Catherine was at a loss to understand Vincent's mood this particular Friday evening. He was restless; edgy; almost...irritable. They had gone inside when he had first arrived and Catherine had poured him a glass of wine, hoping it would help him to unwind, but Vincent had taken a sip or two then fidgeted about until Catherine demanded to know what was wrong.

"Nothing is wrong, I just ... I don't know," he responded. With an impatient half-growl, he rubbed his palms on his thighs, pushed to his feet and began to prowl distractedly about the room. Catherine regarded him from where she sat, unsure how best to deal with him in this faintly disturbing mood.

"Would you like to watch a movie, Vincent?"

He shook his head. "No, I ... do not think I could concentrate tonight ... thank you, Catherine."

"How about some music?"

"Yes, if you wish."

"What would you ..."

"Anything ... whatever you choose, Catherine." Vincent paused at the French doors, took a white-knuckle grip on the handle and, expelling a deep breath, leaned his forehead against the glass.

"Do you want to go back outside?"

"Yes, I ... think that would be best." He twisted the handle with far more force than necessary and threw the doors open wide. Stepping outside, he went straight to the railing where he paused to fill his lungs with cold night air.

Catherine shook her head, bewildered. It was patently obvious Vincent was extremely agitated, and equally obvious that he had no intention of explaining why. Sighing, she rose and followed him out on to the balcony. She stood beside him and leaned back against the railing in order to see his face as he stared grimly out over the darkened city streets. Tentatively she reached out an arm and rubbed his shoulder.

"You're so tense tonight, Vincent. Did something happen Below today?"

He stood immobile, not looking at her, his expression fierce. 'No."

"Is someone sick? Father? Mouse?"

"No. Everyone is well."

"What about you? Are you okay, Vincent?"

He turned his head abruptly to glare at her. "Do I look sick!" The sharply spoken words startled them both and Vincent tilted his head in apology. "Forgive me, Catherine. I am not good company tonight. I should never have come."

Catherine lowered her hand to his chest, disturbed at the rapid beating of his heart generated by some deep inner turmoil. Vincent raised his head to the night sky and expelled a long breath through his teeth. She caressed him soothingly, trying to feel the contours of his body through the layers of suede, wool and patched cotton.

"It's okay to be in a lousy mood sometimes, Vincent," she smiled. "I understand. Things happen ... silly things, and I probably irritate you sometimes, without meaning to."

This time he turned and took her in his arms, his expression suddenly gentle and full of love again. "It is not you who irritates me, Catherine ... ever. But sometimes ... things ... within myself..."

She slid both arms around his waist and looked up at him tenderly. "I know. But like I said, it's okay to feel that way. You're not perfect, Vincent, any more than I am, and I don't expect you to be. You don't ever have to prove anything to me, or try to be something you're not. I love you just the way you are. Okay?"

Vincent sighed again and pulled her head to his chest, his lips brushing the top of her head. He felt so strong and warm against her; as if he could move a mountain, which he damn well might if she happened to be underneath it, but she knew that his tremendous physical strength masked a mass of insecurities about himself. Obviously something today had touched on one; something he had no desire to talk about. She considered whether it would be any easier for him if she was able to 'feel' his emotions the same way he did hers. Would it help or hinder their relationship, she wondered, if she was able to share his feelings and pinpoint exactly what was troubling him. Not that there was much point in speculating the matter. Even after two years it was only on a rare occasion involving intense physical trauma to Vincent that Catherine was able to pick up on his distress.

"You bring me such comfort, Catherine," he murmured against her hair. "But my greatest fear, apart from losing you, is that I shall one day disappoint you."

She pulled back at this, and stared intently into his face, bringing a hand to one velvety cheek.

"I know you better than you think, Vincent, and believe me, there is only one way you could possibly disappoint me."

He fixed her with a look that could dissolve granite, his curiosity aroused. "And that is?"

"By not allowing me to help you when you need me. You've tried it before and it hurts, Vincent. I know when you need me, and when you try to shut me out it's the loneliest feeling in the world."

The slight tilt of the head and hint of a smile he gave her, screwed up her heart agonizingly before releasing it again. "The habits of a lifetime cling like vines to a wall, Catherine. I have only ever confessed my doubts and fears to one person in my whole life."

"Father."

He nodded.

"Well, I'm here for you now, Vincent." Catherine's voice was softly earnest "And I always will be. I'll never leave you ... you know that. And you can tell me anything; however terrible or insignificant it might seem to you. If it concerns you, it concerns me, too. Sometimes I ache to hold you and take care of you, but you keep everything inside all the time. Why do you have to be so godamned tough, Vincent?"

He crushed her to him then, and Catherine didn't care if she never breathed again, only that he needed to hold her like this. It was a beginning.

"If you only knew," he whispered, "If you only knew."

Eventually the drop in temperature on the terrace forced them to break apart and Vincent loosened his grip on Catherine, running his hands over her shoulders and down her arms. Frowning, he paused when his fingers encountered a slight bump beneath the wool covering her upper right arm.

"What is this, Catherine?" he asked.

Laughing, she pulled up her sleeve to reveal a small wad of lint and plaster. Vincent touched it reverently.

"You hurt yourself today?"

"No. I gave blood."

He shrank back as if he'd been slapped. "Why?"

Catherine pulled her sleeve down, puzzled at his reaction. "Because the blood banks need it, Vincent. I go every six months; I thought you knew."

The tension was back in every line of his body.

"No, I ... didn't know. Catherine, it is late. I have to leave."

She held him again but he seemed distracted and his embrace was brief; almost dutiful. The mood had inexplicably vanished, and though disappointed, Catherine's concern was for Vincent

"Go home and get some rest, love. May be a good night's sleep will help you relax and everything will look better in the morning. I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Yes. You are invited Below to join us for our evening meal."

She smiled. "I was hoping you'd say that. But I'm free most of the day; why don't I come down when I've done the marketing?"

"No!" Vincent looked horrified at her suggestion and Catherine's mouth fell open in surprise. "I-I apologise, Catherine. What I meant to say was ... I have much to do tomorrow and will not be able to join you until dinner. I would not wish you to be alone."

"Okay, Vincent If that's the way you want it. I'll see you about seven." Catherine was puzzled and a little hurt but decided to humour him. He really was on a short fuse tonight.

He apologised again, bent to kiss her briefly and then left in a blur of black and gold as he disappeared over the wall.

Catherine staggered through the door, her arms aching under the weight of the brown shopping bags. Running into the kitchen she just made it before one of them tore open, scattering apples, bananas, tomatoes and green peppers all over the counter and floor.

"Damn!" she cursed softly, examining a tomato to find its skin split. Shrugging off her jacket she stacked the refrigerator and cupboards and tossed all the empty bags into the trash.

The apartment tidied and fragrant with the smell of fresh flowers, Catherine fixed herself a sandwich and a glass of mineral water and sat down to browse through the latest PEOPLE magazine. It provided a little light relief from law books, but she found her mind wandering to Vincent and what he might be doing. He'd been so emphatic about her not going Below until evening. Was he really working? He'd never before been so opposed to her being Below without him. Even if he was working there were plenty of other people to talk to and it always touched him that she enjoyed being in his world.

Suddenly, Catherine's curiosity got the better of her. She ran through to the bedroom and changed into a long black skirt and boots. Pulling a chunky pink sweater over her head she tugged a brush through her hair until it shone and then applied a little lipstick and Vincent's favourite perfume. He would never notice if she looked a wreck, but she knew he always appreciated the trouble she took with her appearance. It constantly surprised him that she always wanted to look good for him; that she actually bought things specially to wear for him.

It was difficult to know what to take whenever she went Below for dinner. Wine wasn't a practical option given the number of bottles which would be needed, so she usually tried to think of something that would help William's precious kitchen supplies. Today she had bought a huge bag of fresh nuts, which she stuffed into a tote bag and set off for the Park.

The day was cold, but a cerulean sky afforded bright sunshine, and to anyone else it would have been a crime to be leaving all that behind to descend into an underground world lit only by candles. That same world, however, held the Iight of Catherine's life, and her steps quickened as she approached the drainage culvert. As always she took great care to check that no one was in the immediate vicinity before ducking into the outer tunnel.

Vincent paced around the hospital chamber while Father gathered the few items of equipment necessary for the job he was about to undertake. Suddenly Vincent felt Catherine approach. Spinning around, he murmured her name. "Catherine!"

Father looked up from what he was doing and frowned. "What is it now, Vincent?"

"Catherine ... she is here!"

"Well perhaps it's for the best. She's got to know sometime."

"No!"

"What is it you think I should know, Father?" Catherine's sunny smile wavered as two pairs of eyes turned to stare at her; one serious, over-anxious brown pair ... the other, vividly beautiful despite a hint of panic present in the fierce, blue glare.

"Catherine, why have you come here?"

She suppressed the hurt and attempted a light, bantering. "Well, I must say that's not quite the welcome I expected, Vincent. I came because I wanted to see you. Why else would I come?"

"But I told you I would be busy and unable to spend time with you."

"I know. It's not a problem, Vincent; I can amuse myself until you're 'free." She rubbed his arm affectionately. "I just wanted to be here ... near you." She looked around. "So, where's the patient? You told me last night that no one was sick."

"No one is." Vincent clenched and unclenched a fist in agitation and an unfathomable expression passed between the two men as Father made a small sound, something between a snort of impatience and a chuckle. Vincent twisted around and looked about the chamber as if unsure what to say or do next.

"Vincent, for Heaven's sake, tell her, or I will."

"No! I forbid you to tell Catherine!"

"You forbid me?"

"Father, please!"

Catherine was beginning to feel increasingly apprehensive. Vincent was more distressed than she had ever seen him in the safety of his own home, and Father was plainly exasperated.

"Look, would one of you please tell me what's going on here?" she pleaded.

Father glanced at Vincent who continued to glare at him, everything in his stance warning that if his parent offered one more word on what was obviously a taboo subject, there would be trouble. Father, however, had not retained the respect and leadership of the community for over thirty-five years by backing off from tricky issues, and apparently had no intention of being dictated to by his son. He put down the rubber tube in his hand and took a step towards Catherine.

"Catherine, my dear, the simple truth of the matter is that .."

"FATHER!" Vincent's voice contained more fury than Catherine had ever heard directed at the man who had raised him. "If you persist in this attempt to humiliate me, know that I will not remain to listen to it. And I cannot guarantee that ..." He paused, apparently weighing his words carefully. "I will ever be able to truly forgive such a betrayal."

Father brought his fist down on the counter with a crash, making Catherine jump. "Dear God, why do you have to be so melodramatic, Vincent!" He turned to the area where he had been working and held up a length of rubber tubing and a bottle. A syringe lay on a pristine white cloth nearby. "It is nothing very terrible, Catherine; merely that twice a year I have to take a quantity of Vincent's blood..."

Before he could finish, Vincent began to growl, the sound building and becoming louder until he suddenly whirled around, fists clenched in fury, and delivered a full-throated roar before he turned on his heel and strode from the chamber, leaving Catherine standing in open-mouthed amazement and Father shaking his head in despair.

"What is the matter with him?" Catherine urged. "Why is he so upset, and why shouldn't I know about your taking blood from him?"

Father sat down on one of the beds and patted the space next to him in invitation. For a moment, Catherine continued to stare at the doorway through which Vincent had disappeared, and then joined Father. The old man rubbed a hand across his eyes and turned to look at her.

"I'm sorry about all that, my dear. He'll get over it ... he has no choice of course. You see, as you know, Vincent's blood is unique, and if he should ever be in the situation where he needs a transfusion, the only person who can safely supply it is ... himself. So, at six monthly intervals, and over a two day period, I draw off two pints which is sent immediately to Peter to preserve for emergencies." He shook his head with a tut of exasperation. "Thank God it's not more often. I don't think any of us down here could stand it." He looked at Catherine. "You may have noticed he's been ... shall we say ... a little tetchy for a day or two."

She grinned. "You mean cranky ... yes, I noticed. He was prowling around my living room last night like ... well, anyway, I tried to get him to tell me what was wrong but he wouldn't."

"No. He wouldn't. He loathes it, you see. Refuses to talk about it. Tries to ignore the inevitable, and of course the tension builds over a day or two, until by the time it's due, he's like a twig ready to snap."

Catherine had relaxed slightly, relieved that the explanation was so simple, but puzzled by Vincent's reaction. "It sounds perfectly logical to me, Father. So why does Vincent hate it so much and why in Heaven's name, was he so adamant that I shouldn't know about it? He was so furious; I don't understand."

Father gave a sad little smile and scratched his beard. "Mmmm. Well er, the answer to that also is very simple, Catherine. Vincent knew if you found out about these sessions, you would inevitably also learn of his Achilles Heel ... that the reason he dreads them so much is because ... well ... he always faints."

Catherine blinked, wondering if she'd heard correctly. "Faints? Vincent?"

The old man nodded. "I'm afraid so."

"Every time?"

"Mmmm hmmm. Hard to believe, isn't it? It's even harder for him to accept, though God knows I've tried for years to convince him that it's a very normal reaction, one he has no reason to be ashamed of. You see, he believes he should be immune from such ordinary ... human weaknesses; that somehow he has to earn his place down here by being utterly invincible. I blame the whole community - myself included - for this misconception. We've all leaned on him for far too long, and somehow managed to make him feel he always has to be strong and fearless ... which of course he is. No one could ever doubt that. But what you and I know is a very common, physical reaction to having blood taken, and would be the subject of a certain amount of amusement and good-natured teasing to anyone else, is to Vincent, a shameful and humiliating weakness to be hidden and not spoken of ... especially to you ... the woman he loves and whose respect and good opinion he desperately needs to retain."

Catherine released a breath she hadn't even been aware she was holding. She stood up and walked around the chamber, hardly knowing what to say, replaying everything Father had told her. Eventually she paused in front of him.

"Do you know where he'll be, Father? I have to go to him."

The old man stood up. "I expect he's at the Chamber of the Falls. He goes there whenever he wants to be alone. You will be careful what you say to him, won't you, Catherine? This is a monumental blow to his pride, you finding out about it. He'll probably hold it against me for weeks." He held out a partially gloved hand to touch her arm. "Please be gentle with him ... don't tease him. And if you can do anything to restore his confidence in himself, well, I'd be more than grateful."

She reached over to kiss Father's lined cheek and smiled. "I'd never tease Vincent about something which causes him so much distress." She sighed. "It seems neither of you know me as well as you should after all this time. Don't you worry about a thing, Father. Give me some time alone with him and I promise I'll bring him back for you to take your pint of blood." She grinned wickedly. "And I'll be here to help you catch him from now on."

Father allowed himself a gruff chuckle. "I could use the moral support too. You should see the way he looks at me when I stick the needle in his arm ... makes me feel like some wretched vampire!"

With a giggle, Catherine squeezed his arm reassuringly and set off in search of Vincent.

She found him, as Father had predicted, at the Chamber of the Falls, where an unusually persistent thread of sunlight had filtered down through the rocks from Above, and now bathed the honey blond locks that flowed over Vincent's shoulders and down his back. He was facing the water, legs apart and head raised to the summit of the falls. She could see by the way he held himself that he was still fighting the anger which had driven him there.

Catherine sensed that now was not the time to touch him. That would come later.

"Vincent?"

He dropped his head but didn't turn around. "Please leave me, Catherine. I would prefer to be alone right now."

She found a fairly smooth rock and sat down, pulling her skirt around her ankles and hugging her knees; exaggerated gestures in an endeavour to gain precious, speech formulating time. "I know you would, but I have a few things I want to say to you."

He gave a brittle laugh. "I can imagine what they are, so can we pretend you have already said them, and then you can return Above."

Obviously this was going to be even more difficult than she had imagined. "I don't think you have any idea what I want to say, Vincent."

This time he did look round. "Father must have told you my ... shameful secret. I cannot imagine he spared my humiliation, given the circumstances."

"He told me about your very natural reaction to giving blood. A reaction suffered by thousands of people all over the world, I might add."

He whirled around. "By you?"

"Well ... actually no. I'm one of the lucky ones. I lie down for half an hour, have my tea and biscuit and then go back to work. But there are people in my office who have tried over and over again to give blood and they've passed out so many times they don't bother any more. You have more courage than any of them, Vincent, because you have to keep right on going through with it over and over again."

"These people you speak of ... are they women?"

Catherine felt a spark of anger. "No, they're not all women, Vincent. If it will make you feel any better, Joe tried three times and in the end the people at the Center told him not to come any more. Don't be so godamned chauvinistic!"

"Are you telling me that your discovering this ... this ... humiliating weakness within me, makes no difference to you, Catherine!"

She had hoped her anger would prod him into seeing how utterly needless his fears were, but obviously this was not the case. He needed all her sensitivity and gentleness, and she would stand here all night if that's what it took to give it to him. Standing, she walked a few steps and stood right in front of him.

"Difference? You surely can't believe it makes a difference to the way I feel about you?"

He turned away and dropped his head. Hands on hips, he kicked miserably at a stone on the chamber floor. Obviously that was exactly what he thought. Catherine raised her eyes to the ceiling and shook her head.

"Oh, Vincent, Vincent; what am I going to do with you? I LOVE you ... more than anyone, or anything in the world. You are my reason for living. If anything, this little 'weakness' as you seem to see it, makes you all the more lovable; all the more precious to me; all the more ... human."

He looked up quickly golden brows slanting fiercely; waiting for her to explain.

"It means you need me ... with you ... to be strong for you. I understand it's a traumatic time for you, Vincent, but I also know I can help you through it. May be it won't even happen this time, if I'm there to hold you." She took a step forward and slipped her arms through his and around his waist, trying to soften the rigidity in his tensed body.

"I should not count on it, Catherine. After the trouble I caused the first time, Mary was always there to hold me, as a child. It made no difference."

"What happened the first time?"

He took a deep breath before replying. "I was four years old. Father had no reason to believe I needed constant watching. I rolled off the bed, knocked the bottle of blood over and cut my head open on the glass.

"Oh God, Vincent!"

The thought of him suffering such physical and mental anguish all his life over something else that was a direct result of his 'differences', almost broke Catherine's heart. Hugging him close, she pressed her cheek against his chest.

"And I suppose the other children gave you a hard time?"

"They did not mean to be cruel. They could not know how much it ... hurt ... what they said."

"What did they say, Vincent?"

"That ... only girls had long hair ... and fainted." His voice was barely audible as he verbalised his painful memories. "Even Devin teased me."

A tear slid down Catherine's cheek at the vision of a little golden, kitten-faced angel being tormented by his peers for something which was so totally beyond his control then, and apparently still was.

"Oh, love!" She held on to him so tightly she felt his breath catch in his throat as he spoke.

"I thought you would despise me ... be as ashamed of me as I am of myself."

"How could you ever think that? This gives me just the excuse I've been waiting for ... to look after you ... have you lean on me for a change."

"In the circumstances, I do not think my 'leaning' on you would be a good idea, Catherine."

The slight wry humour gave Catherine the courage she needed to try and get him to talk about it. Pulling back she swiped a hand across her damp eyes and looked up at his face, meeting the brilliant blue eyes that had held so much misery a moment ago.

"Have you tried having something to eat before Father begins?"

Vincent gave a bitter laugh. "Catherine, I have presented myself to Father on a full stomach on an empty stomach ... and various stages in between. We have tried having the chamber warmer, cooler and at every possible time of the day or night. I have tried laying flat, sitting up ... and at every possible angle you can imagine. We have tried everything, believe me. The result is always the same. I don't know, I ... the moment I walk into the room I feel ..." He turned away, bowing his head, too embarrassed to continue.

Catherine slipped her right hand under his grey padded vest and rubbed his back. With the other hand she squeezed his upper arm, hoping all her love for him would be conveyed through touch; to encourage and reassure him.

"Tell me, Vincent." She didn't attempt to lift his hair in order to gauge his expression. She knew the anguish that would be written there and allowed him the privacy of trying to hide it. Squeezing his arm again she repeated: "This is something you've kept bottled up inside you for so long, love. Tell me. You can be anything you need to be, with me ... strong, weak, vulnerable.... anything. I couldn't love you more than I do already. So tell me, how do you feel when you go into that room?" Catherine felt a shudder course through his whole body and his raised his head slowly.

"My ... legs feel weak, boneless ... as if they are made of paper. And my heart ... begins to pound so hard I can barely hear what Father is saying. Then ... when I lay down on the bed and Father rolls up my sleeve ..." Vincent shivered as if he was cold, and Catherine's heart ached for him as she obviously relived every second of his twice yearly nightmare.

"You don't watch what's happening, surely?"

He shook his head. "No. But I don't need to see it to know. The instant I feel the needle forcing its way into my vein, I feel the blood start to drain from my body and ... and ..."

"That's when you feel faint." At his slight nod, Catherine increased the pressure of the imaginary circles she was drawing on his back and leaned her forehead against his arm. For a moment neither of them spoke, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally Vincent took a deep breath.

"Is Father still waiting for me?"

"Mmm hmm. But I'm sure he'll agree to put it off until tomorrow if you prefer."

But Vincent shook his head. "Sooner or later, it makes no difference, Catherine. I must face my fear the way I have always tried to teach others to face theirs."

"I knew you'd say that, Vincent. Come on. We'll tackle this together ... I'll never let you do this alone again."

Vincent glanced at her briefly, his expression full of awe and gratitude, then took her hand to begin the trek back to the hospital chamber.

Father was sorting and re-labeling a large number of bottles when they entered, and turned to peer at them over the top of his glasses.

"Ah, Vincent; Catherine. I wasn't sure whether to expect you back. I was just trying to get these preparations into some semblance of order."

"Father..."

"I need some morphine, Vincent. Do you think it's too soon to ask Peter?"

"Father, please... I wish to apologise for the things I said earlier."

The old man adjusted his glasses on his nose, dismissing his son's apology with a nonchalant wave of his fingers. "Nonsense, Vincent. You were quite right. I had no business interfering in an issue which causes you such distress. Are you er... all right?"

"No... but Catherine and I have spoken of the... problem. May we begin, Father?"

"Certainly. Catherine, do you wish to ,stay?"

She clung tightly to Vincent's hand and glanced up at him, receiving the barest flicker of affirmation from the zircon blue eyes. "Yes, Father. Vincent needs me; I know I can make this easier for him."

The old man raised his eyebrows in a 'yes-well-we-all-thought-that-at-one-time' expression but wisely refrained from voicing it. Instead he waved a hand at his son. "Very well. Make yourself comfortable, Vincent; try to relax and breathe deeply. All you need is for the oxygen to travel from here..." Father laid a hand on his son's diaphragm for a second before touching it to his forehead. ...to here."

Vincent raised one golden eyebrow and sat down on the bed. He watched in silence as Catherine removed his belt, helped him off with his tunic and undid the top two buttons of his shirt. Then he lay down flat on the bed with just a thin pillow beneath his head, his golden features already pale, and glistening with a film of perspiration. His hair spilled over the pillow and he suddenly looked very young and vulnerable. Sitting on the edge of the bed beside him, Catherine took his right hand in both of hers and held it tightly, never taking her eyes from his face as Father approached with the syringe.

"Look into my eyes, Vincent," she instructed softly.

"Are you ready?" Father enquired.

Vincent turned his head to meet Catherine's resolute and loving gaze and took a deep breath.

"Just... please, get on with it, Father," he snapped.

Suddenly it was very quiet in the chamber, the only sound being Vincent's rapid breathing through slightly parted lips as the dreaded needle probed his artery and his rich, red blood began to flow in a steady stream through the rubber tube and into the jar below. Vincent shut his eyes tightly and fought the familiar sinking feeling with every fiber of his being. He knew he was being paranoid, but reason didn't come into it at this stage, and he was convinced his entire body was being drained of blood by some monstrous creation of Bram Stoker from his childhood horror comics. Father's voice sounded as if he was speaking from the end of a very long tunnel.

"Don't be alarmed by his colour, Catherine. It'll be back to normal soon enough. Just watch him carefully; talk to him quietly if you want to. I sometimes do, in case it helps him at all."

"You're not leaving?"

"No, no. I'll just be over here, sorting these bottles. Don't worry."

Vincent lay quite still, every nerve end ready to scream at any moment; his only movement, the erratic rise and fall of his chest as he remembered, when his lungs screamed to breathe. His heart felt like a huge steel ball being slammed back and forth against his ribs, and he kept his eyes tightly shut, knowing from past experience that if he opened them, the room would be dark and he would once again be swallowed up in the black void. A bead of sweat trickled down either side of his face but, with Catherine hanging on like grim death to one arm and the vampire needle clamped firmly into the other, he couldn't even wipe them away. He wished he had not allowed Catherine to stay; no man should have the woman he loves witness his frailties and humiliation. But it was too late now; he didn't have the strength for a battle of words. Behind closed eyelids all Vincent could see was blood; his blood; pumping, flowing like a red river; without stopping until he was just a colourless shell of skin and bones... and fur.

He began to turn his head back and forth on the pillow in denial. The thudding beat of his heart filled his sensitive ears, deafening him to all other sound. The hospital chamber was stifling; what had happened to the air? He couldn't breathe. He knew what came next. Hold on, hold on, don't let it happen this time, please, not with Catherine here..

Suddenly, just as Vincent knew he was about to lose his tenuous grip on consciousness, he became vaguely aware that Catherine was speaking to him. At first her voice seemed very far away, but she was calling to him, touching him with fingers as cool and gentle as an evening Fall breeze; blotting his face and neck with a tissue. Somehow he had to find the strength to answer her.

"Vincent? Vincent, can you look at me? Open your eyes, love. Come on now, that's right... look at me."

Warily he dragged open his eyes, amazed and relieved to find that apart from being vaguely out of focus, the candlelit chamber looked much the same as usual. Catherine's beautiful face swam dizzily before him, her expression loving and serene, belying the overwhelming concern she felt for him, which filtered through the bond.

"Catherine," he murmured.

"I'm right here, love. Now listen to me, there's a concert in the Park tonight. How about you and I taking some cushions from your chamber and curling up together under the bandstand, to listen. How does that sound?" Her voice was soft, a gentle attempt to distract him from images of blood and needles. He felt a small hand slip the fastenings of his shirt and move inside to press over his heart.

"It's okay now... relax... it's okay." Her words were quiet and soothing and the feel of her hand softly raking the fur on his chest, was something unparalleled in all his thirty-four years. Through parted lips he dragged in a lungful of air. Catherine still hung on to his right hand and although he wouldn't have trusted himself to stand up just yet, he felt his thundering heartbeat begin a gradual deceleration until the pace was down to only twice its usual rhythm, as she caressed him soothingly. To Vincent, so sensitive to even the smallest touch or feeling, it was as if Catherine had reached deep inside him and kissed his heart.

He realised she was, indeed, raising her head from his chest, and brought up a hand to stroke her hair. He smiled and her face lit up with relief and pleasure.

"How're you doing?"

He gave a slight nod and attempted a smile. "Better than usual... thanks to you. You are a miracle to me, Catherine."

Father had been pottering at his counter, trying to appear oblivious to the interaction between Vincent and Catherine, but now approached his son and disconnected the tubing from his arm.

"Well that's it for this time. Try not to think about it again tonight." He peered at Vincent and rested the back of his hand briefly against the other's forehead. "I must say you look better than usual. Pale, but not that deathly white I've come to expect. How are you feeling?"

Vincent smiled up at his parent. "Surprisingly well, Father... thank you."

"Good, good. I dare say Catherine's presence has something to do with that," he acknowledged, glancing at her. "I'm grateful to you, my dear. Normally by now Mary and I are..." He caught Vincent's warning look and apparently decided not to continue with whatever he had been intending to say. "Yes, well, never mind about that. Now, Vincent, you are not to move from that bed for at least three quarters of an hour, not even..." he raised a hand to cut off Vincent's protest, "...if the chamber is on fire. Have you got that?"

Vincent sighed. "Whatever you say, Father."

"Catherine, I'm relying on you to keep him in bed... er, that is not quite what I had meant to say..."

Catherine laughed sympathetically at Father's obvious embarrassment and patted the old man's arm. "I think I know what you meant, Father, and don't worry... I will see Vincent stays exactly where he is even if I have to go get William to sit on him!"

Father allowed himself a chuckle, as did Vincent, and patted his son's shoulder. "Well, I can see you're in safe hands, Vincent, so I'll go and see about getting us all a nice cup of tea. I think we could all use one."

Alone again briefly, Vincent moved to sit up.

"Don't even think about it, Vincent," warned Catherine, and he smiled shyly.

"I am not going anywhere, Catherine. I merely wish to sit up; I feel at a distinct disadvantage lying down like this."

Catherine grinned and pulled some pillows from the adjoining bed to push behind him.

"Spoilsport. I think I like having you lying down and at my mercy. You look so vulnerable."

"That is not how I wish to look, Catherine."

"Okay, will you settle for 'adorable'?"

Vincent dropped his eyes and felt a blush creep across his cheeks. He suddenly detected an intensely powerful sensation emanating from Catherine; a combination of fierce, maternal protection and overwhelming sexual desire. He looked up, shaken by the force of her emotion. For a moment they looked at each other; it was a look that said everything that was in their hearts. Tentatively Vincent raised his arms in invitation, and at the same moment Catherine fell on him, throwing one arm around his neck and the other under his arm to clasp his back.

"Oh God, I love you so, Vincent!"

"Catherine," he whispered into her neck. They held each other tightly, unable to trust their voices. Finally, Catherine pulled back to look at him and Vincent broke the silence, intending to tell her everything that was in his heart, but in the end all he could say was: "Thank you. Catherine." He took her left hand in both of his and brought it to his mouth. Placing a kiss as soft as a butterfly's wing on her palm, he held it against his heart, unashamed now, that she would feel how he trembled with pent-up emotion.

"Promise me you'll never again be afraid to tell me what you're feeling, Vincent." He dropped his eyes but she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Promise me... please."

He looked up again, hardly daring to reply but knowing he must. "I promise, Catherine."

She nuzzled her face beneath the long, slightly damp strands of hair around his face into his neck and the fragrance of her hair tantalised his nostrils. Slowly he slid his arms around her again and held her against him.

"You are my life, Catherine... I love you," he whispered into her hair, half hoping she wouldn't hear him.

"I love you too, Vincent... and I'll be here for you whenever and however you need me. I'll never leave you... ever."