intimately everywhere, a knowledge he shouldn't possess, but for one forgotten night. The intensity grew then, and he felt her beneath him, his heavy weight pressing her down as their bodies drew together, closer...closer... And then there was nothing. He woke and the dream was no more than an elusive cloud beckoning to him from some distant height.
     Vincent sighed heavily and turned his attention back to the babe sleeping peacefully in his arms. He eased the child tenderly down to his resting spot in the soft cradle and returned to the wide expanse of their bed. Catherine still slumbered undisturbed within, and he wondered at that. The dream had come to him alone, and not to them both, not through the bond as he had first suspected. No...it couldn't be from that night. The dream must have been nothing more than his wild imagination, yearning for the comfort of her silken body pressed close to his. He slipped under the covers, but hugged his side of the bed tight, love and need growing in him as he gazed upon her beloved features.
     Catherine slept on, unaware of the turmoil beside her. * * *
     Vincent sat at the back of the chamber, fascinated by Catherine's discussion of the history of the Magna Carta and its effect on present day law in Great Britain and the United States. She had started with the Ancient Greek and Roman rules of law and had worked her way up, in summary, to the Middle Ages, as a prelude to beginning the new civics course she was developing for the older children. When she had first suggested it he and Father had quickly agreed that the aspect was one of prime importance to understanding the operation and existence of both the worlds Above and Below. Since several sitting in this room now would eventually go Above, some for college, some perhaps to assume a life there, an understanding of the laws that governed different societies was an absolute must.
     Catherine's outline would end with a review of their own rules of behavior Below, and Vincent had asked if she would be uncomfortable if he sat in on her class as he was extremely interested in the subject matter, especially from one whose background was so extensive and well versed on the topic. Catherine was endlessly fascinating to him, and this was no exception. He had been half afraid that she might question his intent, but she had been delighted, and he easily read the pleasure within her at the thought of him sharing that time of public responsibility with her, even if only for a while.
     He sat there now, no other duties for the moment, their son strapped securely to his chest, one strong arm cradling him protectively. Jacob slept calmly, and Vincent suspected the sound of his mother's voice was almost fully responsible for that. At the conclusion of this class, their positions would be reversed while he conducted the literature class for the younger children. He smiled at the symmetry laid before him. It wouldn't always be this way, he knew that, his own duties ranging quite broadly from teacher to stone mason to sentry as the need required. Catherine was sampling the opportunities for herself Below now too, and he was inordinately pleased that they would share at least one common task -- the teaching of the children. Both of them viewed the tutelage of the youth Below as their highest priority.
     That thought, however, led inevitably to the question of her life Below. That life was by no means yet assured, and a deep fear swept over him for what was yet left unresolved. Catherine couldn't practice law here, not in the way she could Above. And though their son had inherited his father's destiny, Catherine didn't need to be tied to this dark existence. Vincent knew she wouldn't leave her child alone here, but there were ways, other options that would allow the freedom and life she'd had Above, while yet taking part in the raising of their son here, Below. He shuddered at that thought, but knew that she must be given the opportunity to live the life she was destined for, no matter his own feelings. His morbid thoughts were reclaimed as Mark asked a question, the change from Catherine's voice to his drawing Vincent's instant attention.
     "Catherine, why did the tradesmen keep lending King John money when he never paid them back?"
     "For two reasons, Mark. They had a far-sighted objective in mind -- a goal to operate their businesses with more freedom, thus improving their opportunity for profit. They knew that as long as the King needed them, or more accurately their money, they had a chance to move towards that goal, and they pursued it single-mindedly. But in the final analysis, with or without that objective, what real choice did they have? They lived in a feudal system, where almost everything they had was by the grace of their Sovereign. True, their wealth was accumulated by their own skill and craft, but it could be summarily taken from them if the King decreed it. They also knew, however, that they were of no long term value to him without their willing participation in their trade, and the King knew it, too. So it was a sort of dance they did, the King pretending to do them a favor by accepting their loans, the Burghers pretending that it was an honor to support the Empire with their money. But the tradesmen had the Monarchy over a barrel. They knew it and took advantage, gaining their demands little by little, until finally King John had given them almost everything they wanted, all nice and legal. It's a pattern you'll see repeated over and over again in civics, as in history in general. Most societies inevitably favor the privileged and wealthiest few, but are supported and ultimately driven by the needs of the middle class many. That's a very important lesson to learn."
     "Like the fall of the Roman Empire, and Luther's Protestant movement, and the English, French and American Revolutions, right, Catherine? We studied the effects of the middle class on those events in Vincent's history class."
     Catherine flashed a smile of pleasure in Vincent's direction before answering that question.
     "Exactly, Anne. It's all tied together. Societies form for mutual protection, benefit, and comfort, and when some group of people is left out of the equation, it rots from within. You're so lucky, all of you, to live in a place where equality is practiced, and not only preached -- a place where you're all valued for what you are as individuals. Perhaps because of its size, but more likely because of hard work, you've managed to maintain the closest thing to a Utopian version of democratic society here Below. We'll be studying that as well as the development of other societies Above during the next few months."
     Catherine searched out Vincent's eyes once more, speaking directly to him in the midst of her heartfelt words. She was sure he wouldn't miss the special meaning intended especially for him. She found him gazing at her with a tremulous intensity, a complex mix of emotions there she couldn't untangle. His eyes glistened suspiciously, and she blinked back her own tears, the exchange completely missed by the young people surrounding them as they began speaking excitedly amongst themselves of the interesting topic set before them. * * *
     The tumultuous sensations were overwhelming, unbelievably erotic and intense. They filled him with a fierce pleasure that was beyond description. Catherine's skin was hot and silky beneath him, drawing him to her with a purposeful intent. He needed to be closer. His weight urged her down and her legs wrapped around his waist, a groaning cry pulled from him at the new sensation of slick warmth pressed tight against the throbbing fullness of his straining erection. Oh, god, he needed more...needed to be closer yet... He moved against her with a passionate strength that was undeniable, seeking the most intimate access to her, her creamy flesh calling out to him with a siren's insistent refrain. He heard her voice now, hazy and shivery, crying his name, drawing him to her, closer...closer...
     No!
     He woke with a start, his heart pounding, his breath a gasping pant that rasped through the low lighted space of their chamber.
     "I'm here, Vincent, I'm here. Shhh, I'm here."
     Catherine sat beside him, her hand rubbing against his back in gentle, soothing circles, seeking to ease the turbulent emotions evident in him.
     "What is it, Vincent? Should I get Father?"
     "No! No. It's nothing, Catherine, just a dream, only a dream. I'll be fine."
     She sat silently beside him for the next few minutes, touching him tenderly, and despite the chaos that touch inspired, he was grateful for its soothing presence. After a while his heartbeat and breathing began to return to normal.
     "Can you tell me about it?"
     His mouth became dry at her softly spoken words, the images and sensations of the dream peeking out at him once more, beckoning him towards them and the fullness of the passion that awaited there. He shook his head, striving to put those visions away from him, to convince her it was nothing more than... Nothing more than what? A nightmare? He couldn't even begin to put that name to it, not even in pretense, so blissful were the pleasures he'd experienced there. He sighed and repeated his earlier words, adding to them with regret, wishing no subterfuge were necessary.
     "It's nothing, Catherine. I can't even remember it now."
     Catherine held tight to her emotions over the bond, suddenly sure that he wasn't telling her the truth. Vincent never lied to her, except when protecting himself from that one area that he couldn't yet face... He had dreamt about them, about them being together! The certainty filled her suddenly, and she held tight reign over it, determined not to let him know that she knew. In the past she would have put her own needs aside in order to calm his fears, but remembering her earlier vow, she decided to take advantage of his weakened state, just a little. She slipped her arms around his waist and pulled herself tight against his back, wishing she was wearing something a little thinner and more seductive. Next time, she promised herself.
     She needn't have worried. Her actions could hardly have been more arousing to him had she been naked. He drew in a gasping breath and the pounding so recently stilled began again. Her arms held him tight, and he looked down anxiously at her hands, frantic to keep them still against his chest, finally covering them with his own since he couldn't find a graceful way to escape their hold. Her breasts pressed against the hard muscles of his back, and he could plainly feel her full, soft curves and tender peaks through the loose weave of her tunnel gown and the thin, cotton T-shirt he wore. He had dispensed with his thermal sleepshirts some months before, the chill of the tunnels easily dispelled by the warmth of their two bodies once enclosed in the fluffy quilts. He hadn't, however, exchanged the fleecy sweatpants for something lighter, and he definitely had no intention of returning to the loose comfort of his cotton nightshirts, as appealing as that thought was. Now, though, he questioned the wisdom of even that small change, the feel of her all too intimate and real against him. The wish to feel her bare skin filled him, replaced almost immediately by a shocked rejection. What could he be thinking of?!
     All too clearly the memory burst upon him then, of them standing together in the bathing pool during the latter part of her pregnancy. She'd spilled juice over herself and her gown, and had joined him in the warm waters, the heat there growing in strength along with their passions. She had touched him like this then, too, only it had been bare skin against bare skin with only a watery layer separating them, the sensations powerfully erotic. Hard on the heels of that memory came another earlier one, of their last shared bond episode, when the ethereal had magically expanded to include the physical. He had boldly tasted her silky softness then, her breasts irresistible to him while lost in the throes of that mindless passion.
     His growing anxiety over the combined effect of her touch along his length and the insidious memories in his head was reaching a critical peak when a soft, cooing cry interrupted that tension-filled moment and Vincent felt a warm wetness against his back. Her milk. The thought drifted over him, filling him with a driving desire and thirst to taste her once again. He gasped in dismay at where that image led him, grasping at the escape so conveniently close at hand.
     "Jacob, Catherine. I'll get him."
     He pulled gently but firmly away from her and went to the baby's cradle. When he turned back to the bed, he found her sitting upright against a piled mound of pillows, unlacing the ribbons of her tunnel gown, wet circles evident across the front. Rather than opening the gown on one side, as she usually did, she instead tugged the hem up from beneath the covers and slipped it over her head, leaving her upper torso completely bared to his shocked gaze. She threw the gown towards the foot of the bed and held out her arms for their son.
     "Would you get me another gown, Vincent? A cotton one will be fine."
     He nodded dazedly and settled Jacob in her arms before turning to the wardrobe behind him. When he turned back to her, one of his own nightshirts in hand, he couldn't stop the shudder that rippled through him at the sight of her. She sat contentedly back against the pillows, the covers pooled low around her hips while Jacob suckled at her left breast, his small hand kneading her soft flesh in a pattern that matched the actions of his mouth upon her. She held out her hand to him and he started guiltily, moving forward to hand her the gown. Instead of taking it, she grasped his hand and pulled him down by their side. She turned a little and nestled against his solid strength and he instinctively raised his left arm to circle her bare shoulders and hold her close, his other arm slipping about Jacob to help support his slight weight. Catherine sighed and relaxed against him, and Vincent's gaze was pinned tremulously upon the miracle that was their child as he nursed at his mother's breast, the sight and sensations profoundly poignant and arousing to him.
     A few minutes later Catherine shifted in his arms, turning to rest across his chest in the crook of his right arm. He gently helped her reposition the child to her right breast, and Catherine grasped her nipple between her fingers and thumb, guiding it into Jacob's questing mouth. Twice more that pattern was repeated before their son was finished. Toward the end Catherine dozed off; then finally Jacob, too, fell asleep, his mouth still making soft sucking actions, though Vincent was fairly sure he was through. Catherine was fast asleep, so Vincent copied the action he had watched so often in the past, slipping a tentative, cautious finger -- ever mindful of his sharp nails -- between the child's mouth and her breast, breaking the suction seal between them. Catherine's nipple popped free, a silky wetness coating it, and Jacob uttered one slight, mewling cry, then quieted in deep sleep. He eased her back among the pillows and covered her loosely with the warm covers before laying Jacob across his shoulder to coerce a burp from him. It wasn't long in coming, and he finally moved to lay him in his cradle.
     Turning back to their bed, he sighed in frustrated desire at the sight of her lying amidst the rumpled quilts, the image of her bare breasts clear in his mind despite the blankets covering her now. Finally he sat by her side and slipped an arm gently beneath her, easing her into somewhat of a sitting position. She sighed contentedly, but never woke, while he slipped the cotton gown over her head and maneuvered her arms into the sleeves. Beneath the covers his hand stroked tenderly along the sensual curve of her waist, hips and thighs as he smoothed the nightshirt down the length of her slumbering body. He couldn't resist then, and pulled her into his arms to lay down with her in the comforting warmth of their soft bed. He needed to hold her now, but his heart hammered painfully until he thought he might have to leave her and sleep in the hardwood rocking chair. Finally he tapped into her sleeping rhythms through the bond and grew calm once more, ever attuned to the beat of her own heart. Darkness enfolded them and they rested together, all cares, concerns and bond dreams for the moment far away. * * * "Sleep, my little one, rest now my little one, Close your eyes, the day is nearly done, Rest your head, tomorrow will surely come."
     Vincent stood outside the chamber listening to Catherine's crooning song, a poignant ache filling his heart, the image of Ellie clear before him. Powerful emotions, both painful and joyous, came from Catherine over the bond, and he finally went to her. She sat on the floor, next to the cradle where their son peacefully slept, rocking it gently as tears streamed down her face. They were cleansing tears. She smiled up at him, and he sank down at her side, his arm circling her shoulders and pulling her close. Her words were a soft whisper, not disturbing the slumbering child before them.
     "Ellie would have loved Jacob so much. She would have taken care of him, just like she always did for Eric."
     "Yes, she would have."
     The tears continued to fall, and finally Vincent couldn't ignore the tender but compelling response they drew from him. He brushed across her silky skin with the soft pad of his thumb, and then, inevitably, his mouth followed, kissing the salty wetness from her and taking it into himself with a deep satisfaction. She grew still beneath him and his eyes drifted down over her beloved features. Her lashes quivered against the pale pinkness of her cheeks and her bottom lip trembled with an expectation he couldn't deny. His mouth hovered over hers for one breathtaking moment, then lowered to gently rest against her luscious fullness. His lips nuzzled against the silkiness of hers and they shared a kiss that trembled with a poignant, all-encompassing love. * * *
     Taptaptap...tap...taptap...
     Vincent paused in the side tunnel leading to his chamber, his head cocked to intercept the urgent message.
     Intruder!
     He turned and ran back towards the outer ring, to the park entrance identified by the sentry's code. He passed the check point, pausing to catch the silent hand signals sent by Stephen through a small opening in the brick wall off to one side. He was close now, very close to the spot where the man had been sighted. He padded stealthily down the few remaining feet of the tunnel towards the junction just ahead, then paused at the corner, listening intently. Around that corner, and about twenty yards down, a voice could be heard softly reciting 'The Hunting Of The Snark', comical dialects and accents thrown in at each appropriate moment. Vincent heaved a sigh of relief and pleasure, turning the corner to move quietly toward that source, his approach unheard, but not unexpected, he was sure, by the dark-haired man resting against the tunnel wall.
     "Devin."
     "Vincent!"
     Devin jumped to his feet and the two men hugged, holding onto each other for a satisfyingly long time.
     "I'm glad you're back. It's been too long."
     "I know, over a year. I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to be so long."
     Vincent's eyes twinkled at that, well remembering how Devin's good intentions often went awry.
     "At least it wasn't twenty this time. I think we can live with this, if need be."
     He clapped his brother on the shoulder and they turned as one to head towards the heart of the sleeping community. They paused at the checkpoint where a few quietly spoken words were exchanged with Stephen, and a moment later an 'all's clear' went out over the pipes. Devin and Vincent moved on then, immediately falling into their old, comfortable pattern as they walked the silent tunnel paths.
     "How is Charles?"
     Devin's pause gave him his answer before any words were spoken.
     "He passed away in his sleep, two months ago."
     They walked on quietly for a while, Vincent's thoughts with the special man he had known for such a small space of time. Finally Devin broke their silence.
     "I think...no, I know that the last year of his life was happier than anything he'd experienced before. That helps."
     "Yes. You made a tremendous difference in his life, Devin. You gave him what no one else could -- respect, dignity and freedom. Never forget that."
     Devin's arm came up to rest about his brother's broad shoulders.
     "I couldn't have done it without you, Vincent. You were the one who really broke through to him. It was easy after that."
     "His need was so great..."
     Both were silent for a while. Finally Devin roused himself from that quiet reverie.
     "How's the old man?"
     There was the usual cocky bravado present in his voice whenever he spoke of Father, but Vincent could easily discern the anxious concern behind it and hurried to assure him that all was well.
     "He's fine. He'll be happy to see you again -- he's spoken of you often since you were last here."
     "Really?"
     Surprised pleasure filled his voice.
     "He loves you, Devin. You can't doubt that now."
     "I suppose you're right. It's just hard to get used to it after all these years. Father is...well, you know."
     "I know."
     "I want you to know, though, no matter how odd it seems to me to find I have a father, a real father, I've never thought of you as anything but my brother...never!"
     Vincent's arm came up to circle his shoulders, their touch now complete.
     "I know that, too. Devin, there is something I need to tell you..."
     "Vincent?"
     The softly spoken voice emerged from the side tunnel just up ahead, and he paused in surprised chagrin, amazed that he hadn't sensed Catherine's presence there. Concentrating now, he could easily sense Jacob with her and knew that she had been prepared to fight or flee, as the need required, their son inevitably at her side. There was no fear in her now, only a nagging question and curiosity.
     "It's Devin, Catherine."
     "Chandler!"
     They spoke simultaneously, Devin recognizing her voice instantly.
     She appeared in the tunnel entrance and moved quickly toward them in the dim light, her arms protectively cuddling the blanketed bundle resting in her chest harness. Vincent heard Devin's indrawn breath at the sight of her and the child, though he was certain that he didn't yet suspect the full meaning of their presence here Below.
     "Well, well, well, what have we got here?"
     Devin stepped forward to lightly brush the pale curls of the sleeping infant, dropping a brotherly kiss of greeting on Catherine's cheek in passing. He couldn't see the baby's face, turned as it was in slumber, but he gently stroked along the clench fist exposed.
     He whispered to Vincent over his shoulder. "This must be the latest tunnel addition. You two baby-sitting tonight?"
     At that moment the tiny fist uncurled and wrapped around Devin's outstretched finger. Vincent heard the resultant gasp and knew that Devin had seen the uniquely shaped nails.
     "This is what I wanted to tell you about, Devin."
     He appeared not to hear, his stunned attention focused entirely upon the tiny claw. Just then Jacob yawned sleepily and turned his face on his mother's breast, the dim light lowly illuminating his downy features.
     "Oh my god!"
     It was a low, whispered utterance, barely heard by Catherine standing so close, but easily heard by Vincent standing yet behind him.
     "A child...you have a child."
     "A son. Catherine's...and mine."
     A long silence followed then, as Devin stared at the unbelievable sight before him. When he finally spoke, the words were a whispered sound, not really intended for the others.
     "He's beautiful...perfect."
     Vincent's hold upon his shoulder tightened and Devin turned to stare up at him in awe.
     "I'm an uncle!" * * *
     Devin shook his head in wonder.
     "So, my little brother, a daddy! It's hard to believe."
     "For me, too."
     Vincent paused, but finally his comfort with his childhood companion overrode his normal reticence and he went on.
     "Sometimes I walk into my chamber and the sight of Catherine there with our son overwhelms me with such an unexpected force. I don't know if I'll ever get used to it entirely."
     Devin nodded in understanding and they shared a companionable silence for a few minutes, gazing out at the beauty of the falls.
     They had gone to Father's study upon Devin's arrival the night before, and the resulting reunion had gone late into the night. Strangely enough, they had spoken very little about the astounding changes which had occurred in Vincent's life since they'd last met, concentrating instead on the baby himself and Charles and Devin's wandering over the last year. What was there to say, after all? Catherine and Vincent were in love. Devin had known that instantly the first time he'd heard Vincent talk about her, confirming it a few days later when he'd seen them together. That love had only grown, anyone could see that. He had never imagined Vincent as a father, but one look at the slumbering child had changed all that, the concept wholly embraced within the blink of an eye. The baby slept soundly throughout the late night talk, and Devin went to the small bundle often, gazing with a stunned awe at the child sleeping there, so reminiscent of the earliest memories of his little brother more than thirty-five years before.
     He shook off that nostalgic reverie and turned back to his brother, the roar of the falls a comforting, familiar sound in the background.
     "I'm sorry I missed it all, Vincent. You must have been a sight to see during Catherine's pregnancy!"
     Vincent cast him a wry smile in response.
     "Yes, I was 'a sight' to be sure."
     "But I'm sorrier still to have missed the Joining Ceremony. Tell me about it."
     A tense stillness was his brother's only reply, his gaze pinned on the falls far across the expanse of the huge chamber.
     "Vincent?"
     "There is nothing to tell."
     He hesitated for a moment, then went on.
     "Catherine's pregnancy was so unexpected. The news was such a shock, and then the move Below... It all happened so fast. The rest just hasn't been settled yet."
     Devin was appalled, his stunned speechlessness reflecting that clearly. Finally a flood of words burst forth.
     "What's to settle?! It's obvious how you feel about each other -- I saw that more than two years ago when I first returned. I've never seen two people so devoted to each other. You have a son together for heaven's sake, and Catherine lives here, Below, with you. That seems pretty settled to me. What is it?"
     Vincent shook his head, discomfort plain upon his face.
     "You don't understand."
     "What don't I understand? Tell me, Vincent."
     "Things are not..." Vincent couldn't go on, the words eluding him.
     "What?"
     His voice demanded an answer, and no one but Devin could have gotten away with it.
     "Things are not exactly as they appear."
     "Geez, Vincent, if it weren't so patently absurd I'd think you were trying to tell me you weren't the baby's father."
     Those unexpected words surprised a chuckle out of Vincent, easing the tension surrounding them somewhat, as was Devin's intent.
     "No, there can be no question about that."
     He spoke quietly then, his voice troubled.
     "It's our relationship, Catherine's and mine, that is still in question."
     "Do you want to talk about it?"
     For once all teasing was gone from Devin's voice, love and concern for his brother his only thought. Vincent felt those strong emotions and resisted the immediate urge to turn the discussion to other things. Finally he nodded.
     "Yes, I think I would."
     Devin waited quietly while Vincent gathered his thoughts, knowing there would be no pushing him, especially where Catherine was concerned. Finally, when the wait had become almost unbearable, Vincent spoke.
     "More than a year ago, something...happened...to our bond. It changed, or we discovered the change, I'm still not exactly sure which. We found that, through it, we could experience the emotional and physical sensations that are typical of..."
     He couldn't go on, unable to find the right word. Luckily Devin had no such problem.
     "Sex? Are we talking about sex?"
     "Yes."
     Vincent's voice was a low whisper, embarrassment filling him, and both were silent for a few moments as that concept sunk in.
     "Vincent, at that point had you two ever...?"
     "No."
     "Oh. When, then?"
     "The night our son was conceived. That was the only time."
     A stunned silence followed. Finally Devin cleared his voice gruffly.
     "I guess I see your problem. But I still don't understand why..."
     "Why we haven't made love since?"
     "Well...yeah."
     "I have to tell you something else that only Catherine, Father and I know to explain that. It's very personal, so this is difficult for me."
     "You know you can trust me, Vincent."
     Devin's hand rested upon his broad shoulder and Vincent sighed, a painful catch there.
     "I know. Still, it is difficult."
     Devin waited until he was ready to go on.
     "There are things I know about Catherine, have always known about her since I first found her over three years ago. It's partly the bond, and partly me. I don't know how to separate the two."
     There was a longer pause then, as Vincent struggled with himself, but finally his resolve won out.
     "It has to do with her biological cycle."
     The words were a bare whisper, and Devin had to lean forward to hear them clearly.
     "Her biological cycle? You mean as in her monthly cycle? Her period and ovulation... Oh."
     "Yes."
     Vincent was almost cringing as he waited for Devin's response to this news, deeply ashamed at what he perceived to be the overt surfacing of the bestial side of his nature.
     "You know, Vincent, that's not all that unusual. Many people are sensitive to those changes, not just women, and not just in themselves. Most people don't recognize them consciously, but that awareness is often there on a low level. You've always been emotionally and empathically attuned to others, so this isn't really so odd."
     Vincent shook his head vehemently, jumping to his feet to pace about the promontory.
     "You don't understand. Yes, it's true that I was often aware of some of those changes in the tunnel women, even when I was small and didn't yet understand, but this is different. With Catherine...I know everything."
     He paused once more, then took a deep breath before speaking tersely.
     "It's not the knowledge so much as my response to her during that time."
     He stood still now, watching his brother intently so that there could be no misunderstanding.
     "For a few days each month, ever since I found Catherine, except during her pregnancy and since, I've had to leave the home tunnels and go far below because I couldn't trust myself with her. Something inside me is drawn to her during that time, and the strength of that force is almost irresistible. I've always managed to maintain that separation until..."
     "Until eleven and a half months ago." Devin finished his sentence for him.
     "Yes."
     Vincent seemed at a loss for words, unable to go on.
     "What happened, Vincent? Was it the change in your bond you spoke of?"
     "No...yes...I don't know. I was below at a new work site near the river, and was about to come back above -- it had been three days and I thought it was safe. Before I left, though, Catherine came below to meet me. She lost her footing and fell in."
     "Oh my god! How did you get her out?!"
     "To tell you the truth, I don't really remember. Luckily I was close by and was able to jump in and grab her before she lost consciousness from the cold. It seemed like a long time before I could find some handhold and get us out. We were about half a mile from the worksite, and more than an hour from the pipes, so the best I could do was get us back to the newest way-station. I managed to get us semi-dry and covered, but everything after that, until some hours later, is a blank. It happened then, but I don't remember any of it."
     His eyes were bleak, his voice so sad -- Devin felt his pain, as only a brother could.
     "What about Catherine? Does she remember?"
     "Yes."
     Devin needed no bond to feel the despair emanating off his brother at that disclosure. He knew the conflict that must be filling Vincent now. He imagined what it must be like, having the woman you loved living with you, day in and day out, a pregnancy and birth, all under the uncertain circumstances just described. Anyone else would have confronted and banished this issue long ago, but he knew Vincent, knew how he questioned his own nature, his very existence. Devin at all wasn't surprised to see that this issue was yet unresolved, despite the intimacy the couple now shared.
     "I'm sorry, Vincent, this must be difficult for you."
     Vincent expelled a huge sigh of relief at the understanding in his brother's voice. He was unable to speak, but could only nod in response. They were silent for some time then, until finally Devin spoke.
     "You know, don't you, that you can only move forward now? No matter how hard it may seem, it's the only direction left for you."
     Vincent didn't answer, his troubled gaze directed out towards the falls.
     "How does Catherine feel about all of this?"
     "As she always has. She wants us to move forward, but she won't push. She's waiting for me, but I'm... I'm filled with doubt and can't seem to make that move. Every time we go forward, just a little, I'm terrified for what might happen next, what might go wrong. I always pull us back then. I can't seem to help it."
     After a long silence, Devin spoke again, the question drawn from him as if he couldn't contain the asking of it.
     "Don't you want this between you, Vincent? You're so in love, anyone can see that. I don't know how you've held back this long."
     At first he thought there would be no answer, but then it came, a harsh explosive burst of words, the intensity of them completely at odds with the whispered, husky tone of Vincent's voice.
     "Of course I want it! Sometimes, lately, it seems that's all I think about. I dream of us together almost every night, and when I wake, I ache to hold her in my arms, to touch her, to love her, like I do in my dreams."
     His muscles shook with tension and unfulfilled need and he struggled to get himself back under control, regretting that outbreak. Devin's touch upon his shoulders startled him out of his introspection.
     "I'm sorry, Vincent."
     They stood quietly together while Vincent regained his composure. Finally Devin spoke again, his tone sympathetic at the thought of the anxiety his counsel would inevitably inspire.
     "I don't know what else to tell you, except that you have to find the strength to go on. Neither of you will be happy like this, you know that. You're so used to accepting less than you deserve, but you've got to think of Catherine now. She loves you and she needs you. Maybe that's the only way you'll get past this, by thinking of her needs instead of your own fears. You have to try, for her sake and for yours."
     Vincent's lips trembled visibly, and his voice was shaky and hoarse.
     "I know." * * *
     Catherine felt so good against him...so good. Her body was a warm, beckoning shore which he yearned to reach with all his heart. He had searched for this haven for so long now, so long, and finally she was there, drawing him to her with a welcoming abandon that obliterated all other thoughts, all other fears. He couldn't wait a moment longer, he needed her now! There was no denying that need, and he felt their flesh begin to merge with a stunned ecstasy. Never, never had he experienced anything like this pleasure, this erotic intimacy that overwhelmed him entirely. Their bodies moved together now with a frantic need, mindlessly seeking the explosive release that awaited them. Before he knew it, it was upon them, the pleasure so violently intense that for a moment darkness consumed him utterly. He didn't stay there long. Along the bond, and from deep within, an insistent, urgent call drew him from the quiet depths, their passion spinning out of control once more, and after that, yet again.
     Vincent woke with a gasping start, sweat pouring off him. Catherine slept on beside him, undisturbed. He was intensely grateful she didn't see him now, like this. His body trembled uncontrollably from the force of the sensations experienced during the dream and he left the bed to pace restlessly about the small, enclosed space of their chamber. He didn't know how much more of this he could take. Even worse than the experiencing of those intimate dream images while Catherine slept innocently beside him was the ever-growing concern that this might be a true reflection of those lost hours in the way-station more than eleven months ago. The erotic pleasure of the dream was undeniable, but as much as that, he was caught now by the lack of any tender touches or gentle words, all their actions focused on that one primal act.
     No, it couldn't be...it mustn't be. He couldn't bear it if it were true. How could he ever face her if it were? And worse yet, how could he discover the truth of it? Devin's words of yesterday came back to him, but they gave no solace -- he knew what he had to do, but doing it was another thing. He stared at Catherine's sleeping form, a yearning deep in the pit of his stomach. Slowly he moved toward the bed, determined to wake her and have that long awaited conversation. He got only three feet before his resolve fled, his body frozen in a state of trepidation and fear. He just couldn't do it. Finally, after a quick check on their sleeping son, he left the chamber to circle the hub perimeter, his furious pace raising wondering eyebrows among the sentries on duty that night. * * *
     Vincent entered the chamber and paused in confusion at the unexpected sight of Catherine feeding Jacob from a bottle. Mary sat near her, and they were chatting cozily, seemingly unaware of his presence in the entryway. Finally he stepped forward, and Catherine turned to smile up at him, her serene look telling him how wrong he'd been -- she had known the instant he'd approached their rooms, he could see that clearly now.
     "Hello, Mary."
     His hand touched her shoulder in a filial caress, then he turned and leaned down to brush a kiss against the baby's cheek, pressing another one lightly against Catherine's own silky soft brow as he straightened up. Their eyes met and she read the question there, much as he tried to hide it.
     "He had a slight fever so I took him to see Father."
     Vincent's worried gaze jumped to Mary, a sudden pounding of his heart appearing out of nowhere. Mary rushed in hurriedly, calming his fears.
     "It's nothing, Vincent, only an ear infection, but Father thought it was best to give him some light antibiotics -- just the ones you've always been able to tolerate. They're mixed in with the formula. It's the only way we were able to get him to take them."
     He turned to Catherine and, searching her face and their bond, felt the tension leave his own body with a sudden rush. It was nothing to be worried about, just a typical infant ailment that he'd seen many times with the other children Below. He was chagrined to discover, though, that what had always been of little concern in the past now took on dramatic new meaning, when it was his own child afflicted. He was struggling with that unnerving thought when Mary's voice interrupted his concentration.
     "He's doing fine. By tomorrow he should be feeling much better. Goodnight you two."
     "Goodnight Mary."
     She left the chamber and Vincent turned back to Catherine, the disquieting sensation sweeping over him once again at the sight before him. He sighed heavily, dismayed by the strong, compelling need within him to watch Catherine feed their son from her own breasts as he had every day since Jacob's birth almost three months ago. The bottle was soon empty and she set it aside, laying the child over her shoulder to rub and pat his back until a loud burp was heard.
     "I'll change him, Catherine."
     He took the baby and laid him on their bed, the task swiftly done. Jacob usually fell fast asleep following his feedings, but not now -- he fidgeted and fussed for twenty minutes before finally dropping off, and Vincent was sure this was due to the absence of his mother's milk as much as the presence of an ear infection. Vincent held him out to Catherine for a soft goodnight kiss, then finally tucked him under the warm blankets of his cradle. When he turned back to Catherine, he found her standing in a twisting stretch, a hand rubbing at the small of her back. He moved behind her, one hand going to her shoulder to hold her still, the other gently brushing her own aside down low near her hips, his fingers pressing forcefully against the knot he felt there.
     "Mmmm... That feels wonderful, thank you."
     Despite the pleasure in her voice, he felt a slight tension within her, vague and hazy. He was trying to determine what it was when her voice interrupted his musings.
     "Would you read to me, Vincent?"
     "Of course."
     His hands left her and he went to the bookshelf to scan the volumes there.
     "What would you like?"
     "Do you know how long it's been since we read 'Great Expectations' together?"
     His surprised expression melted into a wry grin when he realized that she was teasing him. They'd only read it together once, almost three years ago, when he'd finally gone Above to see her one last time -- to say good-bye. Though he would always think of his life as truly beginning that cool April evening when he'd found her in the park, battered and bleeding, it seemed to him his heart had been still with waiting until that night, months later, when he finally went to see her once more. Everything had changed then, irrevocably and forever.
     "Vincent, what are you thinking about?"
     He was startled out of his reverie by her quiet question and paused for a moment to gather his composure before answering.
     "About the last time we read 'Great Expectations' together."
     He saw her eyes light with the memory, pleasure filling them.
     "I remember."
     He drew in a shivery breath at the tone of her voice, a trembling shudder rippling through him at her familiar words. Finally he returned to her, the book in hand. He had barely begun reading, however, when he noticed an increase in the tension he'd sensed such a short time ago. He paused for a moment and focused his attention inward, on their bond. The tension was crystallizing now, becoming something akin to discomfort, perhaps even beginning to border on pain. He turned to Catherine and found that she hadn't seemed to notice that he had stopped reading. The look on her face confirmed what he felt within; a physical uneasiness tinged with anxiety.
     "What is it, Catherine? You're uncomfortable, I can feel it."
     She turned a surprised look in his direction and hesitated, as if this were something she didn't want to tell him. What could it possibly be, after all they'd shared, which held her back now?
     "Please, Catherine, tell me."
     "It's nothing, Vincent, it's just..."
     "What?"
     "It will be hours yet before Jacob is hungry again. I'm just a little sore."
     He suddenly realized what she meant and blushed profusely. How could he have been so obtuse? He blinked rapidly, trying to remember if he had ever seen anything like a breast pump Below, but was unable to come to any concrete conclusion.
     "I'll go check with Mary. Surely there must be a breast pump here someplace."
     "Thank you," she said, an obvious sense of relief sweeping through her.
     Vincent found Mary in a small storage chamber just off the kitchen, retrieving some odds and ends of fabric obviously used for patching and mending.
     "Mary, Catherine needs a breast pump. Do we have one?"
     "Oh, dear, I didn't think of that. I'm sorry, Vincent, but we don't. The only ones worth anything run off electricity, and our tapped electrical supply lines aren't in the central area at all. They couldn't be used with any effectiveness here."
     "What can she do, then? She's uncomfortable now, and it will be quite a while yet before she can feed Jacob. This situation can't be all that uncommon. How do the other mothers here handle it?"
     "No, you're right, it's not an uncommon occurrence at all. Under those circumstances they usually express the milk by hand, though sometimes, for one reason or another that can be difficult or painful."
     "What can they do then?"
     Mary's cheeks tinged slightly with pink, but a merry smile broke out despite that.
     "The fathers are usually more than happy to help if it comes to that. It's never been a problem before."
     A look of dawning comprehension and horror filled his face, and Mary's smile faded, remembering the unique relationship these two shared.
     "I'm sorry, Vincent, but I don't know what other advice to give you. Catherine's never had a problem with Jacob before now, so she's never had to express her milk, but I can show her now. I'm sure everything will work out fine."
     She turned for the chamber exit and Vincent followed behind, a disturbing image in his head. He felt Catherine's growing anxiety and pain with every step they took towards his chamber, a vague sense of apprehension filling him. When they entered the room he found her pacing about the worn carpet pattern he himself had caused, her arms wrapped tightly about her chest.
     "Mary! I'm glad you're back. Somehow I completely forgot about this. Did you find it?"
     He heard the barely suppressed urgency in her voice and knew that she was shielding at least a part of the pain she felt from him. Mary moved to her side to reassure her.
     "No, dear, I'm sorry, we've never had them. There's a problem with their energy requirements here. But it shouldn't be a problem, really. I'll show you how to express your milk by hand."
     Vincent both heard and sensed Catherine's sigh of relief, then moved backwards toward the door.
     "I'll get some tea for you, Catherine."
     He slipped out on those words, the relief she felt filling him as well, though a disturbing sensation of regret hovered just out of reach. He resolutely pushed it aside, determined not to give any credence to that treacherous thought, and quickened his stride toward the kitchen. Within moments he was there. The job of preparing the tea was accomplished in no time. He loaded a tray and headed back toward their chamber, his pace a little slower now as he searched the bond to determine if his timing was going to be a problem.
     He had felt a rising sense of frustration while he was making the tea, attributing those feelings to the learning of this new, unfamiliar task. But it had continued to escalate, and now he felt pain mixed with it as well. When he reached their chamber he paused for a moment, then finally entered, moving immediately to the table to set down his tray. He finally turned to Catherine. She sat on the edge of the bed and held the unlaced edges of her gown loosely closed in one hand. She tried to hide the pain and frustration she felt when she looked up at him, but even had they not shared a bond he would have seen it in her eyes. Mary sat beside her, a hand resting comfortingly upon her shoulder. Vincent glanced at her and he could immediately see that they had not been successful. Mary's words a moment later confirmed that thought.
     "I'm sorry. Sometimes it just doesn't work out well, especially the first time."
     Her gaze connected with his and he could easily read her thoughts. The second option they had discussed was all that remained. The anxiety he had felt at the first mention of that course of action came back ten-fold now. He was barely aware of it when Mary took her leave of them, slipping past him almost unnoticed. Suddenly he sensed a stillness in their bond. He felt a touch upon his arm and jumped, unaware of Catherine's quiet approach. When he looked up, her calm gaze met his turbulent one.
     "I know how uncomfortable the idea of this makes you, Vincent. You don't have to..."
     Though he had thought he was completely incapable of doing this thing, despite her growing distress, those words from her suddenly changed everything. Shame swept over him in a deluge, inundating him with a complex mix of feelings; fear, anger, impotence and self-loathing. Devin's words came back to him from their recent conversation. 'Maybe that's the only way you'll get past this, by thinking of her needs instead of your own fears'. He drew in a deep breath, resolve filling him.
     "I want to help, Catherine, but you need to tell me..."
     He stumbled, unable to finish that thought.
     "Don't worry, it will be fine, believe me. I'll help you."
     He was almost frozen with anxiety now, unable to fathom what was about to occur. Her hand slid down his arm until it grasped his own, then she tugged softly, drawing him towards the bed. He moved forward slowly, as if in a daze. When she reached the bed, she climbed to the center, her gaze never leaving him, and drew him down to sit on the edge at her side.
     "It's all right, really."
     She kept a tight hold on his hand, and with her free one began to undo the ribboned lacings of her gown. His eyes lowered to the bare skin suddenly evident along the center of her chest and he felt his heart begin to race.
     "Do you remember that time, five months ago?"
     She spoke lowly, and the sentence was incomplete, but he knew well what she referred to, as she had known he would. The last time they'd made love in the bond was during the sixth month of her pregnancy. Somehow the bond had changed yet again while in the midst of that passion, allowing a stream of physical sensations to mix with the nebulous, ethereal emotions of their bond. He had been shocked afterwards, at the recollection of what he'd done, touching and kissing her tender breasts with a lover's caress. His lips trembled as that memory swept over him, his eyes meeting hers with trepidation. There was no uncertainty there, just a calm acceptance, and perhaps even a growing excitement, though he thought he couldn't possibly be sensing that right.
     "Just like that, Vincent. It's very simple, you'll see."
     "I...I'm afraid I'll hurt you."
     "You won't. You didn't then, did you? This won't be much different. Trust me."
     She still hadn't let go of his hand, but the gown was untied now, and she slipped it off her shoulders and leaned back to rest against the pillows, her upper torso now completely naked to him. His gaze was drawn inevitably to her breasts, his breath catching at the beauty of their round fullness and taut peaks. It had been so strange, at first, the daily sight of her gifted to him without thought as she fed their son. He had tried to think of it in a purely clinical way, but he had fooled no one, least of all himself. She was so beautiful, and he desired her so much. He shuddered at that thought, wondering how in the world he could possibly do this with anything approaching clinical dispassion. Impossible, hopeless...yet he had to try.
     "How..."
     Her hand suddenly released his and both rose to hold his shoulders, drawing him down to her.
     "Just begin, you'll see."
     He resisted her urgings for a moment, then sank against her warmth, a trembling in his muscles that overwhelmed him completely. She held him tight and he buried his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder, the silken softness there amazing him, as it always did. Her hands rubbed gently along his back, and finally his own slid beneath her to enfold her in a shaky embrace. He could feel the softness of her breasts, even through his thermal and cambric shirt layers, and beneath his hands the skin of her back was silky and warm. A twinge through the bond startled him, reminding him of his purpose, and pulling away to stare into her eyes, he saw the uneasiness there that she had been trying so hard to hide from him.
     The phrase clinical dispassion floated through him once more, but that was impossible, he knew that now, with her tender gaze upon him full of love and pain and a myriad mix of other, nameless emotions. He had been hopelessly mired in the question of how to begin, but suddenly he knew that there was only one way. Gently, with a touch as soft as gossamer, he lowered his lips to hers. They rested together that way for a few precious moments, and through the bond he was almost certain he felt a slight easing of her pain. He moved lightly now, nuzzling the soft, satiny fullness of her lips until they dropped open with a gasping groan, her hot breath expelled into his caressing mouth. There. He felt it -- a shift in their bond. His emotional distress eased as other sensations filled him, filled them both, and a sudden certainty swept over him; this was the way.
     He stayed at her lips for a short while, his touch both soothing and arousing, until he knew he had to move on. He nuzzled along her throat and down the center of her chest until the swell of her breast was beneath him. A moment more and he had reached his objective. He hesitated for one split second, then his lips enclosed the tender tip. He held her in the still heat of his mouth for a moment, then finally began a soft, tentative sucking action.
     Catherine's response was instantaneous, her milk flowing with a swelling rush. She groaned in satisfaction and relief, and he pulled away quickly, misinterpreting that sound for pain.
     "Catherine?!"
     "It's all right, Vincent, you're not hurting me. Please don't stop."
     Her eyes were half closed and hazy with pleasure. He concentrated fiercely on the bond, but could feel no conflict with her words. He searched her eyes for a moment more, but the sweet taste of her was calling him, and he turned his attention back to her breast with a stunned astonishment. There was a thin trickle of clearish liquid tracing down her soft curves, and he immediately stopped the leading edge of its wending path with his mouth. He traced it upward quickly until he reached her tender nipple, lapping delicately against that rigid peak. She arched beneath him and groaned again, but this time he didn't stop. He enclosed her once more and drew the sweet nectar deep within, a craving growing that would have frightened him had he any concentration to spare it.
     But there was none. He was focused entirely upon the taste and feel of her in his mouth, pulling stronger upon her sweet flesh moment by moment. He nuzzled closer to her and suddenly her nipple slipped into the cleft of his upper lip. A dizzying pleasure swept over him, filling him with an ecstatic bliss. Catherine cried out in pleasure and he froze for a moment, then rubbed against her with a fierce urgency, craving that exquisite sensation. The taut peak of her breast nestled to the deepest spot of that hidden, secret realm, and was held tight by his unique curves. When she was securely captured there, his suckling resumed, the fiery pull inspiring an ecstasy that was both tender and fierce. He was lost in those glorious sensations when he felt her hands urging him from her. A groaning growl was pulled from deep within, but he left immediately, ever attuned to her desires. She led him to her other breast and he sought out her turgid nipple with a feverish intensity, drawing it directly into his sensitive cleft, wanting the taste of that fragrant elixir and honeyed silkiness back again. He drew it from her with a fierce urgency that couldn't be denied, their emotions building in the bond to a seething inferno. He was shocked back to a dim sense of reality when the swelling stream slowed to a thin trickle. A moment later it was gone. He suckled against her for a while longer, mindlessly searching out that elusive liquid, but unable to draw any more forth. He quickly moved back to her other breast, hungrily drawing her in, and was rewarded with a drizzling sweetness on his tongue and against the back of his throat. He groaned in deep satisfaction, pulling stronger yet against her, but a few minutes more and it, too, was gone. Still he quested after her as if he could draw that honeyed syrup from her by the force of his will alone, until it became apparent that there was no more.
     He pulled back from her, his eyes instantly drawn to hers, the desire there yet unsated. The bond swirled between them, surrounding them and drawing them down to the heated depths within and Vincent gave in willingly, seeking her mouth once more, this time with a fierce hunger that held nothing back. A soft cry escaped her, muffled quickly to a whimpering moan deep in her throat as he plumbed the depths of her silky softness with his hot tongue. Their bond swung out of control, escalating rapidly to dizzying heights of passionate ecstasy. Vincent pulled her closer, his hand slipping without thought down the satiny dip of her bare back and beneath the pooled edges of her gown until he cupped the luscious fullness of her buttocks. He gripped her tight and pressed strongly against her, his throbbing erection rubbing lustily between her thighs, seeking the hot depths of those dream images, though their layers of clothing denied them that final, blissful contact. Catherine pulled her mouth from his with a gasping cry.
     "Please, Vincent, please!"
     Her words quivered through him, and he knew he couldn't hold back any longer; he needed her now, yes, now. But the bond was beyond that. It sped them toward an explosive climax like a freight train out of control. He recognized the shuddering onset of ecstasy a moment before it swept over him, his muscles expanding in glorious preparation for that imminent release. He cried out her name, the sound of her own voice echoing his. They arched together, bodies pressed tight, for what felt like an eternity, then collapsed to the bed in a boneless heap. * * *
     A soft sound filtered through his slumber and Vincent woke, turning instinctively toward his son's cradle. The last candle had gone out some time since and the chamber was totally dark as he sat up groggily to light a small taper on the bedside table. Turning to Catherine he froze with a harshly indrawn breath, the events of a few hours ago washing over him with stunning clarity. She lay in the center of their bed, the covers pulled partially away from her body by his own waking motions. Her gown was gathered down about her waist, her bare breasts gleaming in the pale candlelight. Jacob made the soft, smacking noise which was usually a prelude to a wailing cry when he was hungry, and Vincent watched as Catherine stirred, that sound pulling her from sleep as it had him. His eyes were irresistibly drawn to her breasts and he saw the beads of milk appear and begin to trace down her soft flesh. A trembling set up along his whole body, the urge to taste that sweet elixir once again almost overwhelming. His body responded instantly and he turned away with a gasp, gripping the edge of the bed and focusing all his concentration until he finally regained his slipping control. He left the bed then, and returned a few minutes later with Jacob.
     Catherine was almost awake now, her arms reaching up and out in a taut yet languorous stretch. Her torso twisted and shivered in response, the valley of her abdomen and belly curving enticingly inward and down, leading his gaze to the shadowy area that dipped beneath the fabric of her gown. He squeezed his eyes shut tight for a moment and centered his control once more, then finally approached the bed. She still hadn't opened her eyes, but a small, satisfied smile curved her lips, and her voice whispered out to him.
     "Mmmm...will you get Jacob, Vincent?"
     "I have him, Catherine, he's here."
     "Good."
     Despite her words, she still lazed dreamily among the rumpled covers, as if she found it difficult to bestir herself. After a slight hesitation, Vincent sat down and transferred the baby to his right arm, then slid his left under her silky shoulders, drawing her up to rest against his side. He paused for a moment, then leaned back against the walled shelf at the head of the bed, slipped his legs up on the mattress and eased her more fully against his chest. His arms circled her, and he moved Jacob back to his left arm, repositioning him along her torso, at her left breast. With only a momentary hesitation, he gently cupped her breast with his right hand. He squeezed the nipple lightly and brought Jacob to it, the scent of his mother's milk immediately quieting him. He found her quickly, his mouth suckling against her furiously, as if to make up for what he had missed during the last feeding. Vincent's hand left her then, but his fingers were wet with her milk, and he couldn't resist licking the sticky sweetness from them, a rumbling sigh of pleasure filling him at the combined sensations surrounding him.
     "Thank you, Vincent."
     He turned his startled gaze down upon her face at those soft words.
     "For last night."
     Her eyes had finally opened, and they stared up at him with a serene peace that was unmistakable. He knew her words encompassed the whole evening, the ending as well as the beginning. He couldn't resist her sleep-tumbled beauty, speechless by her words and the love in her eyes, and leaned down to press a soft kiss on her lips in response.
     "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
     He drew in a deep breath, her suddenly teasing tone casting him into a complete state of blushing confusion. He couldn't tell if she referred to last night, his help with Jacob just now, or that last, sweet kiss, wryly suspecting that it was all three. Her smile was somehow both tender and wicked, and he found it adorable, the urge to kiss her welling up once more. Instead he ignored his ever-present discomfort with that issue, and much to her delight, answered her question.
     "No, it wasn't so bad."
     She burst into laughter, his soft chuckle not far behind. * * *
     Oh, the feel of her beneath him, about him, holding him tight. Never, never had he felt a sensation to compare with the heavenly bliss of her silky flesh encompassing him completely. Their emotions were spinning out of control, the swirling maelstrom of their bond adding exponentially to the heated passions of their bodies until it was as if they were fused together, only one intent, one goal in mind. They sought that end now, instinct driving them utterly, and he felt its fiery approach. A growl started low and deep in his chest, working its way inexorably up his throat to rumble through the dim light of the chamber. Now, yes, now...
     "Vincent...wake up. Vincent!"
     Her hand gripped his shoulder, shaking him gently at first, then more forcefully. Her touch and the sound of her voice drew him immediately from the dream and he sat up with a gasp, the air slammed from his body as the ecstasy of it was abruptly snatched away, his emotions hanging precariously on the edge.
     "No...no."
     The words were a hoarse whisper, his perceptions still foggy and dazed. Catherine's hand upon his shoulder instantly brought him back to his surroundings, his trembling body tensing as the realization of where he was became clear. He couldn't stop the frustrated shudder that swept through him then, leaning to rest his arms upon his upraised knees, his hair falling forward to hide his flustered, flushed face. Her hand slid gently down his back, its intent only to soothe and calm, but it was impossible. Her touch burned his wildly aroused body through the thin layer of his cotton T-shirt and he couldn't stop his protective response, pulling away from her in an almost frenzied jerk.
     Behind him, her hand hovered in mid-air for a single, shocked moment, then lowered to rest on the quilts, a good foot now separating them. Too late she realized what she had done. She berated herself silently now, astonished that she had misinterpreted his dream; his growing growls had caught her sleeping subconscious unaware. She was trying to figure out a way to ease him from this embarrassing predicament, when the matter was taken from her hands.
     "We have to talk, Catherine," he said, harsh panting sounds unmistakable in his voice.
     She was silent with stunned surprise, barely able to believe that he had actually said those words, somehow sure she had misheard him. His next, unexpected action, however, both confirmed his words and added to her chaotic confusion. He reached back for her hand and almost roughly pulled her from the bed. He led her to her chair at the table and moved his own until it was straight across from her, on the opposite side.
     His shoulders heaved, and he stared down until he finally regained some degree of control. He looked up at her then, and his eyes were somehow both stormy and fearful. He took one deep, shuddering breath before speaking.
     "I need to know what happened that night."
     His words were terse and clipped, and he added no more, waiting for her response.
     "What happened..."
     The unfinished sentence hung there, not really so much a question as a feeble attempt to stall for a stunned moment as the meaning of his words sunk in.
     "Yes."
     That single, tense work spoke volumes and set off a flood of her own.
     "What do you want to know, Vincent? That we made love? You know we did. How I felt? I've told you over and over again that your touch fills me with pleasure, how that time was no different. Do you still think that you hurt me and I'm hiding it from you? I don't know how to convince you that it isn't true. I can only say it again; you didn't hurt me, you've never hurt me -- I don't believe you ever could."
     She saw how her words affected him, his whole body trembling in response. She held his turbulent gaze, her own suddenly clear and calm. He shuddered then, his eyes dropping from hers in shame and humiliation.
     "I've been dreaming about us, Catherine."
     She drew in a sharp breath at that disclosure, surprised he would willingly bring it up. A tremulous hope filled her as the thought flickered through her; would it be now? Her attention was locked upon him in fervent longing, waiting anxiously for his next words.
     "At first I thought... I thought they were nothing more than the dreams I've always had of us."
     Her head spun dizzily at that confession, her stunned confusion increasing when he lifted his gaze to meet hers squarely once more.
     "But now...I don't think it is. There's something different there, and I think it's possible..."
     "You think you might be remembering."
     She finished his sentence for him, and he simply nodded, a trembling intensity in his gaze. A flash of insight filled her, and the words tumbled out without thought.
     "Something's bothering you about those dreams. What is it? Tell me."
     A look of fearful trepidation replaced the firm resolve in his eyes, and once again they lowered from hers, but after a moment he answered her question. He spoke haltingly; his usual, graceful articulation, always so much a part of him, was suddenly gone.
     "When it begins, I'm cold and alone, then, suddenly, you're there. Then..."
     For a moment she thought he wouldn't be able to go on, but he drew in a deep, shuddering breath and continued.
     "Do you remember the two times, before you became pregnant, when we shared that bond experience? When I was far below and you were Above?"
     "I remember."
     "It was like that."
     His lips trembled, and she saw a dreadful fear in his eyes, a fear that what he told her would repulse and disgust her.
     He saw neither of those things. Instead her gaze became unfocused as a hazy pleasure drifted over her. He saw it in her eyes and felt it through their bond, a stunned astonishment filling him at her response.
     "Yes..."
     Her voice was low and husky, a seductiveness there impossible to miss.
     "You don't understand, Catherine."
     He had a sudden, fierce urgency to make it clear to her, despite the awful potential that disclosure held for them both.
     "One minute I was alone, the next you were there, and we were..."
     He absolutely couldn't finish that sentence, the thought too horrible, too reprehensible... If he spoke the words, those actions would be made real, never to be reclaimed or denied again. Catherine, however, had no such compunction. She continued on, that languorous spell still enfolding her.
     "It was wonderful. You were hot and hard; your hands, your mouth, your body... I've never felt anything like it -- never. You were so passionate, so amazing. I thought it might never end, and when it did, I had no strength left, absolutely none. I felt as light as air. The only sensations left were ones that came from you; your silky weight, your searing touch... I can close my eyes and still feel it."
     Indeed, her eyes had drifted shut, a look of fulfilled bliss etching across her face as the memory consumed her.
     He trembled at the ecstasy on her face, a desire sweeping over him to put this all aside, to take her in his arms and love her, totally, completely. Instead he tried one more time, certain that they couldn't be referring to the same memories.
     "No, Catherine! What I felt in my dreams was... It wasn't like that. There were no loving words, no tender touches -- only lust. In my dreams I..."
     He couldn't go on, burying his face in his hands in shame and self-loathing.
     "What, Vincent? What did you do in your dreams?"
     She pushed him relentlessly, and the words burst out, a bitter, burning anguish churning through him.
     "I used you. I took what I wanted...took you. I had no control, no patience, no restraint."
     His eyes met hers now, a tortuous grief there, and tears spilled down his cheeks.
     "Oh, Vincent, I loved how you were then. You must have felt it."
     He stared at her in horror, shaking his head in disbelief and denial.
     "No."
     The words were a hoarse whisper.
     "Yes."
     Her eyes held him fiercely, intent on making this absolutely plain to him.
     "I've wanted you for so long, I couldn't have endured anything else but that. I needed you, just like you were. Tell me, Vincent, what did you feel in the dream? What did you sense from me? And don't tell me your waking response, just what you felt in the dream. Tell me!"
     He stared at her in shock, not certain he could separate those sleeping emotions from his waking ones. She didn't relent, though, her steady gaze demanding an answer. He knew she wouldn't give in this time. He sighed raggedly and closed his eyes, bidding those dream images to come to him once more.
     It was easy, they were so close to the surface now, knocking incessantly at him, begging to be let out. Pleasure filled him in a deep, pulsing sweep.
     "Tell me, Vincent, what did I feel? We made love three times -- was it like that in your dreams?"
     He nodded, his eyes still closed, the vision surrounding him, her voice becoming one with it.
     "And each time I... Well, you know what I felt, don't you? You know how I responded."
     "Yes."
     He could feel an excited frisson shiver through her and knew she was reliving those glorious moments of unleashed passion.
     "And you felt it, too. Don't deny it, Vincent. I was there, and I know."
     His eyes opened and met hers, an agony of apprehension in his stormy blue depths.
     "Yes."
     Her stern posture and expression melted then. She leaned yearningly towards him, her hands reaching out to cover his.
     "Why are you fighting so hard against this? It's what we both want...what we both need so much. What is it, Vincent? Please, tell me."
     He wavered on the edge, needing to tell her everything...needing to deny it all. Finally he could hold in those thoughts no longer; the dam collapsed and his words spilled forth.
     "I'm so afraid, Catherine. So afraid to tie you to this life, to this world...to me."
     Her hands tightened on his, tears in her eyes.
     "Oh, Vincent."
     "Don't you see? You weren't meant for this. You should be living a life of sunlight and freedom, of open spaces, of rustling trees and shimmering lakes, of cool mountains and hot beaches. That was your destiny, Catherine, not this. And look what I've done. I should have left you long ago, then you might have had the life you deserved. But I couldn't...I couldn't. I was too weak, thinking only of myself. And now... What I've done, it's unforgivable. If it weren't for me, you would have your freedom back, have all your choices without the burden of me to consider...without..."
     "Don't say it. Don't. Don't you dare call our son a burden. How can you even think such a thing?!"
     She seemed truly shocked and he sat back abruptly at the anger in her voice and in her eyes.
     "I know you love me, but if you say that..."
     She shuddered, unable to finish that utterance.
     "How could you know me so well, and yet not know what's in my heart? How can you possibly think I would be happy with mountains and lakes, even the sun, if I didn't have you? I have all those things, Vincent, whenever I want them. Even if I never went Above again, I would have them, in the tunnels and caves of this world, in the underground river and in the stars of the mirror pool. But all those things, Above and Below, mean nothing without you. Nothing. And our son..."
     Her hands still covered his, but she turned to look down at the sleeping infant, a look of such tender love and trembling, tearful happiness in her face as he'd never seen there before. She turned back to him, a light in her eyes that held him completely.
     "I've tried to tell you, Vincent, but you just weren't ready to hear it. I've always known I would have your children, that it was meant to be. You are the only one for me, the only one I'll ever want. You have to believe me, my love. I've tried to be patient, tried not to push you, but I don't think I can wait much longer. I need you, Vincent, I need you. And I know you want and need me. I'm offering you everything, but I won't settle for less from you. You have to accept this from me Vincent, and give me everything in return. There's no other direction left for us. You have to decide. When you're ready, I'll be here."
     He stared at her, fear and disbelief in his eyes. It was such a big sacrifice...too big. No. How could he allow it? His brain seethed with swirling questions and doubts, an anxious restlessness in him that grew by the minute.
     "Go, Vincent."
     "What?"
     He stared at her, a blank, confused look on his face.
     "Am I stupid? Or blind? I'm amazed you sat here as long as you did. I know you need to be alone now, to think about what I've said. Just make sure you're back in time for the Naming Ceremony tomorrow."
     There was a lightness in her voice now, a teasing lilt that captivated him, drawing him away from his anxiety, just a little. And yet she was completely serious. She wanted him to go, and, despite the magnitude of the event scheduled less than seventeen hours from now, he knew he had to. More importantly, despite his doubts and fears, he knew she understood perfectly. He leaned down to kiss her hands as they clasped his and rested against her for a precious moment. Finally he stood up and pulled on a sweater, his boots and cloak. He kissed Jacob lightly, amazed that his son had slept through the most turbulent emotional upheaval he'd ever experienced. Finally he turned back to Catherine, uncertain of how to take his leave of her, his nerves raw and jangled.
     Once again, she read his mind. She walked up to him and tugged his cloak more closely about him, then brushed a tender kiss against his cheek.
     He stood unmoving before her, just as certain he couldn't leave her now, as he had been certain he couldn't stay five minutes since. She pushed him gently towards the door.
     "Go. I'll see you in a few hours."
     After one last, long look, he turned and left her. * * *
     Vincent froze in his tracks two steps into the chamber, the image before him one burned forever in his brain.
     Catherine stood beside the table, drawing an ivory shawl about her shoulders to knot it loosely at the center of her chest. She wore her cream-colored, Irish linen dress -- the same one she'd worn that night more than thirteen months before, the night it had all begun. Days before that they had shared their first kiss, and that night, in their private music chamber, as the orchestra played Mozart above them, they shared even more. They'd discovered the expansion of their connection that night, making deep, passionate love, all within the misty confines of their bond. Their lives had changed once again during those hours, and it had led them, inevitably, to where they were today.
     A candle cluster burned brightly on the table behind her, illuminating a hazy aura about her through the gauzy fabric of her gown. The thin, silky sheath beneath was designed for concealment, no doubt, the Irish linen completely transparent, but its effect was altogether different, outlining and encompassing her slender body with a lover's knowing caress. Vincent's throat grew tight and dry as he envisioned his hands tracing over that silky fabric, stripping it away to reveal the silkier flesh beneath...
     He suddenly realized that Catherine had become aware of his still presence in the chamber entrance, watching his avid appraisal with a quiet stillness. She had seen his eyes drift over her with an urgent, thorough hunger that, for a moment, he had been unable to hide. He shook off the sensual languor stealing over him and forced himself to walk forward, into the chamber, as if nothing had happened. They both ignored the day's separation, and the event which had precipitated it. Instead, Catherine spoke lightly, calling to mind a precious time not too long past.
     "I couldn't wear it for our third anniversary, like I promised you, so I thought it should be now."
     Her words reminded him of how he'd asked her, that long ago night in their music chamber, if she would wear this dress for him on their next anniversary. He swallowed hard, his desire now inexplicably mixed with the poignant joy that memories of her pregnancy always held for him. She had been in her sixth month when they'd celebrated their third anniversary, her stomach too round by then to allow the wearing of this dress. These combined memories left him stunned, the connection between that first night and all that followed even more stark and clear now than a moment before. He pictured how she had looked on that night almost six months before, big with child, and thought that it must be impossible for her to ever appear more beautiful -- except perhaps now.
     "You look beautiful, Catherine, like an angel."
     He caught his breath as the words he spoke echoed in his head, setting off yet another memory. They were the same, unbidden words that had come upon his first sight of her in that dress thirteen months before, as she stood in the hazy light at the threshold between their two worlds. They had remained unspoken then, but now they vibrated between them, the love in his voice hesitant but no longer hidden.
     Four feet separated them, and Catherine moved slowly towards him, her gaze locked with his, to close that distance. Upon reaching him, her hands lifted to rest gently against his chest, stroking the sensuous texture of the linen shirt he wore -- his favorite...and hers. It was the one he'd worn that night, too, the symmetry between them complete. Her caress turned tentatively seductive, one hand sliding up to his shoulder, her hold somehow both tender yet firm, while the other moved gently across the broad expanse of his chest between the gaping edges of his leather jerkin. She started near his right breast and traced that alluring outline down and around. He shuddered as her hand reached its lowest point, just above the wide overbelt, and she paused there for the briefest moment, but not long enough for his anxiety to overwhelm him and end their tryst. She continued upward then, but at his left breast her hand slid beneath the jerkin to caress him intimately, her fingers easily finding the tight bud of his nipple beneath the fine linen. He wore no thermal shirt this night, and her caress was unimpeded by that thick separation. His muscles throbbed beneath the tender touch of her warm fingers.
     "Catherine..."
     His voice was thick and hoarse, his lids heavy with desire. She was stunned to note that it was almost impossible to tell if he wanted her to stop, as had always been the case in the past, or, if perhaps this once, he was urging her on.
     "Yes?"
     She answered with a tremulous whisper, an aching eagerness there, wondering if he had finally decided to allow them to move forward.
     Vincent blinked hazily at the clear question in her voice, drawing back towards the reality patiently awaiting them, though not completely, not yet.
     "They're waiting for us...Father..."
     "Yes."
     She spoke the word of agreement, but made no move to withdraw her caressing hand or take her loving gaze from him, and he found it impossible to break that tender tie himself.
     "Vincent?"
     "Yes?"
     She heard the stunned amazement in his voice, as if he couldn't believe he still stood here with her like this, yet enduring her sensuous touch.
     "Kiss me."
     He drew in a gasping breath at her quiet request, everything plain in her voice and in her eyes. He couldn't resist her tender entreaty, her starry eyes, and her suddenly trembling fingers, his gaze lowering inevitably to her luscious, full lips.
     His hands had remained still at his sides throughout this encounter, but he raised them now, almost hypnotically, to clasp her arms just above her elbows, beneath the heavy silk of her shawl. With an astonished disbelief, he felt himself urging her slowly forward, as if some will other than his own controlled his unhesitating response. Her hands slid about his back, and he drew her near until the tender tips of her breasts just brushed against his chest, letting his imagination roam free for once. The image and sensation of their naked chests touching filled his head with a dizzying, expansive bloom of euphoria and power. He felt her tremble against him, and his hands released her arms to slip beneath the fringed edge of her ivory shawl. He vividly remembered the depth of the vee at the back of this dress, how it bared her completely to expose the tender dip of her spine which in turn led down to voluptuous curves. His hands caressed that satiny expanse now, slowly, thoroughly, and Catherine shuddered in his arms at the sensual power of his touch. His fingers and sharp nails trailed lightly down that delectable line, stopping just beneath the edge of the silky sheath, then, with a hesitant pause, they resumed an upward stroke until his palms cupped the flat planes of her back, just above her shoulder blades, his fingers curling around the delicate curve of her shoulders to hold her tight. He pulled her into him slowly but surely, until their bodies were pressed tight together. His pulsing arousal couldn't be hidden and she couldn't stop the low moan that came from deep within her throat. She knew she shouldn't, but her body ignored her feeble commands, rubbing shamelessly against his growing erection with a blatant sexual invitation that was unmistakable. A growl escaped him a moment before he captured her mouth with his own.
     The kiss was everything. Everything that had ever been between them and everything yet to be. It was at times deep and lush, at other times sweet and poignant, a gentle savoring of barely touching lips. The eroticism of it was overwhelming and Catherine felt as if she might actually swoon, every bone and muscle in her body seemingly gone completely limp in his arms. In contrast, his body was a taut, quivering strength that demanded her utter surrender, everything in her answering his fervent command. The bond was beginning to surround them in its glittering net, drawing its web tightly about to enclose and enfold them, and she gave in willingly, yearning to immerse herself in that dizzying, blissful passion and the release which inevitably followed.
     Suddenly, with a shocking abruptness that knocked the breath out of her, it ended. Vincent pulled away from the kiss, away from the bond, and the shimmering haze enfolding them shattered into a million brittle shards. He held her away from his own body for a second only, gasping for breath, then pulled her back to hold her protectively close, trying to ease the agonizing frustration filling them both. Catherine whimpered against him, clutching him to her with what little strength remained.
     "Please, Vincent, don't stop, not again."
     He held her tight, tears burning his eyes at her anguished entreaty.
     "I'm sorry Catherine, but we can't. Jacob...Father...everyone's waiting for us. If we do this... You know what will happen. We can't, not now."
     He didn't know if she was capable of seeing the necessity here, with their bond and their passion so close to the edge. He cursed himself yet again for letting things get out of hand. How could he do this to them, to her?! Would he ever, ever be what she needed? Doubt and fear tore at him yet again. Catherine's voice drew him out of that bitter condemnation.
     "You're right, Vincent." She drew in a shuddering breath and the trembling within her began to dissipate. "I'm sorry, I should never have started this. I promised myself I wouldn't... I'm sorry."
     Her words ended in a pitiful sob, her face pressed tight against his chest. Vincent held her close, stunned into momentary silence by her unexpected words.
     "No...no, it was me, it's always me. I need you so, I always have, but then my fears take over and I push you away."
     She stared up at him, tears in her eyes, but also a stillness that spoke of other things, other thoughts. A tremulous smile curved her lips.
     "You weren't afraid just now, were you? You stopped because we had to, and because I didn't have the strength. Everything's going to be all right, Vincent. I know it is."
     His gaze was locked to hers, a desperation in him to draw that calm certainty from her and into himself.
     "You're so sure, Catherine. How can you be so sure when I'm still filled with such uncertainty? Such fear?"
     "You've always given me strength. Now it's my turn to give it to you. Remember what you told me when you sent me back Above after the attack? You said I had the courage and the strength, and you were right. I have them both, because of you. You have them too, Vincent, you'll see. I'll help you through this. There's no turning back for us, my love."
     She pressed a soft, comforting kiss against his trembling lips and felt the tension in him ease slightly.
     "Come on. Father may have a stroke if we don't tell him our son's name soon."
     Her teasing grin drew a soft chuckle from him, and they turned to collect the blanketed bundle in the cradle before finally leaving their chamber. * * *
     "It has been said that the child is the meaning of this life. Today we celebrate the child, this new life that has been brought into our world."
     Father's eyes touched everyone in the hall, finally resting upon Catherine and Vincent and their son. The baby was cuddled close to her chest and Vincent's arms circled them both protectively.
     "We welcome the child with love, that he may be able to love. We welcome the child with gifts, that he may learn generosity. And last, but not least, we welcome the child with a name. Catherine, Vincent?"
     Father managed to maintain his eager curiosity fairly well, all things considered, but knowing grins were exchanged about the hall nonetheless. Vincent looked down at Catherine, and they both gazed upon the cherished face of their son, his blue eyes shining back up at them solemnly, as if he knew of the great event now taking place. Finally Catherine spoke.
     "We've named our son for his grandfather, so that he may be reminded always of his heritage of strength, patience, and wisdom. We've named our son for his grandfather so that all of us may be reminded of the precious continuity of life."
     A thoughtful, grave smile eased across Peter's face and small nods of satisfaction were quickly evident around the room, those sentiments ones the tunnel community held dear to their hearts. Of all present, Devin alone sensed another meaning to Catherine's words. He stood beside the happy family, his inclusion in that group plain for all to see, and his brow lifted in a slight arc, a smiling question there for Vincent's eyes alone. They exchanged a long glance, the knowledge easily transferred through that brotherly code.
     Catherine's gaze rose to meet Father's, and she found a solemn acceptance and understanding there. Her eyes remained locked to his while Vincent concluded the ceremony, speaking the finally words of the rite.
     "We've named our son Jacob."
     A gasp broke out, shocked delight spreading from face to face. Vincent and Catherine heard the happy exclamations, but their eyes were turned to Father alone.
     For perhaps the first time ever, he appeared speechless, his face suddenly pale, a look of stunned surprise there.
     "Father?"
     Devin and Vincent spoke simultaneously and moved quickly to either side to lay a gentle yet firm hold on him. At the sound of the voices beside him, Father's gaze lifted and swung between his two sons, his expression clearing. He tried to speak, but tears filled his eyes, and he finally enveloped both of them in a strong bearhug. He released them quickly though, reaching out to pull Catherine and his grandchild into the circle of his embrace. * * *
     They strolled into their chamber surrounded by a cloudy haze, their arms about each other, Jacob nestled close. The Naming Ceremony had been everything they'd hoped for, Father's stunned surprise and pleasure more than they had ever anticipated. A small group had gathered in his study afterwards, unwilling to let the evening end, and they were still there, listening with an avid curiosity and interest to the heretofore untold, more adventurous tales of Vincent and Devin's childhood. The hour had grown late, and all of them, even Father, understood Catherine and Vincent's need to be alone now, their son at their side. Their tunnel family bid them a fond goodnight, kisses liberally bestowed on all, but Father's voice could be heard resuming his story before they'd left the chamber. Vincent had glanced back and seen Father drawing Devin near, his arm circling his shoulder in an unconscious sign of affection. He'd known then that everything would be all right between them, between all of them, a sigh of pleasure easing through him as he silently checked that item off his invisible list. There was only one item yet remaining on it and Vincent pondered the possibilities for that significant event with a trembling intensity.
     The sudden absence of Catherine by his side refocused his wandering attention. They had reached their chamber, and he hadn't even been aware of it. Catherine was already settling into the mahogany rocker with Jacob, and Vincent spoke quickly, afraid that the moment would be lost.
     "Catherine, could I...?"
     He couldn't go on for a moment, a flush rising up in his face.
     "What, Vincent? Tell me."
     "Could I hold you and Jacob while you nurse him?"
     They both remembered those two precious times during the last few weeks while he had held them thus, the memories filling them with a shivery pleasure that was undeniable. Catherine was stunned by his request.
     "I'd like that."
     She turned hesitantly toward the wardrobe, wondering if she should change into her nightclothes first, but Vincent's voice surprised her once again.
     "Not yet, Catherine. You look so beautiful in that dress. Wear it a while longer, please?"
     A delighted, shy smile swept over her face, and she nodded in happy assent.
     "This one can't wait, though."
     Little Jacob gurgled as if in agreement and she moved toward the cradle. A few minutes later she returned and stopped in sudden surprise. Vincent was just finishing with the night candle and was turned away from her, stretched across the bed, as he replaced the stained glass inset in its proper place. His leather jerkin and overbelt were gone, as were his boots. The cream colored linen shirt was untucked now, and hung loosely about his hips, and that, along with his stockinged-foot appearance, gave him a casually relaxed look that translated into something altogether different in Catherine's eyes.
     Finished with the candle, he straightened up and found her standing beside the bed, Jacob in her arms. He held out a hand to her and she was drawn down to rest in the vee of his long legs, his solid chest supporting her back. His muscled length surrounded her and she began to tremble in response to his virile presence, but quickly clamped down on those treacherous feelings, knowing now was not the time. Vincent's hands rubbed along her arms, soothing the goosebumps which had suddenly appeared.
     "Are you cold?"
     He reached for a knitted throw on a shelf near the head of the bed, but she stopped him with a slight shake of her head.
     "No, I'm fine, really."
     She held Jacob in her left arm, reaching up with her right to tug at the soft fold of the simple sleeve. Vincent's hand was there before her.
     "Let me."
     She froze in stunned astonishment. Could it be? No, she was sure it couldn't. Her shocked reflections spun away a second later as his fingers slid under the thin sleeve and slowly drew the dress down and away from her right breast. She shifted Jacob to her right side and he quickly latched onto her nipple, drinking thirstily. She sighed in contentment and her eyes drifted shut, enjoying the feel of Vincent behind her, holding them both.
     Vincent drew in the sensations enfolding him with a greedy need that was growing minute by minute. She was so warm against him, so silky soft, the ivory dress no more than a filmy cloud surrounding her. The sight of his son nursing at her breast brought about the confusion of emotions it always did, a well of tenderness, pride, love and desire filling him at that poignant picture. His arms tightened slightly about them, a fierce protectiveness added to the chaotic mix already swirling inside him. A few minutes later he saw that she was ready to switch sides, and before she moved the baby, Vincent slipped the other sleeve down her arm in preparation. The dress pooled down around her waist with a silken sigh, and her torso was completely bared to his hungry eyes. He helped her reposition the child and sighed with pleasure when she didn't cover her exposed breast, instead relaxing lazily back against him with a comfort that thrilled him. His hands lightly stroked along her arms, at one point tightening upon them for a few minutes, the urge to leave them and caress her tender breast almost overwhelming him. He drew his control tight, though, and after a few minutes, felt it settle about him once again.
     It seemed he was in another world, rigidly controlling his growing desire while yet indulging in the sweeping fantasies that suddenly filled him, images of them making wildly passionate love here, in this bed, in this chamber. In an instant, the control he had fought over so successfully was suddenly gone, his erection surging painfully within the tight constraint of his jeans. He froze for one horrified moment, unable to move. There was no way she could miss his growing arousal, not seated as she was, but there was nothing he could do except struggle to regain that control once more.
     Catherine stayed still against him for one small moment, stunned at the unmistakable sign of his desire for her. She tried to think of a way to help him, but could find none, occupied as she was, so instead did the exact opposite, pushing back and swaying seductively against his growing need, a purr of contentment escaping her throat. Oh, he felt so wonderful!
     Vincent gasped, trying desperately to find a way out of this predicament, a feverish wish within him that a solution could be found which would somehow ensure the continuation of the heady sense of growing pleasure and ecstasy filling him. She felt so good...so good! He had no idea how much time passed in that frozen moment, but something new finally emerged and he sensed her disappointment and reluctance over the bond a moment before she sat up, and knew that Jacob was through, their interlude over. He drew his knees together as she left him, leaned back against the piled pillows and slipped an arm over his eyes, an intense dialogue taking place within him which he held tightly from their bond.
     Catherine settled Jacob in his cradle -- he was already fast asleep -- straightened up and pulled her dress back in place. She tried to keep her sigh of frustration from him, from their bond, and finally turned back toward the center of the room. Her sigh couldn't be contained then, the sight of Vincent, still in the bed and seemingly struggling to subdue his desire for her, catching her completely unawares. She was trying to decide how best to help him when he held out his hand to her, and his eyes met hers.
     "Come back, Catherine."
     She stood there a moment more in stunned confusion, uncertain exactly what his words and gestures meant. He might just as easily want to cuddle after that tumultuous sharing as much as... She couldn't finish the thought, her body stirring at the slightest hint of those possibilities. She moved toward him slowly and took his hand. He drew her down and she leaned against his side, her legs curled under her. For a moment they rested thus, then she felt herself cradled and lifted, finally coming to rest where she had been before, between his tautly muscled thighs. She eased over onto her hip, then turned her torso further to lay her chest against his. That new position brought about another startling discovery and she gasped as she once more became aware of his throbbing erection, pressing into her belly. A shudder quivered down her length and it took all her resistance not to pull away , no matter how uncomfortable her presence might be to him. Her thoughts spun tumultuously, trying to make sense of it. He had been either unable or unwilling to control his desire for her this once. And he had left himself open, vulnerable to that knowledge, maneuvering her in such a way that she couldn't miss it. She stayed still and a moment later his hands drifted down the silken skin of her back exposed by the linen dress. They trembled noticeably, but there was no mistaking the possessive hold he had on her.
     Oh, yes...yes. It was now, it had to be now. A fleeting thought passed idly through her that he might yet stop, might yet pull away, but she dismissed it languidly. 'I'll have to kill you if you stop, Vincent,' the airy, nonsensical words whispered between them and somehow she was sure he heard and understood. He wouldn't pull back from her tonight...please, not tonight. Her train of thought was interrupted by his low, husky voice.
     "I love this dress, Catherine. When you first wore it, I thought you looked like a fairy, standing in the circle of light at our threshold. Then, later, when I put you to bed in the guest chamber... I laid you down, but I couldn't cover you up, not right away. You looked so beautiful, I couldn't stop looking at you. I remembered that you'd had a silk shawl, that I must have left it in the music chamber. You curled onto your side just then, facing away from me, and I saw the back of the dress for the first time. That's when I first suspected what our bond was capable of, because it wasn't until that moment that I remembered touching your silky, bare skin."
     His hands had never stopped their caressing motion along the smooth planes of her back, but they trembled even more noticeably now, as if that memory was combining with the sensations experienced now to expand them yet again.
     "I was...horrified and embarrassed...yet I almost couldn't leave you. I wanted to touch you again, and never stop. I've wanted that for so long, Catherine, for as long as I can remember...to touch your soft skin..."
     His voice broke and a strong shudder swept down his length. Catherine hugged him tight in response.
     "You know, don't you, that I would have asked you to stay at the smallest sign that it was what you wanted? I was ready then, I had been for a long time."
     "I know. No matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise, I think I always knew. I just wasn't ready. I never expected to have this, Catherine, not after..."
     "After Lisa," she finished softly.
     "Yes."
     "And now?"
     A long silence filled the chamber and his hands grew still upon her. A moment later they moved once more. His left hand slid to the center of her back, his palm covering and holding her warmly, while the other slid down the delicate path of her spine. It didn't stop at the edge of the dress, but instead slid beneath until his fingers curled possessively around the edge of her hipbone, resting upon both bare skin and lacy silk.
     "Now...I'm ready to try."
     Yes! It was impossible to contain her excitement fully, but she tried, determined not to risk the advances he'd been able to make so far, knowing that was still a very real possibility. She stayed very still, trying to decide what to do next. His hands rested warmly on her but showed no signs of leaving their relatively safe positions, so she decided that perhaps she should venture a small touch of her own. She lay warmly against his chest, her left arm holding him close, but her right hand slid slowly around until it rested upon his firmly muscled breast. He quivered in response to that movement and she stayed still for a few minutes, giving him a chance to get used to that soft touch. Finally she began a tender caressing motion with her fingers, much as she had before the Naming Ceremony, only now there was no leather jerkin to cover that caress from both their eyes.
     "Oh, Catherine."
     It was a whispered sigh, barely more than that, though a low moan echoed vaguely through it. Still, the intensity there was more than enough to tell her how her touch affected him, even without the surging pulse of his arousal she felt so clearly beneath her. The words had ended but a rumbling sound, almost too low to hear, buzzed against her ear, and she pressed closer to his chest, the fervency of her caressing hand increasing. Her eyes followed the trembling curves of his muscled breast as she touched him, the small outline of his taut nipple clear to her through the delicate linen. She ached for the taste of him upon her tongue, a flash of wet heat filling her at that lusty thought. She couldn't stop herself then, and moved to undo the topmost button of his shirt. Her hand moved slowly down his broad chest, undoing each one slowly. She paused at the waist of his jeans, the sudden quivering of his abdomen beneath her fingers warning her that it was too soon for that touch, too soon. Her hand slid inside the open edge of his shirt to rest, palm down, upon the silky flesh of his stomach and his muscles jumped sharply at her presence there, a gasping groan torn from his throat. She glanced up at his face and found his eyes pinned upon her hand, a look of utter incredulity there. She watched his face as her hand stroked upward, back to his chest, the dual sensations of the downy silk and his stunned look of disbelief filling her with a dizzying pleasure that was almost overwhelming. For so long... She had waited so long to give him this pleasure, and the joy it gave her couldn't be contained. When she finally reached his breast she couldn't wait any longer for the sight of him, catching the edge of the shirt with her thumb and drawing it to his side as her hand stroked along the trembling muscles there.
     "You are so beautiful...so beautiful."
     She couldn't stop herself then, burying her face against the golden down at the center of his chest and pressing warm kisses along the tender valley there. She heard the catch in his breathing, but couldn't stop to check further. She kissed across that massive expanse until his small nipple was finally before her. Her fingers tenderly stroked the soft covering away until the sight of him was unobstructed and she sighed in delight at this small bit of hidden beauty finally revealed to her. She didn't know how long she stared down at him, her fingers gently caressing that firm peak, but finally she couldn't resist and lowered her head to press a warm kiss there, her lips soft and still upon him. Besides a gasping indrawn breath, he was absolutely motionless against her and she waited like that, waited for some sign from him that she could continue. She knew she had it when she felt his hand slide up her back and his trembling fingers threaded through her hair, his palm finally cupping her head to hold her against him. She became a little more brazen in her actions then, her lips nuzzling and nipping at him with a playfulness he surely hadn't expected. His muscles jumped beneath her and a ragged breath was audibly expelled.
     She pulled away from him for a moment to meet his shocked expression with a loving smile. His mouth was open slightly, a shallow panting evident there. The tips of his sharp incisors were just visible and she shuddered at the erotic image of them, of what they might do... The tiny bit of playfulness she'd felt a moment before melted away suddenly as everything within her shivered and flowed, a yearning arising from such a deep place it couldn't be defined. She barely had time to whisper his name before his mouth covered hers and they were locked in a searing kiss, heat and light burning through them both with a fierce urgency. Vincent pulled away finally, his head thrown back as he gasped for breath, and Catherine buried her face in the center of his chest once more, holding herself tight to his trembling body.
     "Oh, Vincent, Vincent... I don't know if I can stand any more, your kisses alone drive me crazy!"
     She pulled away to meet his gaze and his stunned expression was all the answer she needed, but there was still more. His eyes never left hers, but his trembling hands slid up her arms until they reached her silky shoulders. His fingers slipped beneath the linen and silk sleeves of her gown and slowly drew them down and off her arms. His eyes dropped then, a rampant hunger in them that he couldn't hide. He pulled her slowly forward and watched avidly as her nipples disappeared into the downy silk of his chest, groaning in ecstasy at the sensation of her so intimately against him.
     She saw and felt his response and let go of what little control she still maintained, let it spin away on the dizzying breezes and currents of their bond. Her hands slid up and over his shoulders, pushing his shirt down his arms and stripping it away.
     Vincent made no attempt to stop her. The minute his hands were once again free he pulled her closer yet and held her tight, caressing her naked arms, shoulders and back with a feverish intensity that would not be denied. Finally one hand slid beneath the pooled fabric of her gown to cup the rounded fullness of her hip through the thin, silky garment covering her there. His fingers stroked hesitantly against the edge of the lacy silk, then slipped below even that, to touch her bare flesh directly. A gasping groan escaped him and he pulled her closer as he explored her luscious curves. Finally his other hand slipped within and both slid down her hips and thighs, stripping away the dress and her panties with one fervid caress. When he was through, Catherine curled between his trembling thighs, totally naked to his eyes, his touch...
     "Oh, Catherine..."
     His voice was a hoarse, shivery whisper that touched her deep inside, everything in her yearning toward his virile masculinity. His words reached deeper yet, his need exposed through the hesitant uncertainty still present there.
     "I can't stop touching you, I can't. Tell me it's all right, tell me that this is what you want."
     Her lids were heavy with desire, her gaze somehow both hazy and intense.
     "Yes, oh yes. I want this more than anything, Vincent. I want you. Don't stop, please don't stop. I couldn't bear it if you stopped now. Touch me and let me touch you, please."
     She rubbed her torso against the silky warmth of his, then took his hand and stroked it along her thigh and the outer curve of her hip. When she felt his trembling caress continue of his own volition, her hand left his to explore his naked chest once more. His muscles were taut and quivering, their power sharply defined. The thighs surrounding her shook with barely controlled urgency and her hands slid down to trace their length, starting at the outside of his hips and working down to his knees. After a hesitant pause she stroked upward, this time along the sensitive inner curves which shook with a violent fury. Her fingers finally met at his pulsing groin and a moaning cry was torn from his throat which was buried almost instantly in a low, rasping growl. He was virility incarnate and she couldn't resist him, caressing his taut arousal through his clothing with a feverish intensity.
     He endured that blatant touch for as long as he could, but finally Vincent tore himself away from her, turning to sit on the edge of the bed, his back to her, the muscles alongside the compelling indent of his naked spine shaking with a force that could not be contained.
     Before this night, Catherine would have pulled back, subduing her desires once more out of respect for his fears, but not now, not tonight. There would be no turning back tonight, of that she was determined. She followed him to the edge of the bed and pressed against his back, rubbing her aching breasts against his silky strength, her arms circling his ribs to hold him tight. He couldn't move from the bed without dragging her with him, and he sat tensely still, coiled energy and motion seething just barely beneath the surface of his muscled flesh.
     "Please, Vincent, don't pull away from me, not again. I need you...I need you."
     She waited anxiously for a sign from him, some sound, some movement, but there was nothing save the harsh rasp of his breathing and the trembling of his body beneath the hot press of her palms and fingers and along the yearning length of her torso pulled tight against his. She gave him a moment more, then slowly moved her hands down the shaking, washboard muscles of his abdomen until she finally reached the waistband of his jeans. He gasped loudly but didn't try to stop her, and her fingers fumbled with the tight metal button there. When it was undone, she moved immediately to the next one, his erection surging beneath her fingers with a strong pulse that made the muscles deep inside her go taut like a bowstring, then limply loose with a quivering shudder. She shook wildly, a groan buried against his back, and her hands were suddenly frozen in place, holding the partially opened edges of his jeans while the backs of her fingers brushed against his silky, steely flesh.
     Vincent's low growl increased in strength and suddenly his hands were upon hers, pulling them away. She began to cry out in protest, but stopped immediately when she realized that he was finishing what she had been unable to do. He undid the remaining buttons and slid the jeans down his hips and thighs, stripping them from his legs and kicking them away with an urgency that astonished her. He turned then and pushed her back to the mattress until his naked body partially covered hers, their chests pressed together tight, one knee pulled up and across her trembling thighs. His mouth sought hers and their kiss was deep and fierce, passion burning through them with unrestrained ardor. He finally pulled his mouth from hers with a gasp, burying his face against her throat. A harsh panting filled the chamber as both of them sought to catch their breath, but it was impossible, their desire controlling them entirely. His hands gripped her shoulders with a fierce urgency, but one loosened suddenly to trace down the side of her torso, along the dip of her waist and over the rounded swell of her hip before curving inward to the lush garden of silky curls at the center of her body. Her thighs quivered beneath his restraining leg and she moaned in ecstasy as his fingers slid between them to tentatively stroke the creamy warmth waiting for him there.
     "Oh Vincent, Vincent!"
     A rasping growl was her only response as he touched her, his confidence growing minute by minute as she responded with a passionate strength he couldn't misinterpret. Her groaning cries and writhing hips, her pulsing flesh and liquid heat, they were for him...for him! His mind seemed frozen in a stunned state of disbelief, but his body knew her, knew what she needed, what they both needed. His caresses grew deeper and stronger, his whole body attuned to her whimpering moans and quivering limbs, everything in him needing that response from her, needing it to grow until it engulfed him completely, until he was lost in the overwhelming sensuality of her body and their bond. When she was on the edge, he pulled back, withdrawing his touch from her. She cried out in pain and longing at that retreat, needing him back. His hand stroked back up her body until he cupped her chin, holding her still for his dark, heavy lidded perusal.
     "Shhh, my love, I'm here and I won't leave you."
     His words were barely comprehensible, buried as they were in the husky depths of his growling throat. The scent of her arousal pulsed between them. She watched him draw in a deep breath, seeking that scent with a virile sensuality that held her enthralled. His mouth covered hers and the fierce desire they tasted in that intimate sharing jolted them anew with a fierce surge of love and lust. His kiss deepened, demanding her complete surrender as his tongue sought out her hidden recesses, taking her with a desperate hunger that only grew with each concession.
     Catherine's hands moved wildly along his body, needing to touch him with a fervency that could not be denied. Finally she found the slight opening between his upper torso and right leg, both of which pressed tightly to her own body. Her trembling hand slipped through the curved gap near his hipbone to find and stroke along his pulsing erection, a moan drawn from her at the erotic feel of his hot, hard flesh. His mouth pulled away from hers and a gasping cry was torn from his throat, the ecstasy her touch inspired overwhelming him entirely. She was stunned when, instead of pulling away from her completely, his hand slid down her arm and stopped just beneath her elbow, gripping her there and holding her tight. He wasn't impeding her trembling caresses, she realized. On the contrary, it was as if he were desperately seeking to stop any retreat of her questing fingers, though that thought was the furthest thing from her mind. Then that small bit of logical thought flew from her as he began to kiss downward along her chest, his goal clear. He reached her breasts with a groaning sigh, his mouth nipping and licking her round curves. Finally he settled at her taut peaks, suckling upon her firmly, and she felt the deep response of her body, the small amount of milk remaining from Jacob's feeding immediately called forth. Her fingers tightened upon his hot, throbbing flesh and he surged within her hand, the silky steel of him tighter and fuller, and somehow hotter still. Neither could restrain their yearning cries then, the need within them spinning out of control.
     "Please Vincent, now, I need you now!"
     "Yes, oh yes!"
     His growling moan rumbled within her, echoing somewhere near her heart, and a searing heat flashed through her in an agonizing apprehension of excited anticipation. He felt that response and pulled her hand from his pulsing erection, moving to cover her body entirely with his own. The next few minutes were an indistinct haze to him, the sensations experienced precluding any conscious recollection of their actual physical motions. He only knew that one minute they were separate, their bodies and their bond pounding with an insistent demand to be closer, and the next their flesh was merging, the bond blending likewise to draw them together in a way that would forever change them. They cried out in ecstasy at the joy of that merging, passion spinning them out of control and far from any rational thought. The chaotic maelstrom swirled about them as their bodies moved with a fierce urgency that had its own agenda, its own end. That end was upon them suddenly, no precursor, no warning. They shuddered together, crying out and holding each other tight as the hurricane raged about them, whipping them to the highest peak of emotional and physical sensations that they could possibly endure. It seemed impossible that those emotions could exist at all, much less be sustained for such an excruciatingly ecstatic length of time, but they did. They were held willing captives to those searing sensations for what felt like an eternity, then were released from them with a shuddering, shivery sigh. Utter darkness enfolded them in a luxurious fulfillment of satiated bliss, drawing them down to sink within it in an abject and unconditional surrender. * * *
     An hour later Vincent woke to the soothing comfort of dim light, the only illumination remaining that of the candle behind the stained glass wheel. Catherine was warm and yielding in slumber beside him, her arm wrapped loosely about him. He tuned his senses outward, listening for Jacob, and felt him immersed in a sound sleep. He focused his attention back to Catherine, absorbing the feel of her naked body pressed along his. Sensations of their recent lovemaking rushed over him and he shuddered uncontrollably, the intensity of those memories almost as strong as that of the physical act itself.
     Unbelievable, unimaginable... He never could have anticipated how it would feel to make love with Catherine, never. He had dreamt of them together for so long, and some of those dreams had indeed been buried memories of that night when their son was conceived, but they were pale imitations to this conscious experience. Nothing could come close to this new reality, this new intimacy they now shared. She was everything to him, everything, and deep within him he longed to accept it all and give her all in return. But could he? All it implied, all it meant, rushed over him in a wave of doubt and fear and he let it come, for once not closing himself off to those terrifying thoughts. Instead he allowed them to sweep over him, then brought forth images of what would be if he rejected this destiny. Pain, cold and utter loneliness for them both, forever...
     No! He couldn't, wouldn't accept that, not for her, and not for himself. He turned away from that horrifying vision and back to her. He needed her now, needed her calm assurance and her warm acceptance of him. He needed her. His hand stroked along her body in a long, trembling caress before pulling her closer and holding her tight. He nuzzled beneath the silky fall of her hair and whispered against the soft curved shell of her ear.
     "Catherine...Catherine..."
     She shivered against him and her hands moved unconsciously upon him, stroking the downy silk of his chest hair in a seductive caress. Slowly his voice wove through the slumbering stillness enfolding her, and she turned to press a warm kiss against his brow, then leaned her head back to bare her pulsing throat to him fully, wanting his mouth there, even in the depths of her sleep.
     "Mmmm...Vincent..."
     He couldn't resist that vulnerable pose, moving instantly to kiss and nip his way down that sensuous length until he reached the tender valley at its base where her collar bones met. He licked and mouthed the succulent flesh there, drawing in her taste, scent and texture with an avid need that was growing stronger by the minute. One hand circled her back to hold her still against him while the other slid down to caress the soft curves and taut peaks of her breasts, the response of her body for him manifesting itself in an instant, even as she still slept.
     But sleep was dropping away moment by moment, the sensations of him against her and through their bond calling out with a fierce urgency that could not be ignored. Her eyes fluttered open and immediately found his, their gazes locked in tender communion.
     "Oh, Vincent."
     His eyes never left hers, though his hands caressed her unceasingly, unable to resist the allure of her body, this precious gift he had thought never to have, not really, until now, until tonight.
     "I need to tell you something, Catherine."
     His voice was warm and low, a virile strength inevitably present in that husky whisper.
     She blinked in confusion, his words catching her off guard. She had been sure that he could say only one thing to her, looking at her as he did -- that he loved her of course. That he had always loved her. He looked so serious, and yet somehow so calm, so sure. What could he be thinking? She resolutely cast the last dregs of sleep off and lay still against him, making a valiant attempt to ignore his hand as it stroked along her breasts, wondering at that, too, in contrast to his serious tone.
     "What is it, Vincent? Tell me."
     He stared at her silently for what felt like a long time before his words finally whispered out to her, stunned astonishment in his warm, low tones.
     "Do you know...can you possibly know what you've meant to me? To my life?"
     A long moment passed before he went on, his look of vulnerable disbelief touching her deeply.
     "Growing up here, Below, I've known love and security, formed ties of friendship and family stronger, no doubt, than what many have ever experienced Above. I have been blessed, and I've known that, despite my craving for what I couldn't have."
     His expression momentarily turned inward then, yet his hands caressed her still, as if her naked flesh was a beckoning call he couldn't resist. His gaze focused back on her, and she felt as if she were frozen by some cosmic spotlight, pinned in place beside him. She wasn't even sure she still breathed. She only knew that she waited for him to tell her...tell her what she meant to him at last, at long last. The world shifted suddenly as his hands rose to her shoulders and pushed her to her back upon the mattress, then his body covered hers, his solid weight holding her grounded and safe when but a moment before it had felt as if she might simply float away. His next words contrasted sharply with the erotic action of a moment before, and she waited anxiously to see where this would lead.
     "But there was always an emptiness inside me, a still waiting I could never quite define. I know... I know, Catherine, that if we had never found each other I would have lived with that emptiness all my life. I would have lived alone, my heart aching for what it would never know, all of the days of my life here Below."
     Tears sprang to her eyes, and he softly brushed them away with the pad of one thumb. Yet much to her surprise, he gave them only a cursory attendance, his pause simply a search for the words yet locked inside him, yearning to be set free.
     "I have been many things to this community, but always, primarily, its protector. I've never questioned that role, and I don't now. Despite my anguish over my differences and how they restricted my life, no one knows better than I of the power at my command, the physical strength and the mental focus I can call forth from that dark place within me, if the need arises. Almost always I've despised those abilities, at the way they've set me apart. But sometimes...sometimes, deep inside, I couldn't hide it from myself, the almost perverse sense of pride...and pleasure...that power inspired."
     He blinked hazily at her, astonished that he was speaking to her of that shameful, hidden truth.
     "I would feel it at the emergence of that other side of me, that dark strength. That, as much as the damage I inflicted, is what caused me such shame after..."
     He shook his head, unable to finish that sentence, though they both knew clearly what he referred to.
     "Those feelings were always strongest when it was you I came for."
     He met and held her gaze bravely, but she read the trepidation there too, the fear that his disclosure would shock and disgust her.
     "I know that power well, I do, and I know that I control it, no matter how much I tried to pretend it belongs to some other. But despite it all, what I felt most often..."
     He looked anxious and confused, the unfinished thought sounding somehow silly, even to himself.
     "Go on, Vincent, I'll understand, trust me."
     The tumultuous emotions evident in his eyes grew still in a second as he responded viscerally to her words.
     "Fear. Sometimes terror. Not when you or the others needed me, needed my strength, but during the quiet times, the still times. I didn't want to accept that dark side of me, or to understand it. I had no wish to seek out its black shape, to know it. Always, in some small place inside, I feared what it might do...what I might do. Then you came, and that began to change. I still felt shame, and fear, after those protective rages, but your presence calmed me, called me from those helpless emotions. I was so ashamed for you to see me that way, Catherine, and yet..."
     "What? You can tell me."
     "And yet, sometimes, afterwards, those other emotions, the ones generated in the aftermath of those rages...I felt those, too. For you...for us."
     There was still a calm certainty in his gaze, but that expression was tinged slightly now with a hesitation that somehow immediately communicated itself and its source to her.
     "Pride...and pleasure."
     Embarrassment was etched across his face, but he met her gaze squarely, echoing her words in quiet confirmation.
     "Yes, pride and pleasure."
     She was stunned by his admission, but didn't have long to contemplate it, for at the conclusion of those words his mouth took hers in a deep, demanding kiss, everything banished for the moment as she focused all her attention on the sensory bliss of his lips and tongue, of his hands and body, all touching her and drawing her out of herself in a way that was impossible to describe and just as impossible to ignore.
     The kiss ended abruptly and she drew in a harsh, gasping breath, astonished by the clear look of fierce determination in his eyes. She was sure her own were hazy and heavy lidded, desire stealing over her in a pulsing wave. His erection throbbed against her thigh, and she drew her legs apart, pulling them up along the sides of his body until she felt the intimate press of their flesh, hot and wet, nestled tightly together. Her gasp of need was stronger now, and Vincent couldn't ignore that heated connection, rubbing his loins tantalizingly against her own, but continuing on no further, except with his words.
     "That's what you gave me, Catherine, pride and pleasure, and more. You made me begin to accept those things in myself, something I once thought was impossible, unthinkable. I began to feel safe with you, to believe that the power of that dark side couldn't hurt you, because you believed it so fully, and because the pride and pleasure came from there, from that place. You gave me a sense of freedom and security I'd never had, a peace I'd never known. Nobody else could have done it, not Father, not Mary, not Lisa. No one, no matter how much they loved me was capable of that but you. I would never have been able to accept it, if not for the bond. I was stubborn and blind, but I couldn't continue to misinterpret what I felt there, it was too clear, too pure and true. The bond gave me that 'truth beyond knowledge', and that truth was you...and your love for me."
     "Yes, oh yes."
     She wanted to hold him close and lose herself in the overwhelming joy she felt from those words, but the hesitation was back in his eyes again, and she wondered at that, surprised it would still be there after the courage of his last words.
     "There's more. Tell me."
     "I knew that first. I've known it for a while now, yet I denied it to you. I was still afraid. Afraid of what it would mean for your life, for your own destiny. Afraid there were still things not meant to be between us, despite our love, despite everything. When we discovered that we could be closer in the bond..."
     He actually shuddered against her, his erection surging with hot blood and lust.
     "Experiencing those emotions was something I never expected to have. Sharing them with you was beyond belief. After that night in our music chamber... I could never stop thinking about us together after that, about sharing those emotions and sensations...both in our bond and outside of it. Every night I'd dream of us making love."
     His voice had dropped to a low, almost inaudible whisper.
     "And that desire, that need frightened you."
     "Yes. I couldn't trust myself, not fully, no matter how much my heart whispered that you were right, that we had a destiny together. It wasn't just the strength of my emotions that frightened me, it was everything that dark power implied. We're so different, Catherine..."
     "No, Vincent, the same, we're the same. That's why the bond chose us. We belong together."
     He stared at her, a look of awe upon his face.
     "All this time you've really believed that, haven't you? It's what I struggled with most, and it was so easy for you. It took a long time for me to finally accepted that you loved me, really loved me, but..."
     He couldn't go on, and she finished his sentence for him, sure of what he would say.
     "You thought I loved you despite your differences, that I accepted those things in the name of love, as a sort of...sacrifice."
     A pained expression crossed his face, but he couldn't deny her words.
     "Yes."
     Still, behind the pain the calm strength was there, ever the constant since this conversation began. Catherine focused on that, determined to get to the source of it.
     "No matter how often I told you that I loved those differences, that I found you beautiful, you didn't really believe it, did you?"
     "No."
     The pain on his face changed, its reflection there now for her, for the knowledge of how his confession would hurt her.
     "I couldn't, it just didn't seem possible. For too long I had learned to fear, and sometimes even despise those differences. Those other emotions..."
     The words whispered between them, unspoken now, but clear nonetheless. Pride and pleasure.
     "They were so intense. I learned to dread their appearance, somehow sure they were a symptom of my growing desire for you, a sign that I was losing control."
     She would have smiled then, had not her heart felt so heavy. He wasn't denying his desire for now, on the contrary... She let her attention drift for the smallest moment, taking in the sensations surrounding them. They were growing even as they spoke, permeating their bond and the very air about them. His body was hot and hard upon her, his muscles taut and trembling with barely suppressed need. Her own body felt like a quivering mass of bare nerves. Liquid heat saturated their intimately pressed flesh, her inevitable feminine response to his virile masculinity.
     That momentary lapse was all it took, and suddenly she found she couldn't stand it, she absolutely couldn't stand it if he didn't take her now, right now. She pressed her mouth against his chest, kissing upwards along his neck, her words a whimpering moan of lust and need.
     "Please, Vincent, don't make me wait any longer. I need you now...now. Take me, please, and tell me more, my love, tell me more."
     She knew he wasn't through, that there was more he needed to say to her. She had thought her words would be in vain, but hadn't been able to resist pleading with him, her need too great to suppress. She was stunned when, instead of denying or ignoring her plea, he moved upon her, his throbbing sex drawn unerringly to her silken gate. Her moan of ecstasy evolved into a groaning cry as his hips thrust against her own, his pulsing erection sinking deep within her quivering depths with one strong surge. His growling groan joined hers, and after that first, sweet penetration, they lay utterly still, absorbing the blissful sensations of their joined bodies with a shared, stunned sense of disbelief.
     "Oh, Catherine... There are no words to describe how you feel to me."
     "Try. Please, Vincent, tell me."
     He shivered against her, the combination of her words and her body overwhelming him.
     "For as long as I can remember, I craved the touch of others, the hugs of my friends, Father's hand stroking my brow, Mary's comforting caresses and kisses when I was a child, even the way she would touch my forehead to see if I had a fever. I don't know why that need was so strong in me. I only know that those touches meant everything, but were never quite enough. Always, always I wanted more, that need elusive and hazy but always there. Then one day that need had a focus and a source -- you."
     At the end of that declaration he couldn't stop himself, the need within him pushing beyond the boundaries of his restraint. He began to rock his body against her own, his thrusts slow and deep, barely withdrawing from the wet heat of her tender sheath. He buried his face against her neck, his mouth open and hot upon that pulsing length.
     "Oh Catherine, Catherine."
     She shuddered strongly, the rhythm of his body and the vulnerability in his voice drawing her outside herself. Her muscles convulsed, gripping him tight, deep inside, and they both groaned loudly at the erotic intimacy of that sensation.
     "I've wanted you for so long, needed you... I'd come to your balcony at night, both dreading and craving the sight of you in some soft, silky gown. Those feelings frightened me, but still I sought them out, always. I needed to touch you...to have you touch me. But this..."
     He buried himself even deeper within her at those words, his writhing hips seeking out her hot depths with an urgency that couldn't be withheld.
     "There's nothing that can compare to the intimacy of this touch. To know that you accept me this way, want me this way... It's beyond anything I've ever expected to have in my life, beyond everything..."
     Hot tears spilled over at the fervency of his words, her emotions trembling on the edge both by his disclosures this night and the overwhelming sexuality of his body.
     "Do you believe me now, Vincent. Now that we've made love, do you believe me when I say you're beautiful?"
     "Yes, but not because of this, not tonight. I think I could finally let myself go with you once I began to really believe that it was true, that you weren't blinded by love, but really meant it."
     "Before? When? When did you begin to believe it, and why?"
     He pulled back to look down at her, struggling mightily to hold on to the last vestiges of rational thought remaining at his disposal. Her body welcomed him with a sweet muscled strength and dewy heat, and his senses were spinning with it, everything in him longing to let go, to immerse himself not just physically but mentally and emotionally within her. His voice was low and hoarse when he was finally able to answer her question.
     "Three months ago, when Jacob was born."
     Catherine drew in a gasping breath, and his body stilled upon hers, both of them turning as one towards the cradle where their son slept.
     "I looked at him, Catherine, and all I could think of was how beautiful he was. How beautiful... I'm ashamed that I couldn't admit it sooner, but it had everything to do with me, and nothing to do with him. For a long time I questioned the validity of those feelings. I thought it had to be because I was his father, that you felt the same because you're his mother. I thought it only proved that your view of me was colored by love."
     Their gazes met and locked once more, and she saw an urgency there that demanded her attention.
     "But I don't think that any longer, not about my image of Jacob, and not about your image of me. Whenever I look at him, I think of how you carried him within you, nurturing and loving him, without knowing what would be. I feel those same sensations every time you nurse him. I see how he'll grow strong and secure with your love, how he'll be whole, complete, with none of the doubts I've had in my life. I know that's what you'll give him because that's what you've given me, as difficult as it's been for me to accept. It still seems unbelievable to me, Catherine, that I have a son...that you've borne me this child. I look at him, and I see me, and yet...it's impossible for me to deny how beautiful he is any longer. He is beautiful, and with your help, I'll learn to accept the beauty that you see in me. Will you help me, Catherine?"
     The tears were back, and she made no attempt to stop them. Instead she nudged her hips against his own, telling him wordlessly that she needed him, needed the comfort and bliss that only he could give. He began to move against her once more, and she sighed with pleasure and relief.
     "I love you so much, Vincent. I'll always be here for you, always. Whatever you need, I will give to you, no matter what it is, no matter what."
     He shuddered upon hearing those words and the motions of his body changed, his strokes reduced to an almost painfully slow pace while the depth and length of each thrust increased, that contrast blatant and terribly arousing. His hands framed her face, holding her still for his fierce perusal. She drew in a gasping breath at the intensity of those new sensations, waiting in stunned amazement for what would come next. When he finally spoke again, his words were completely unexpected.
     "Stay with me, Catherine. Join your life with mine. I know you have a life waiting for you Above, and I would never ask you to give it up entirely, but I need you here, with me. I need to wake with you each morning, to hold you each night. I need more than just your presence through the bond, blissful though that is. I need you. I need your soothing voice and your gentle thoughts, easing my spirit like nothing else can. I can't go back to measuring our time together in minutes, only an eternity will do now. I need to have you close every day, soft and warm and loving me, the tender touch of your hands and mouth upon me, driving me to distraction. I need us to be together each night, to feel myself buried in your hot, silky depths, to feel you holding me like this...so tight...so sweet. I need that, Catherine...I need you. I'll always need you."
     She couldn't stop the sob that welled up, pulling him down to press her face against the strong curve of his throat.
     "Yes, oh yes! I'll stay with you always, Vincent, always. There's no place for me but by your side, no life for me without you. I want to be everything to you, your solace and your strength. I need to be the one, the only one, who gives you this pleasure. And I will, Vincent, I will. You'll know you're beautiful, and loved, with me -- I'm going to spend the rest of my life making sure of that. I will bring you joy you've never dreamed of."
     He heard her words clearly, though her tears had never stopped, and his heart pounded with relief and joy, amazement filling him that he had found the courage to tell her of his deepest needs, to ask of her what he thought had been unthinkable for so long. But he couldn't keep his thoughts focused now. Her body writhed urgently beneath his, urging him on with a fierce need that was irresistible.
     "Love me, Vincent, love me now and always."
     "Always, Catherine, always."
     His mouth took hers in a deep kiss that rapidly built to a ravenous height of passion, the movements of their bodies inevitably following. The bond pulsed about them, enclosing them in a hazy aura of voluptuous sensuality and ecstatic bliss until their bodies and senses were completely saturated with it, a heady and dizzying scent permeating everything about them until all was reduced to a luxurious yet fiery passion that scorched everything in its path. The conflagration burned higher and brighter, until they were engulfed in the searing, purifying flames, the convulsions of their bodies and their passionate cries magnified in the expanding prism of their bond. * * *
     Darkness surrounded him as he woke, but Vincent hardly noticed that absence of light, his attention focused entirely upon the soft cooing sounds of his son, a low hum vibrating minutely along a thin strand of their bond in accompaniment. Catherine stirred in his arms, and he felt a similar, though much stronger response from her. He concentrated on that phenomena for a moment and an analogy came to him; Jacob was there, in the bond, an inevitable part of them, his presence like that of a low, soft reed instrument whose sound was pure and true and always recognizable. But that sound represented only one small chord of the connection between he and Catherine. The rest was a rich, lush symphony, an ever evolving and expanding orchestral score that was a blend of his and Catherine's thoughts, emotions and sensations, flowing constantly between them. He let that music fill him now, holding her close and nuzzling against the silky curve of her shoulder and neck. She was nestled in front of him, her head resting upon the curve of his arm beneath their pillow. His other arm circled her waist, and he let his hand drift upwards to softly caress her breasts. Her reaction to that touch was immediate, a wet warmth coating his fingers as their bond throbbed with a vibrant energy.
     "Mmmm...Vincent."
     "I'll get Jacob, Catherine."
     With some difficulty he pulled away from her to sit upon the edge of the bed. He lit the small candle resting upon the bedside table, then moved towards Jacob's cradle, no thought given to his nakedness. The baby was awake, of course, and Vincent crouched down beside him, their blue eyes meeting instantly. He held out a finger and Jacob's small hand grasped it tightly, their connection, both physical and emotional, now complete. Vincent sighed with pleasure, a joy filling him that was beyond description. This was their son, his and Catherine's. The events of the last few hours swept over him and gelled, the meaning of it all and the course now set before them clear and unalterable. They were a family, and they would pursue their destiny together, down one common path. There were many things waiting for them, yet unknown, but he had no fear of them now. Catherine would be by his side, and they would face them together.
     Jacob was unusually quiet, watching his father with a still concentration as if he knew that a dramatic change had taken place this night. His son's quiet presence sparked a sudden memory of words Catherine had spoken a month earlier, when they had chosen his name. "Our children", she had said, her tone light and casual, as if there wasn't a huge chasm to be bridged by him in the acceptance of that concept. He had resolutely ignored that comment, completely unable to discuss the topic rationally, certain it was impossible, that this child was the miracle exception for him. Now he wasn't so sure. He couldn't gather the resolute denial that had been so easy for him in the months and years past. A hazy fog of hope and possibilities swirled within him now. His thoughts were interrupted suddenly by a surge of emotion through the bond, a fierce yet tender love tinged inevitably with a poignant sweep of passionate yearning.
     "Come, little one, your mother is waiting for us."

* * * The End * * *