Part II

EXAMINING DREAMS

Ginny Shearin

Vincent took a deep breath as he left the bridge, considering the last few hours.  He was sure it had been a draining evening for all three of them.  Michael was overwhelmed with guilt about his desire for Catherine and for losing control and kissing her. . .feeling that he had betrayed both Catherine's innocent generosity and the trust of the man who had such faith in him.  Vincent was besieged with such jealousy that he couldn't bring himself to talk to Michael about the situation. . .feeling that he was betraying his own values as well as the trust of the woman he loved and the boy who thought he could do no wrong.  Catherine felt guilty for not having realized that Michael was infatuated with her. . .thinking that all the angst could have been avoided if she had only realized what was happening. None of them had escaped the situation emotionally unscathed; but it had all been resolved in the end, leaving all three of them restless and ill-at-ease but forgiven and understanding of one another. 

Vincent would always love Michael.  He was one of the first children who had come to the tunnels who, like Laura, appeared when Vincent was old enough to be a mentor as well as an "older brother," old enough to leave him feeling very nearly like a father to them.  He had trouble forgiving himself for his jealousy and resentment that Michael could be with Catherine in her world. . .and that Catherine was enjoying his company.  The kiss had pushed him past his normal limits of control.  He and Michael had held one another and come to an understanding; but earlier the feeling of betrayal had been so open and raw in both of them that it was bound to linger, short-lived though it might be. Vincent's nature would not allow him to hold Michael's youthful indiscretion against him, and Michael's new college life would distract him enough to distance him from it soon.

Walking back to his chamber after Michael left, Vincent's thoughts turned entirely to Catherine.  All he could think of was the love pouring from her as she made her arguments to help him resolve his feelings. . .as she pulled his head to her shoulder and hugged him, insisting that he deserved everything, even if he wanted it only for himself.  How could he possibly accept that when it meant further limiting her life. . .meant admitting to himself that he wanted things he believed he couldn't have?

Still edgy and feeling decidedly less than sleepy after reaching his chamber, he paced back and forth on the worn carpet and held another of his mental conversations with himself, both asking and answering his own questions.  He paused now and then when he came upon a point that he may have missed or refused to consider in similar, previous conversations.

"What do I want for Catherine?"

"The same thing her parents wanted. . .for her to be happy."

"What makes her happy?"

Small, unexpected things make her happy.  She enjoys the children. . .sees the wonders of life through their eyes. . .sometimes through mine.  She enjoys the sounds of music, something unusually well performed, or beautifully crafted, or well-written.  She's happy when she helps others, makes others happy. . .when she's done her job well. . . when she's with her friends. 

He stopped pacing for a moment, recognizing and accepting that she was happiest when she shared those things with him.  She was happy simply to be with him.  He had known it for a while.  She had told him repeatedly.  Why had it taken him so long to fully accept it as truth? He felt the same way about her.  That was certainly a truth.

"Could she bear to live the rest of her life in my world?"

"Probably not.  She loves my family. . .my world. . .feels comfortable in it, but she is a woman of both worlds.  We both know that, whether we've admitted it to ourselves or not.  My world accepts her as a part of us, but she needs the world Above, as well."

He was pacing again. 

"Does she love me enough that we can we find our way through that reality?"

He stopped again, assessing her words and feelings and being as honest with himself as he dared.

"Yes," he breathed softly to himself.  "She does."

"Does she understand the dangers. . .the possible disappointments?  Does she trust that we can live with them?"

"Yes," he whispered again, with a joyful sort of reverence.

"What does she want from me?"

The familiar pacing started again in earnest.  What she wanted from him provided fodder for both his fondest dreams and his worst nightmares.

"She wants my unconditional love.  She wants my support. . .my care and understanding.  She wants a commitment that we will have a life together.  She wants me to be a permanent part of her life." He paused his thoughts and paced another turn before allowing himself to continue.  "She wants my touch. . .my body next to hers. . . ."

Vincent automatically tucked that last thought into the back of his mind.  He wanted the same thing. . .too much. 

"Is it fair for me to offer her those things. . .knowing the limitations we may face. . .those we would undoubtedly face?"

"No.  I have no right to impose those constraints on her life."

"Is it fair for me not to offer her those things?"

"No.  Her heart is committed to me.  We are connected. . .bonded.  She feels my presence in her heart. I feel her heart beating next to mine.  She knows me in ways no one else does, and she still wants me.  She will accept no one else.  We can't turn back.  It's too late not to offer her whatever we can have together."

"What do I do?  Either way I limit her.  I should tell her that I will love her beyond the day I die. . .that there is nothing I could want more than to have her with me every day."

"Then why don't I tell her?"

"I don't know!"  He thought his answer so strongly and impatiently that he wasn't sure he hadn't shouted it aloud.

"Is it cowardice?  Concern for Catherine?  Fear of rejection?"

"Perhaps all of that."

"Was Catherine right?  Am I afraid to want these things for myself?  Am I afraid they could be within my reach and then snatched away?"

He stopped again and gave that idea some thought. 

"Yes.  That, too."

"I understand the dangers. . .the possible disappointments.  Do I trust that we can live with them?"

"Possibly."

"What do I want for myself?"

He leaned forward, planting both hands on the edge of his desk, his head down, and gave his dreams permission to surface honestly.

"Too much.  I want Catherine. . .however I can have her.  I want us to find a way to have the life we dream of.  I want her with me. . .as often as we can be together.  I want her unconditional love."

"I already have her unconditional love."

I want to tell her my hopes for us. . .all the things I feel for her. . .all the reasons I love her.  I want us to grow old together.  I want her in my life. . .I want her in my home. . . ." He halted his thoughts, hesitating to make the final admission to himself.  "I want her to share my bed.  I want her touch. . .her body next to mine. . . ."

He stood abruptly, banging his fist down roughly on the desk.

"Catherine and I can't have that."

The pacing resumed angrily.

"Catherine believes that we can."

"Why does she believe that?"

"Because I've never hurt her, no matter what state I was in. . .except her heart.  I've hurt her heart. . .every time I've turned away from her, withheld my feelings from her."

"Why do I continue to do that?"

"I don't know.  It has to stop.  She deserves better."

"And when does "better" start?

"Soon," he told himself, calming somewhat with the decision.  "Sometime soon."

*****

When Vincent reached Catherine's balcony, the events of the evening before came rushing back.  He was still ashamed of his response to the situation with Michael and concerned about the things he knew that he and Catherine should discuss.  To compose himself, instead of tapping on her door, he simply stood at the balcony wall, looking out over the city, and waited for her to find him there. When Catherine joined him, she left a small distance between them, seeming to recognize his discomfort.  The silence and the physical separation felt awkward and uncomfortable, and Vincent berated himself for not being able to end that, but he found himself tongue-tied and immobile.

He could feel Catherine's reluctance to speak first, not because she didn't want to speak to him, he thought. . .probably because she was afraid of saying the wrong thing.  She didn't have the same insight into his feelings that he had into hers, but he knew that, as always, she would give him the time he needed.  They stood looking at Manhattan, spread twinkling before them in the darkness, until Catherine broke the silence. 

"The lights are beautiful tonight."

He hesitated.  For a split second he leaned his head to the side, thinking he sensed another presence close by; but, just as quickly, he relaxed, recognizing that there was nothing to concern them.  Briefly, he found his voice.

"Yes," he answered softly.

They shared a look that spoke the love and longing in both of them; then he looked back at the city, knowing that he had again hurt her heart.  Without speaking or looking at her, he brought his arm up around her and pulled her gently against him, but with a more possessive feeling than usual. . .as if he had laid claim to her.  He felt Catherine respond with pleasure at that as she rested her head on his shoulder.  It soothed both their hearts.

They stood for a while without speaking or looking at one another, their hearts and bodies close, but the thorny silence still standing between them.  Again making a tentative first move, Catherine slid her arm under Vincent's cloak, wrapping it around his waist, and snuggling closer to him.  He quietly leaned his head against hers and knew she could feel some of the tension in his muscles begin to ease.  Her touch was a balm for his feelings, and at the first touch of his arm around her, he had sensed that he had the same effect on her.  They belonged together.  He understood that now.  Why couldn't he just say it?

Knowing that they were alone. . .would not be interrupted. . .allowed him to find some words of explanation.  A few minutes later he turned his head to nuzzle her hair and spoke to her softly. . .tentatively.  "Catherine. . . ."

"Yes."

He knew she was aware of his uncertainty.  "Speaking of things. . .concerning us. . .the words. . . .  It's difficult for me.  I don't understand all of the reasons.  Some have been to spare you. . .some to spare me.  Our future. . .our hopes. . .it seems as if speaking them aloud will wake me from a beautiful dream. . .and it will all disappear."

She looked up at him with all the love and understanding he expected and answered with a smile, "I'd like to hear whatever you want to say. . .now or later.  Just remember, if I'm a part of your beautiful dream, no words will make me disappear. . .ever."

"I will find the words, Catherine. . .you will hear them."

"But not tonight?"

Vincent paused but finally gave her a small, appreciative smile, pulled her into the full embrace they had both wanted all evening, and hoped that 'I love you.' silently found its way through their bond and into her heart. 

He would find the right words soon. . .and the courage to say them.  And they would begin to build their life together.

~_*~