BARS

"So, how was your vacation, Radcliffe?" Joe greeted her as she entered his office.

"Fine, thanks for asking," Catherine replied.

"It had better be," he grumbled, "because it earned you quite a load of work and it's waiting for you on your desk."

She moaned and rolled her eyes. "Why am I not surprised to hear that?"

The first thing she did when she arrived at her desk was to check all reports for any trace of the two bodies that must have turned up on December 12, the day Vincent had taken Daniel and her into the Tunnels. But she found nothing. That was certainly more than strange.

Although she tackled the stack of folders before her with fierce determination, there was no way of accomplishing all of it by the time the office closed. Catherine sifted through the remaining folders, picking out a few that she would take home with her. Otherwise she'd be behind schedule for the rest of the week. Stuffing the folders into her bag, she prepared to leave.

"Going to do some homework tonight?" Joe quipped as he passed her desk on his way out.

"I guess so," Catherine mumbled in response, although she knew he was already out of hearing range.

Traffic was terrible as always, and Catherine was relieved when she finally slammed the door of her car shut and headed for the elevator. Someone came up behind her, but she didn't really pay attention. Her thoughts were occupied with the workload in her bag, and she accelerated her steps in order to get it over with. Suddenly a hand snaked around her head, covering her mouth and nose with a piece of cloth. A sharp, medicinal smell stung her nostrils, and there wasn't even enough time to be terrified before she dropped her bag and fell to the cold concrete floor.

She was on the back seat of a car when she regained consciousness, sitting between two men who talked above her head.

"The Doctor won't give a damn why it took us so long to get her," one of them said.

"Yeah, but I guess he's curious as hell where she's been for the last two weeks."

"Hey, she's awake. Give her some more," the first one demanded nervously.

Catherine brought up her hands to ward off the nauseating smell, but she was too weak. At least I'm going to vomit all over them, she thought with grim satisfaction before she passed out again.

*

Vincent had been receiving mixed signals from Catherine all day long. Frustration, puzzlement, impatience, startlement, dizziness...but now there was nothing, and that worried him. Pacing back and forth in front of Father's huge desk, Vincent threw up his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "I can't even sense where she is," he complained.

"Maybe we should have talked her into staying Below," Father offered, but Vincent didn't listen.

"I must go to her," he said.

"But didn't you say you can't sense where she is?" Daniel cut in.

"Then I will go to her terrace and wait for her," Vincent replied impatiently, already turning to leave. Father's voice followed him out into the corridor, but he no longer paid attention to his words. There was no time for talking. He had to find Catherine.

*

The mouth of the gun pressed painfully into Catherine's back as one of the men shoved her down the staircase into a murky, gloomy basement. She stumbled and would have fallen, but he swiftly grabbed her hair and pulled her back. Tears of helpless anger and pain sprang to her eyes, but she suppressed them valiantly. They would not be given the satisfaction of seeing her break down and cry. On reaching the bottom of the staircase, the man pushed a switch in the wall and a glaring fluorescent light flashed to life. Reflexively Catherine covered her eyes with the back of her hand. Only when she felt that she had adjusted to the sudden brightness, she withdrew her hand and, for a moment, forgot to breathe. She was pushed in front of what seemed to be a large cage which was ensconced in the wall. As she peered at it more closely, she realized that it actually was a cave, closed off with heavy steel bars, but as she reached out to touch the metal, her captor pulled her back abruptly.

"I wouldn't do that," he sneered. "Unless you wanna be grilled by a jolt of electricity."

Catherine frowned and tried to pierce the gloomy darkness inside the cage. Involuntarily her hand felt for the comforting solidity of Vincent's crystal against her breast. On the far end of the cave sat a figure huddled on the floor, shoulders slumped and forehead rested on his knees. A wave of sympathy washed over her as she took in the tired and dejected pose of the other prisoner. Two more guards had appeared behind her, aiming their weapons at her while the first one pulled a lever and unlocked the door.

"Time to get acquainted," he mocked viciously. "Maybe you feel more like talking to him, since you don't seem to be willing to talk to normal people." Bile rose in Catherine's throat at the thought of what the guard considered 'normal'. At that moment, the other prisoner raised his head, turning his face toward her, and she froze. So that was why they had told Daniel they already had the one they thought he'd been looking for. There was not much time for thinking, though, because she was pushed violently into the cage and heard the steel door fall into place behind her with a merciless and final sound. The key was turned and the lever returned to its initial position, but Catherine didn't really notice. The man who looked up at her from the sandy floor had a face like Vincent's, only older. His shaggy mane was streaked with strands of white and silver, and his eyes betrayed a haunted bitterness, yet at the same time sad resignation.

Suddenly the room went dark, and, for a second, panic threatened to overwhelm her. But she quickly regained sufficient self-control to feel her way over to the wall opposite him, carefully avoiding the side of the cage where she knew the bars must be. She slid to the ground, frantically searching for something to say, or to do. If only they hadn't turned off the light! The darkness terrified her and she closed her eyes. Squeezing the crystal, she tried to imagine the warm glow of the candles in Vincent's chamber and the velvety tone of his voice. Immediately her churning emotions calmed and she sent reassuring waves along the bond. She knew Vincent would find her here, but she wanted him to take his time, to move cautiously. If he felt her panic, he might be driven to rush things, and that would only pose an additional danger for him, for all of them.

"Have you been kept in here for long?" she asked into the eerie darkness, but no answer was forthcoming. She swallowed, suddenly anxious to hear the other speak, to ascertain that he would not threaten her. "Please," she entreated. "Talk to me. Maybe we can help each other." It occurred to her briefly that he might not be capable of speech, but then she remembered the wary intelligence in his eyes as he had looked up at her, untamed and distant. Her heart ached with the thought that it might just as well be Vincent who was suffering the fate of a caged creature, bodily and spiritually restrained and maltreated.

There was still no answer, and so she lapsed into silence, waiting and praying.

*

Vincent was frantic with worry as he paced Catherine's balcony, repeatedly glancing at the dark windows. She was not home, and he had a strong feeling that she wouldn't come. Growling in despair, he braced his hands on the balustrade and looked out over the city. "Call out to me, Catherine," he pleaded. "Please, I need your help!"

Suddenly the bond tightened with her rekindled consciousness, and although the emotions it conveyed were anger and fear, Vincent sighed with relief. As he was scaling the wall of the balcony up to the roof, his mind worked feverishly to locate Catherine. Now that he could sense her again, he'd find her. He knew that he would.

*

Catherine felt dizzy and disoriented, thinking that she must have been asleep for a while. Her eyes, however, had adjusted to the meager light that filtered through a crack in the door at the top of the stairs, and she started violently as she found herself face to face with her co-prisoner. A satisfied smile played across his feline mouth as she recoiled. Swiftly she regained her composure and returned his smile. "You took me by surprise," she said. Confusion flashed across his familiar and yet so strange features, and he withdrew to his corner of the cave, resuming his hunched position. Certain that he meant her no harm, she inched closer. "Who are you?" she inquired softly. "What did they do to you?" At first he seemed to ignore her, but then his head came up slowly and he studied her intently.

His voice was deep and hoarse as if he hadn't used it in a very long time. "Warum fürchtest du dich nicht vor mir?" he said, and from the intonation of the sentence she could tell that it was a question. "Alle fürchten sich vor mir," he went on, and Catherine searched her fragmentary knowledge of languages for any clue as to what tongue he was using. "Und die Menschen quälen, was sie fürchten," he resumed, unperturbed.

"Can you understand me?" she interrupted his speech. He looked at her silently for a long moment and then nodded. "Thank God," she breathed. "Where do you come from? What language are you speaking?"

"Europa," he replied. "Ich spreche Deutsch."

"German?" she asked, relieved that they had been able to clear this up. She had been to Germany once. Maybe she could even recall a few German words in order to get at least an idea of what he was talking about. "How long have you been here?" she inquired, but he only shrugged. "Listen," she tried again. "Somebody will come to get me out of here. Will you come with us?"

He just looked at her with something akin to pity. "Niemand kommt hier lebend raus," he said listlessly.

She sighed with exasperation. "If I could only understand what you are saying." For a moment she considered telling him about Vincent. Maybe that would give him hope. But then she decided against it. They were probably being overheard, and with a shudder she realized that in her attempt to reassure him, she had said too much already. Carefully she scooted over to where he sat and bent close to his ear, whispering, "If it were possible to get out of here, where would you go? Do you have a home?"

He averted his face, and it took her a while to realize that he was fighting tears. Maybe it was because she saw so much of Vincent in this stranger; maybe she was being incautious; but she couldn't help herself, she had to comfort this lost soul somehow. So she put her hand on his skinny shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. He tensed immediately, poising to recoil. Not meaning to cause him any discomfort, she quickly withdrew her hand. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

Slowly he turned to face her again. "Wer bist du?" he asked. "Warum bist du hier? Was wollen sie von dir?"

So many questions, and all she could understand was that he wanted to know who she was. She could only guess at the rest. "My name is Catherine Chandler," she replied, but before she could say any more, the door was pushed open and the light went on.

Someone descended the staircase noisily, shouting, "Time for supper!"

Reflexively shielding her eyes against the sudden brightness, Catherine could hear someone turning off the electricity in the bars, and as she dared to look, she saw a man shoving a tray with food through a low aperture on ground level.

"You better eat something this time, Leo!" he demanded. "Or the Doctor will shove it down your throat with his own hands again." Without a backward glance he reactivated the electricity and disappeared. Gratefully Catherine realized that the lights had not been turned off this time. Maybe they had just meant to scare her by leaving her in darkness with someone whose looks they deemed terrifying.

"Leo?" she said when he didn't move, clearly resolved not to touch any of the food. "Is that your name?" He didn't respond, but she hadn't really expected him to. It seemed clear enough that they just intended to mock his appearance by calling him by that name. She perused the tray before her. It contained soup, bread, water, and two apples. At least they do mean to keep us alive for some purpose, she thought wryly.

The 'Doctor'! The way the man had pronounced it, it had sounded more like a name than a title, and Catherine wondered if he might have been referring to the same person Daniel had called 'Frankenstein'. Her thoughts returned to her silent companion. From the way his shoulder had felt beneath her touch, she could tell that he hadn't eaten in quite a while. Catherine wondered briefly if they had really fed him by force like the guard had given her to understand.

"Please," she implored him. "You have to maintain your strength." And, bending close to his ear, she added, "I promise you that my friends will get us out of here before long." She sighed, knowing all too well that she was trying to sound more optimistic than she felt. He shifted his weight and raised his head to look into her eyes. Patiently she endured his silent scrutiny, hoping that he wouldn't see any of the fears and doubts that she was fighting so desperately.

She was surprised to see him smile, his teeth glinting white in the shadow that concealed his features. And then he extended his arm to reach for a chunk of bread. Relief washed over her as he took a bite and began to chew slowly. She picked up one of the bowls and tasted the soup appreciatively. "It's good," she observed. "Try some." Wordlessly he complied, and the way he bent forward to retrieve his bowl reminded her so much of Vincent that she had to close her eyes to hide the tears that threatened to spill. He released the bowl immediately, and when she looked at him again, she could see the concern evident in every line of his face as he peered at her from under his ragged bangs. Again, so very much like Vincent, but this time it made her smile. She looked forward to seeing the two of them together, and as she took another spoonful of soup, she felt more confident than she had ever since the moment she'd been captured. They finished their meal in companionable silence, ignoring the remarks of the guard as he came to retrieve the empty tray.

*

Vincent leaned heavily on his arms as he studied the maps on the table before him. "Catherine must be in one of these buildings," he said, shifting his weight as he pointed at the area in question.

With the back of his pencil Winslow drew an invisible line from Central Park to the marked area. "We could break through to the basements of practically all of these buildings from here," he suggested, tapping the pencil against the map. "Should be no problem."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Cullen asked with a shrug.

Vincent expelled a low sigh. "I wish I could do this alone," he said. "The thought of jeopardizing any of you..."

"But you can't do it alone," Jamie cut in.

"Go get tools," Mouse announced eagerly.

Vincent raised his head and surveyed the small assembly of friends who were offering their help so unconditionally. "Thank you," he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"We'd better be going," Winslow mumbled with a companionable clap on Vincent's shoulder.

*

Someone slammed a door, and Catherine was startled into wakefulness, finding herself covered with a shabby piece of cloth that 'Leo' must have put over her after she'd fallen asleep. She disliked calling him that, even if only in her thoughts. Again she heard steps on the stairs and made out the sound of at least three people.

"Get up, Ms. Chandler," someone ordered, turning the key in the lock. "Interrogation time."

Suddenly 'Leo' released a low growl, and Catherine whisked around to see him crouching behind her, his upper lip curling in a menacing snarl. She wondered fleetingly if Vincent was capable of producing a sound like that and decided that he probably was. The next thing she was aware of was the muted sound of a shot, and 'Leo' went to the ground, clutching at the dart that stuck in his side. He tore it out but the sedative evidently had already taken effect. Alarm bells went off in her head, but she had no time to pursue the stark feeling of apprehension that gripped her stomach. Two men entered the cave, one of them briefly checking 'Leo's' pulse before he grabbed her arm. "One night together and he's already protecting her," he remarked, leering at Catherine, while the third man aimed his gun at her. The expression on his face made it very clear that he would pull the trigger without blinking twice, should she try to resist. They dragged her up the stairs and along several corridors, and finally pushed her into a room that was equipped for medical purposes. She was strapped securely to a chair from where she could watch one of them preparing a syringe. Deadly fear struck her with the force of a blow. Until now she had felt relatively safe, assuming that her life was of some value to the men who held her captive. But looking into the cold, uncaring eyes of the man who was bending over her right now, made her suddenly doubt that. A door opened and her tormentors straightened as if saluting the man who entered the room.

"Now, now, guys," he said in a deceptively soothing voice. "That's no way to treat a lady, is it?"

Catherine looked up and found herself face to face with a black-haired man whose dark, dangerously expressive eyes sent a chill down her spine. The thug with the syringe retreated to the corner of the room as the newcomer pulled up a chair beside her and sat down.

"So?" he began, raising one eyebrow. "Where do we start?"

"What do you want?" Catherine managed hoarsely.

"Names, places, facts," he replied detachedly.

"What names?" she inquired, trying to keep her voice even, but he pushed himself to his feet, suddenly towering over her.

"Don't play games with me, Ms. Chandler," he snorted. "You know very well what I want to know."

Catherine thought it best not to answer to that. Most likely it would be best not to say anything further at all.

"Shall I, Doctor?" one of the men asked from the far end of the room.

"Shut up, Horace, and calm down," the Doctor replied, regarding her with cold curiosity as if he were studying some specimen in his lab. "Now, what are we going to do?" he asked, and it took Catherine a few moments to comprehend that he had directed the question at her. Her mind worked feverishly to come up with a solution to her plight. She had every reason to suspect that the syringe was filled with a drug that was meant to lower her guard so that she'd give away what they wanted to know. Her eyes burned with unshed tears of fury and despair. What if she wasn't able to withhold the truth from them? What if she gave away the secret of the Tunnels? The Doctor obviously knew that there was someone else like 'Leo', and he appeared very keen on finding that someone. "Let's not waste precious time," the Doctor said, signaling the man with the syringe to step forward.

"No," Catherine whispered helplessly as he rolled up the sleeve of her blouse and positioned the needle. She felt a brief sting and looked around her frantically, trying to imagine what would happen next, but a few moments later a strange calmness settled about her and she didn't care much anymore what happened to her. Her vision blurred and the voices around her were muted as they pressed in on her. An image of Vincent swam before her inner eye. "Go away," she warned him. "Run! Hide!" And then he was gone.

*

The hammer almost missed the head of the chisel as a wave of pain and nausea washed over Vincent. He froze and groaned in agony. "Catherine!" he gasped.

Instantly, Mouse and Winslow were at his side. "What is it?" Winslow inquired, concerned.

Feverishly resuming his work, Vincent responded, "They're torturing her. We must hurry. We are almost through." He swallowed down his sudden nausea and drove the chisel into the rock with powerful blows. Never noticing the desperate looks his friends exchanged behind his back, he sent out a silent message to Catherine. I'm coming. Don't give up. I'm on my way.

*

When Catherine came to, she was back in the cage and someone was cooling her forehead with a damp cloth. "Leo?" she inquired laboriously.

"Johannes," he said. "Ich heiße Johannes."

"Thank God," she muttered. "I hated that other name." She heard him chuckle softly and opened her eyes in surprise. A stab of intense pain tore through her head as she tried to lever herself up on one elbow.

"Bleib liegen," he ordered. "Ruh dich aus." Groaning, she fell back on the makeshift cushion he had folded out of his blanket.

"You knew what was going to happen when they came for me," she observed. "Didn't you?"

Nodding, he rose and walked over to a small alcove in the far corner of the cave that served as a bathroom. When he returned, the cloth he pressed against her face was cool again.

"Thank you," she murmured, touched by his solicitude. Suddenly a suspicion leapt to her mind. "Did they...do that to you as well?" His eyes looked suddenly haunted, and that was all the answer she needed. "Those bastards," she ground out between clenched teeth. "And I can't even recall if they were successful with me. What if..." She interrupted herself, deciding that it was time to prepare 'Leo' -- no, Johannes, she mentally corrected herself -- it was time she prepared him for the truth. With a wave of her hand, she indicated for him to bring his ear close to her mouth. Reluctantly he lowered his head. "The friend I am trying to protect from them looks like you," she whispered. "That's why they want him." Johannes jerked back and sat up straight. His eyes rounded with awe as he digested that bit of information.

"Deshalb hattest du also keine Angst vor mir," he murmured.

"Johannes," she said softly, struggling a bit with the unfamiliar syllables of the foreign name. "Why is it that you understand English so well, yet you don't speak a word of it? I really wish I was able to understand what you say."

He looked aside and then back again. "Ich fürchte, das weiß ich auch nicht genau," he replied with a shrug.

Catherine sighed resignedly, and they traded a sad smile. The pain in her head was slowly subsiding, but she felt still dizzy and sick to her stomach as she slowly pushed herself into a sitting position. Johannes rose and crossed the cage, disappearing into the bathroom. When he emerged again, he carried a plastic mug filled with water. Squatting down before her, he offered it to her with a silent gesture. She drank gratefully, eagerly gulping down the cool liquid.

"Langsam," he admonished gently, withdrawing the mug, but she reached for his wrist, pulling it back to her mouth. He released the handle and jerked his hand away, his abrupt movement causing the water to spill over Catherine's face. "Verzeihung," he murmured with a crestfallen look.

"You don't like to be touched, do you?" Catherine observed, wiping her face with the sleeve of her blouse.

After a brief, uneasy pause he responded, "Ich bin es nicht gewohnt...von einer Frau...berührt zu werden."

Catherine recognized the word 'Frau' -- 'woman' -- and she nodded in understanding. Her heart ached for this gentle soul, caged in the body of a feral creature, and her mind wandered back to Vincent and his initial reluctance to accept her touch and trust her desire to be touched...by him.

As she lifted her eyes, she met Johannes' gaze as he studied her intently. Obviously embarrassed by his ill-mannered curiosity, he hastened to avert his face, and Catherine had the fleeting impression that her thoughts and feelings were like an open book to him. It occurred to her that Johannes might be an empath, too. Maybe he was even telepathic, which she knew Vincent was not; but it might explain why he understood her so well while he was unable to express himself in her language. Anyway, this manner of internal conversation, even though it went only one way, might prove an advantage over their captors, and she sensed a new hope rising within her. She sent a mental wave of reassurance toward Johannes, causing his head to snap up. He stared at her in bewilderment. "It's all right," she whispered in a soothing voice and added inwardly, 'Vincent can do that, too.'

Johannes' features brightened in dawning comprehension, and a single tear slid down his wrinkled cheek as he gave her a conspiratory nod. "Es geht dir wieder besser," he stated, and she raised her eyebrows inquiringly. Whatever Johannes had just said, she suddenly noticed with gratitude that the nausea was gone and that she was feeling a lot better already.

*

Vincent paused again, listening intently to the bond, puzzled by the sudden quietude and contentment he sensed. He released an involuntary sigh of relief that the immediate threat to Catherine's well-being seemed to have passed for now.

"Another couple of hours and we'll break through," he heard Cullen's voice from behind him. With a short nod, he swung back his arm for yet another forceful blow.

*

Catherine woke to an unfamiliar sound and scanned the gloomy cave disorientedly. Johannes was sitting with his back to her, singing quietly to himself, a soothing lullaby in his native tongue, and the simple rhymes and tunes wrapped comfortingly around her weary mind. She pulled the blanket more tightly about herself and closed her eyes again. Just about to drift back to sleep, she was roused by the flaring light of the fluorescent lamp as heavy steps pounded down the stairs. Johannes spun around and jumped to get between her and the barred door of the cage. Catherine scrambled clumsily to her feet, leaning back against the welcome solidity of the rocky wall. The menacing sound of Johannes' snarls filled the room and made the fine hairs on the nape of her neck stand on end.

Three men, one of them armed with a gun, appeared outside the cave. The electricity was being turned off and a key was turned in the lock.

"Step back, Leo," one of the guards warned. "Or you're in for another shot."

"Be careful, Rick," his companion warned. "Let me put him to sleep first."

"No, the Doctor needs him right afterwards," Rick gave back with a wave of his hand.

Johannes released another warning growl. "Please," Catherine called from the back of the cave, and inwardly she added, Don't endanger yourself. If they want me, they will get me anyway.

Johannes fell silent and retreated a few steps, his shoulders heaving with the effort to restrain himself.

"See, that's better," Rick remarked coldly, pulling the heavy door open. Instantly Johannes launched forward, knocking the intruder to the floor. The next moment he fell back, a dart sticking to the side of his neck. "Idiot," Rick mumbled as he regained his feet. "The Doctor will have your ass for that, Horace. I told you he wanted the freak upstairs."

"Don't worry," the other man replied. "It was only a minimal dose. He'll be out for ten minutes, tops."

Rick grunted something unintelligible and gave Johannes' ribs a forceful kick before he advanced towards Catherine. At that instant, panic got the better of her, and she struggled violently against Rick's attempts to drag her from the cave. She was just able to place a vicious blow in Rick's groin area, making him double over, when something solid hit her head and everything around her went dark.

When Catherine regained consciousness, she was strapped to the chair in the interrogation room. "Good morning, Ms. Chandler," the Doctor taunted, waving a syringe before her face. "I must admit that you disappointed me. I thought you were smarter than that."

Catherine's head ached like hell, and she didn't dare move for fear it might burst at any moment.

"Do we need the needle," the Doctor resumed detachedly, "or will you cooperate without it, this time?"

"What do you want?" Catherine managed through gritted teeth.

"Daniel," came the answer, "and the killer who got two of my men." He reached behind him and produced a couple of photographs, handing them over to Rick who brought them before Catherine's face. "Not exactly a pretty sight, is it?" he went on. It took Catherine's eyes a few moments to adjust before she could make out the pictures of two torn and battered bodies. She stared at them in mute horror while the Doctor's voice kept pressing in on her. "What kind of a woman are you, Ms. Chandler, to protect such an animal? What kind of...link...do you have? Tell me about him. How did he get to you?" When Catherine didn't respond, the Doctor pushed himself from the chair, turning his back on her. "Or does he turn you on in some perverse way?" he said in a deadly calm voice.

Catherine squeezed her eyes shut, heedless of the sharp pain that tore through her head. Trying hard to control her labored breathing, she fought to concentrate on something that would take her mind off the fury, pain, and confusion she felt.

"Well," the Doctor's voice reached her after a while. "It would seem that we have to apply some medication after all."

This time, she barely felt the sting as he pressed the needle into her vein.

*

Another jolt of pain overwhelmed Vincent as he and the others were clearing the aperture they had just created from debris. "We must hurry," Vincent gasped, pressing his hands to his temples.

"We can't rush this," Cullen admonished. "Jamie, Rebecca, you two stay here please."

Jamie poised herself to contradict, but Rebecca put a calming hand on the young woman's shoulder. "They need us here," she said.

"Let's go," Winslow demanded, inclining his head toward the opening in the wall.

"Let's go," Mouse reiterated, fidgeting impatiently.

Slowly, cautiously, the four men inched their way through the narrow crawlspace they had just opened, which led them into a small storage chamber. Signaling for his companions to turn off their flashlights, Vincent tested the handle of the door. Fortunately it wasn't locked. One by one they stepped into the large room beyond. It lay in darkness; only a small ray of light slanted in from under the door at the top of the stairs. It was enough for Vincent to make out the bars in front of a cave that was hewn into the rock at the far end of the basement. His acute hearing picked up the sound of irregular breathing from inside the cage. Someone was in pain over there, and without hesitating any longer Vincent switched on his flashlight and swept the floor and walls with its beam. The bars of the cage glinted coldly in the artificial light, and beyond those bars Vincent glimpsed the huddled form of a human being who lay with his back to the grate.

Laboriously the man pushed himself onto his hands and knees. "Rührt die Stäbe nicht an," he warned, and Vincent quickly withdrew the hand he'd been about to extend to probe the lock of the cage.

"What did he say?" Winslow inquired.

"Don't touch the bars," Vincent explained.

The man in the cage raised his head. "Wer seid ihr?" he inquired, his features now clearly visible in the halo of Vincent's lamp. Vincent froze and his heart skipped a beat as he found himself staring into a mirror image of his own face. The other man appeared every bit as spellbound as Vincent himself, but quickly regained his composure. "Du bist Vincent, nicht wahr?" he observed simply.

"How come he knows you?" Cullen asked, alarm tingeing his voice, but Vincent silenced him with a gesture of his hand.

"Catherine wußte, daß du kommen würdest," the stranger continued when Vincent remained silent.

The mentioning of Catherine's name spurred Vincent into action. "Where is she?" he demanded, deeply concerned because he didn't receive anything across the bond.

"Oben. Sie haben sie geholt, um sie zu verhören."

"She's upstairs," Vincent translated for his companions, instantly moving toward the foot of the stairs. But then he paused, turning back to the captive again. "Can you show us to her?" he asked, and the man nodded.

"Du mußt zuerst den Strom ausschalten," he advised. "Dort drüben ist ein Hebel."

"Cullen, there's a lever over there," Vincent pointed out to his friend. "Please turn off the electricity."

Cullen complied wordlessly, and Vincent set to work freeing their newfound helper. He seized the steel bars of the door and pulled and pushed until the hinges and the lock yielded to his strength, and he was able to dislodge the grate. The strange prisoner watched all that in wry amusement and, shaking his head, remarked drily, "Ich war auch einmal jung."

Vincent tossed the grate aside and extended his hand in mute greeting. "Who are you?" he finally inquired in an emotion-filled voice.

"Johannes," the other replied as he grasped the proffered hand. For an instant, both men's eyes were riveted to the gentle clasping of large, furred hands, one russet and amber, the other streaked with gray, before their gazes met and they spun toward the stairs in wordless agreement. As if returning from a trance-like state, Winslow, Cullen, and Mouse set into motion and followed the extraordinary pair who led the way.

*

Smoke stung Catherine's nostrils and scoured her lungs, making it difficult for her to breathe. The sound of splintering wood and muffled cries from the adjoining room gradually penetrated her fogged mind, and she tried to open her eyes and look around. A wave of intense nausea washed over her and forced her to lay back again. Suddenly a door burst open and the crackling of flames startled her into alertness. She tried to cry for help but found that she couldn't use her voice. With effort, she struggled to push herself into a sitting position, but found that she was still strapped to the surgery-chair. Terrified, she watched as flames licked into the room, quickly approaching her. "No," she gasped, and the last thing she knew was that she called Vincent's name.

*

"Is she badly hurt?" Jamie asked as Vincent squeezed through the opening, his precious burden tucked securely to his chest.

"We got to her in time," Cullen replied in Vincent's stead, reaching out to help Johannes through the hole in the wall. Ignoring Cullen's hand, Johannes stumbled, groping for the wall in order to steady himself.

"Catherine is still unconscious," Vincent explained. "We must get her to Father as quickly as possible." Only now did he notice the startled and quizzical expressions on the women's faces as they gazed at Johannes who stood staring blankly at the bloody smear his hand had left on the rocky wall.

"This is Johannes," Vincent introduced without elaborating further. "We better go now."

*

It was a long and laborious walk. Jamie led the way, tapping out brief messages from time to time. Mouse had sprained his ankle and was hobbling on one leg for the most part of the journey, supported by Winslow and Rebecca. Johannes staggered along, refusing to be touched, and so Cullen just walked behind him, unobtrusively monitoring his movements. Vincent walked at the end of the trail, needing to survey the small group before him and ascertain that everyone was getting along safely. Catherine's breathing, as it grazed the sweaty skin of his neck, had returned to normal, and Vincent was fairly certain that, despite the nasty wound on her temple, she was just sleeping off the aftereffects of the drug Johannes had mentioned. The soft humming of the bond told him that Catherine's sleep was peaceful and untroubled.

As they walked on, Vincent's mind wandered back to the events in the Doctor's building. There was no way telling what had happened to the madman and his minions. He remembered killing one of them by smashing him against the wall as he tried to keep him from getting through to Catherine. And he had seen Johannes tearing apart at least two of them. Vincent felt his stomach contract at the memory of Johannes' distorted face as he had succumbed to rage and revenge and the urge to destroy everything and everyone that had ever hurt and humiliated him. How well he knew that kind of rage. How well he understood the man who resembled him so much.

Johannes stopped abruptly in his tracks and turned around to catch Vincent's eyes. Cullen all but bumped into him as he skidded to a halt. Vincent kept his gaze steady and calm as he met the haunted wildness on Johannes' face. Silently Vincent berated himself that he hadn't paid closer attention to the direction his thoughts and emotions had taken. It would require some adjustment on his part in order to get accustomed to being read the way he'd been able to read others practically all his life.

Slowly Johannes' gaze slipped from Vincent's face and came to rest on Catherine's still form in his arms. His features softened and he spun around to resume walking. Cullen released an involuntary sigh of relief and followed him wordlessly.

No one talked for the remainder of the way, everyone eager to return home at last.

*

Father was expecting them in the hospital chamber, and Vincent hurried to lower Catherine onto one of the cots that had been prepared for them. He straightened just in time to see Father's eyes go round in surprise as he caught sight of Johannes who was just appearing in the doorway.

"Father, this is Johannes," Vincent introduced in an attempt to ease the tension in the room. "He was being kept prisoner together with Catherine and helped us bring her back."

Father's featured brightened with a genuine smile and he extended one hand to welcome the stranger, but Johannes flinched, hiding his hands behind his back. His eyes darted back and forth, and Vincent could sense that he was about to bolt from the room. "Johannes?" he called out to him cautiously, deliberately choosing the other's mother tongue to ask him to come over. "Kommst du bitte zu mir herüber and hilfst mir?" With relief he watched as Johannes crossed the room on unsteady legs, but was apparently soothed by the familiar sound of his native language. "Weißt du, woher Catherine diese Wunde hat?" Vincent inquired, pointing at the nasty gash next to Catherine's brow.

"Sie haben sie niedergeschlagen," Johannes replied as he eased himself on his knees beside Catherine's cot, hanging his head.

"It's all right," Vincent consoled, unconsciously lapsing back into English. "I am certain you did what you could to help her."

Father had joined them, checking Catherine's vital signs and deftly examining her wound. "This requires a few stitches," he said, "but otherwise she is going to be fine." Glancing down at Johannes' bloody hands, he cast Vincent an inquiring look.

"Johannes," Vincent addressed the other man. "My father would like to examine your injuries."

"Es ist nichts," Johannes replied evasively, inclining his head in Mouse's direction. "Der junge Mann hat ein verletztes Bein."

"He says that Mouse's leg needs your attention," Vincent translated to Father.

"Mouse is fine. Not hurt bad," Mouse contradicted from the far end of the hospital chamber.

Father exchanged another intense look with Vincent before he rose to his feet and crossed the room to examine Mouse's ankle. "Maybe our new friend would like to retire and rest," he spoke back over his shoulder. "Vincent, please would you see to that?"

Johannes' desire to get away from the hospital chamber was a palpable thing; yet he said, "Du solltest bei Catherine bleiben. Sie braucht dich."

"Catherine is going to be asleep for some time yet," Vincent replied. "Let's go and get you settled in, and I will be back by the time she awakens."

Johannes nodded and pushed himself to his feet, his deep fatigue evident in the way he moved. Vincent could feel Father's eyes following them as he put an arm around Johannes' waist and led him from the chamber.

*

Tears ran down Catherine's cheeks when the rhythmic songs of the pipes trickled into her sleep. Don't let it be a dream, she prayed silently, and in response a familiar voice called her name. Instantly her eyes flew open. "Vincent?" she grated, her throat still sore from the smoke.

"I'm here," he soothed, kneeling down by her side. "How are you feeling?"

"The smoke," she said incredulously. "The fire."

"Johannes destroyed the lab," Vincent explained, "and the upper stories of the house caught fire."

"You found Johannes," Catherine sighed. "Where is he?"

"Asleep in one of the guest chambers."

She nodded, momentarily satisfied, but then she noticed a red streak on Vincent's cheek, and instantly her hand jerked up to touch the nasty mark. "Is that a burn?"

"It is nothing," Vincent replied, capturing her hand in his. "Don't worry yourself." He pressed a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist, and the feel of his lips on her skin sent a shiver through her. How she had missed him!

"Catherine," Vincent said cautiously. "I need to know what those men did to you. I'm sorry but I..."

"It's all right," she cut off his apology. "I understand. They tried to force me into telling them where they could find you, Vincent. They injected me with some drug to weaken my willpower, but I honestly can't tell you if they succeeded. I can hardly remember anything after the Doctor gave me the shot."

"What did that so-called 'Doctor' look like?" Vincent asked carefully.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because at least three of the men who held you captive are dead. How many do you think were there?"

"I only got to see four of them. Do you think it's possible that one of them escaped?"

"I don't know, Catherine. The man who...died...by my hands was blond. I..." He swallowed convulsively and Catherine's heart ached with the guilt she could feel in him. One didn't have to be empathic to interpret those rigid shoulders and that lowered head correctly.

"Then it wasn't the Doctor," Catherine concluded. "The Doctor had black hair and dark eyes and probably was in his late forties. He was a short man of slight stature. He..."

"Then he was among the dead," Vincent cut in.

"Did he die in the flames?" Catherine wanted to know.

"No," came the reluctant reply.

She felt her eyes grow wide with dawning realization. "Johannes?" she asked, astonished.

Vincent nodded wordlessly, and Catherine struggled to assume a sitting position, heedless of the nausea that rose in her throat at the movement.

"Are you sure Johannes is asleep?" she asked.

"I am fairly certain about it, Catherine. He was deeply exhausted when I took him to his chamber. Yet he was curious enough to ask me if there were others like me down here. When I told him that he and I were the only ones, he stopped and smiled at me. He said that he'd never seen anybody like himself before, but his mother had told him that he was the mirror image of his father."

Catherine listened in rapt attention. "I wish I'd been able to talk with Johannes back then in the cage," she said. "By the way, I didn't know you're so good at German."

"I was still very young when Father discovered that I had a talent for languages," Vincent replied modestly. " So he taught me Latin and French which he spoke himself. Later on, we had an old lady with us who was born in Russia, so I learned that, too. I began studying German in order to be able to read the works of the great German poets in their original. For a long time I was only able to read and understand that language, but one day a little boy was brought to us who only understood German. So I had to make an effort to speak it as well. Karl became my teacher and enjoyed himself very much in that role."

"I'll bet," Catherine laughed. "What became of Karl?"

"He decided to make a life Above when he turned eighteen. He is still a helper and a cherished friend."

"I can't wait to hear more of Johannes' story," Catherine said solemnly. "He seems to have a good heart. He tried to protect me, Vincent, although he had to know that it would only bring him pain."

"Yes, he appeared to be quite protective of you," Vincent mused. "What did you do to gain his trust and affection so quickly?"

"I talked to him. He seemed confused by the fact that I wasn't overly afraid of him. I couldn't understand what he told me, but he was obviously capable of understanding me. He must have special powers of some kind."

"I assumed that much," Vincent mused, "There was an incident on our way back to the inhabited tunnels that caused me to believe that he perceived what I was thinking or feeling. I was remembering the way he had killed those two men. My thoughts were probably quite dismal because I was reminded of the times when I had killed in the very same fashion." Vincent raised his hands so that she could see his long, sharp nails. "With these."

"And now you don't kill like that anymore?" she asked gently, remembering the photos of the two mutilated bodies the Doctor had shown her.

"Not if I can avoid it," Vincent responded bleakly.

Catherine dreaded asking him about his killings, but she had to know. "How did you kill the two men who had followed Daniel to our meeting place?"

His head snapped up and he stared at her speechlessly.

"I'm sorry, Vincent, but I'm asking this because the Doctor showed me photos of two bodies, wanting to make me believe that those were the two men you had killed."

Averting his face, Vincent answered evenly, "One of them died when I threw him against a wall. The other one jumped at me after I had disarmed him. I am not completely certain, but I believe I broke his neck."

Catherine shook her head sadly. "Why would he have wanted me to believe that you..." Her voice trailed off indecisively.

"To frighten you," Vincent suggested. "To evoke terror and revulsion in you."

"To turn me against you," she finished the thought. "I see."

After a long stretch of silence Vincent said, "But there is some truth in those pictures, Catherine. I did kill like that. And I may again, if I have to."

"I know that," she replied quietly. "You didn't have any control back then, but obviously you do now."

He shook his head in quiet despair. "My...control...is nothing I can rely on, Catherine. It can be shaken by seemingly small incidents. You must know that there are times when it is easier for me to maintain my self-control, and then there are times when it becomes nearly impossible. I haven't been able to comprehend yet how my psyche works. All I can do at those...darker...times is withdraw and put as much distance between others and myself as possible."

Catherine's heart constricted with dread that he might withdraw from her some day. "Vincent," she whispered and was grateful when he took her in his arms, rocking her softly.

"I know," he breathed close to her ear. "I know." His arms tightened briefly around her before he released her and eased her back onto the pillows. "You should sleep now, Catherine. Father said you have a slight concussion from the blow on your head. Nothing serious, but you should rest."

"I will," she smiled obediently, and after a pensive pause she added, "Will you look in on Johannes? I don't know why, but I have a feeling that he needs you."

Vincent nodded as he rose to his feet. "I will see to him. Sleep well, Catherine." She watched his retreating back as he left the room, already missing his nearness and the warmth of his arms. There was an irrepressible thought in the back of her foggy mind, and she made a mental note that she would have to get word to Joe first thing after she awoke. But right now the only thing she could clearly think of was sleep.

*

On entering Johannes' chamber, Vincent noted with amazement that the older man was awake. Sitting on the bed with his knees hugged to his chest, Johannes rocked slowly back and forth. He stopped his movements when he felt Vincent's presence in the room, but didn't look up.

"I'm sorry for intruding on your privacy," Vincent apologized. "Catherine thought you might need something, so I came by, although I assumed that you must be fast asleep by now."

"Wie geht es Catherine?" Johannes asked, finally lifting his head.

"She is fine, thank you," Vincent replied, and after quickly probing along the bond, he added, "Right now she is asleep."

"Das weiß ich (I know that)," Johannes stated simply. "Aber...(But...)"

"Yes?" Vincent prompted gently, advancing towards the bed and taking a tentative seat on its edge.

Bringing up his clawed hands, Johannes cast a fleeting glance at them and then at Vincent.

"Weiß sie, daß ich... (Does she know that I...)"

"That you killed those two men?" Vincent offered. "Yes, she does. She also knows that I killed the third one."

"Ja, aber du hast ihn nicht zerfleischt (Yes, but you didn't tear him apart)," Johannes reminded him.

"Johannes," Vincent began slowly. "Have you killed...like that...many times?"

Johannes shook his head. "Einmal, als ich zwölf war. Da kamen sie, um mich von meiner Mutter fortzuholen. (Once, when I was twelve. That was when they came to separate me from my mother.)"

"Who came to separate you from your mother?" Vincent wanted to know.

"Drei Männer. Sie waren Schausteller. Sie hatten bereits versucht, mich meiner Mutter abzukaufen, aber sie hatte natürlich abgelehnt. In der Nacht kamen sie zurück und schlugen meine Mutter bewußtlos. Ich hörte den Lärm und kam herunter um nachzusehen. Ich liebte es, des Nachts auf dem Dach unserer Hütte zu sitzen und die Sterne zu betrachten. Während des Tages mußte ich mich ja verstecken. Als ich die Eindringlinge sah, geriet ich in Panik und verlor die Kontrolle über mich. Ich hatte nicht gewußt, daß ich solche Kräfte besaß. Ich schaffte es, einen von ihnen zu töten, bevor die beiden anderen mich überwältigten und davonschleppten.

(Three men. They owned a curiosity show. They had offered money to my mother if she agreed to give me away. Of course, she declined. One night they came back and knocked her unconscious. I heard the noise and came down to see what was going on. You know, I loved to sit on the roof of our cottage and to look at the stars. During the day I had to stay hidden. When I saw the intruders, I panicked and lost control over myself. I didn't know that I possessed such strength. I managed to kill one of them before the two others overwhelmed me and dragged me away.)"

"Did you ever see your mother again?" Vincent inquired softly, his heart heavy with compassion.

Johannes only shook his head in negation.

"And those men? Did they take you with them?"

Johannes nodded. "Sie haben mich in einen Käfig gesperrt, und dort habe ich den größten Teil meines Lebens verbracht. Ich wurde einige Male verkauft und weitergereicht, aber es veränderte sich nichts wesentliches dabei. Ich wurde ausgestellt und angestarrt. Das ist alles. (They put me in a cage where I spent most of my life. I was exhibited and stared at. That's all.)"

"Living in a cage for so many years, how did you manage to maintain your sanity?" Vincent asked in genuine admiration.

"Das weiß ich auch nicht (I don't know)," Johannes replied with a shrug. "Als ich noch jung war, gelang es mir sogar einmal zu fliehen, aber ich wußte nicht, wo und wovon ich leben sollte. Die Zeiten waren ohnehin schlecht. Der zweite Weltkrieg stand vor der Tür, und es genügte schon, eine eigene Meinung zu haben, um verfolgt zu werden. Vom Aussehen gar nicht zu reden. Also kehrte ich zurück. Ich wußte, daß meine Besitzer mich verstecken würden, also ertrug ich die Schläge. Seltsamerweise hatte ich danach mehr Freiheiten als zuvor, weil sie sich darauf verließen, daß ich nicht mehr davonlaufen würde. Nach dem Krieg landete ich beim Zirkus, und dort brauchte ich nur für einige Stunden täglich im Käfig zu sitzen und mich anstarren zu lassen. Die übrige Zeit durfte ich zusammen mit einem der Tierpfleger in einem eigenen, kleinen Wagen wohnen und mich um die Tiere kümmern. Daran erinnere ich mich gern. Das war die friedlichste Zeit meines Lebens. Der alte Matthias brachte mir sogar das Lesen bei. Das hat mein Leben ungemein bereichert. Leider waren die Zeiten noch immer schlecht, und der Zirkus mußte verkauft werden. So kam ich schließlich nach Amerika.

(When I was young, I even managed to flee, but I didn't know where to live and how to fend for myself. Times were bad anyway. It was shortly before World War II, a time when it sufficed to have a different opinion to be prosecuted. Even more so if someone looked different. So I returned to my cage. I knew I could count on my owners to keep me hidden, so I endured their punishment. Strangely, after that I was given more liberties than before, because they knew that I wouldn't run off anymore. After the war I ended up with a circus where I only needed to spend a couple of hours per day in a cage. The rest of the day I lived in a trailer with one of the keepers of the animals. I was allowed to help with the animals. Those are peaceful memories. Old Mathias even taught me to read. That enriched my life very much. Unfortunately times were still bad, and the circus had to be sold. That was how I got to America.)"

"How long ago did you leave Europe?" Vincent wanted to know.

"Ich habe aufgehört, die Jahre zu zählen, aber es ist schon eine Weile her. Jedenfalls hat man mich eines Tages wieder verkauft, nur daß ich diesmal nicht ausgestellt wurde, sondern im Keller des Doktors landete. (I stopped counting the years, but it was a long time ago. Anyway, one day I was sold again, only this time I wasn't exhibited but ended up in the cage of the Doctor.)"

"Do you remember how long you were imprisoned down there in the Doctor's basement?"

Johannes mulled that question over for a while before he responded. "Ich glaube, es war etwa ein halbes Jahr. (For about half a year, I think.)"

Vincent didn't quite dare to ask the question that was burning in his soul, but he knew he must. "What did they do to you during that time, Johannes?"

Johannes' shoulders sagged and he buried his face between his knees once more. Vincent waited patiently, and only when he was certain that no answer would be forthcoming, he reached out and drew Johannes into a gentle embrace. Soon, his bitter tears seeped through the fabric of Vincent's shirt, dampening the skin underneath. For a long while, he simply held Johannes close, rocking him as one would a frightened child, and allowing those horrible memories to spill from his soul.

What Johannes had told him about his life at the carnival and the circus was bad enough, but what he now learned of the Doctor's sick curiosity and the irresponsible research he had done had always been one of Vincent's worst nightmares. His conviction that a life in a cage was no life at all was now surpassed by the undeniable fact that being treated like a specimen in a lab was worse than death; yet, Johannes had lived through it all and survived. "You are at home now," Vincent whispered soothingly. "You're safe." Sensing that the older man had finally fallen asleep against his shoulder, he eased him back on the bed and covered him solicitously.

For the first time, Vincent felt truly and thoroughly ashamed that he had ever cursed being confined to this world of rocky walls and gloomy tunnels. What Johannes had been through was more than he could conceive of at the moment. Johannes may have seen the light of day many times, yet Vincent was certain that he had always wished himself back in his mother's cottage, although there he'd had only the nights to gaze up at the sky. How reminiscent of his own forays to the park. And although Vincent had never known his own mother and would probably never learn if she'd abandoned him or if he'd been taken from her against her will, he was happy for Johannes that at least he had had those twelve years with his mother, being nurtured and protected by her and undoubtedly loved and cherished.

Vincent's thoughts wandered to little Paul. Although the child would hurt that his mother had wanted nothing to do with him, he would always have the love of his father to heal him and to guide him.

A wave of gratitude toward the man who had become his own father washed over Vincent, and he resolved to do everything in his power to make Johannes feel loved and at home in the Tunnels. With a last look at Johannes' sleeping form, he rose and left the room.

*

The strain of the past couple of days began to take its toll, and Vincent's gait was leaden and slow as he made his way back to his chamber. On passing Father's study, he picked up voices from inside. Father was telling Daniel about Johannes, and Vincent could literally feel the younger man's excitement at learning about the existence of yet another man like his grandfather. Despite the demands of his weary body, Vincent altered his course and descended the stairs that led into Father's room.

"Ah, Vincent, there you are," Father welcomed him. "Daniel came to me in search of you, but since you weren't with Catherine..."

"I was with Johannes," Vincent informed him, casting Daniel an inquiring look.

Daniel shifted in his chair, stretching out his newly healed leg in front of him. "I wish I could have been with you when you went to find Catherine and get her back."

"I know that, Daniel," Vincent replied softly, pulling up a chair for himself. "Catherine is safe now. Don't worry yourself."

"How long will she be staying Below?" Daniel inquired, addressing Vincent's own deep concern.

"I imagine that she will need to leave as soon as possible. The people she works with will want to know why she didn't appear at the office without any explanation."

"I guess we have a problem here," Daniel remarked with a frown. "How will she explain any of this to her boss?"

Vincent shrugged helplessly. "Perhaps we can talk about that after she has rested."

"We will find a solution," Father said, the way he was knitting his brows belying the confidence he was trying to put in his voice. "Now, tell me, Vincent, how is Johannes?"

"Right now he is asleep, but first he told me a little about his life. Father, he went through almost every nightmare you and I have ever had about the things that could happen to me. It's nothing short of a miracle that he has survived for so long."

"What did he tell you?" Daniel inquired hesitantly.

"He was twelve years old when he was abducted from his home by three men who owned a curiosity show. He killed one of them in defense, but the other two managed to drag him away. He never saw his mother again."

"Was his mother...like him?" Daniel asked.

"No, but his father was. As far as I know, Johannes never saw his father, though."

"And he came from Germany?" Daniel pursued.

"I think so," Vincent replied. "But subsequently the show and later the circus to which Johannes was sold, must have toured through several European countries before he came to America. About half a year ago, he was discovered and...bought...by the same man who was after you and who abducted Catherine in order to get to me."

"And who won't rest until he gets what he wants," Daniel added dismally.

"Daniel," Vincent said, "the Doctor is probably dead."

"Did you...?" Daniel began, suddenly too shy to ask.

"He is dead," Vincent reiterated, unwilling to elaborate further.

Daniel nodded. "What about the others?"

"Catherine said there were four. Three of them are dead, but we don't know about the fourth."

"Well, let's hope for the best. If the Doctor was the head of that organization, the others won't be likely to pursue his projects. Maybe that's just wishful thinking on my part, but at least it's a possibility."

Vincent nodded his agreement.

Father had been listening to all that silently, but now he straightened in his chair, placing a tired hand on the tabletop. "What we have to face now, though, is the problem of how Catherine is going to explain all this to the authorities. By now they've probably found the burned-down building and the bodies. Let's pray that the lab burned out completely and that all of the research papers were destroyed."

The atmosphere in the room tensed as the three men pondered the consequences, should the results of the Doctor's work become known.

With a sigh Vincent pushed himself to his feet. "Let's talk about that tomorrow," he suggested wearily. "There's nothing that can be accomplished tonight."

"You're right, Vincent," Father replied. "We should rest now."

On his way to his chamber Vincent felt the bond hum with Catherine's peaceful contentment as she slept safely in his world. His heart was heavy with the knowledge that he would have to let her go in the morning; that she had to return to the world Above, a world full of cruelty and madness, a world where he could do little to protect her and keep her safe.

On entering his chamber, he noted that a candle was burning on the table. His eyes swept the room and came to rest on his bed, where Catherine lay, soundly asleep. He approached her quietly, looking down on her relaxed features and her softly heaving shoulders. She was huddled on one side of the large bed, obviously saving the other one for him to occupy. Vincent smiled. Tonight he wouldn't argue with her but simply accept the comforting closeness that she offered. If nothing else, his bone-deep fatigue would keep her safe. With a few deft movements he shed his cloak and vest and sat down on the edge of the bed. Casting her a brief sideways glance, he pulled off his boots and reached for his cloak to cover himself. The thought of slipping in beside her and sharing the covers with her was still too unsettling. Sleep claimed him quickly and mercifully, and his dreams were, for once, calm and untroubled.

*

Being accustomed to sleeping alone, Catherine awoke when someone moved at her side. A satisfied grin spread over her face as, in the faint light that fell through the window, she made out Vincent's large frame lying next to her. He stirred in his sleep, unaware of her scrutiny, and she relished the rare opportunity to watch him to her heart's content. The fact that he had accepted her presence in his bed warmed her. Running her eyes down along his body, she noticed that the cloak, huge as it was, covered him only to his knees. She just wished he'd have felt comfortable enough to slip under the covers. When her gaze returned to his face, she found him awake, blue eyes studying her intently.

"I missed you," she said by way of an explanation as to why she was in his bed. That brought a soft chuckle from him as he opened his arms. She snuggled up against his chest, her hands stealing their way under the heavy fabric of the cloak. He felt so good through the thin cotton of his shirt; so warm, so inviting. "I have to go Above," she mumbled into his shoulder.

"I know," he sighed. "What will you tell them?"

"Frankly, I don't have the slightest idea, Vincent." Leaning up on one elbow, she looked at him pleadingly. "What do you suggest?"

He averted his eyes. "I feel bad because you'll have to face this difficult situation alone, Catherine. I don't know how to help you. I wish..."

She silenced him by touching one hand to his mouth, savoring the soft, bristled feel of his upper lip beneath her fingertips. "I'll come up with something. Don't worry. There's lots of time to consider an explanation. I have to return to my apartment first. The best ideas come to me during a shower or a hot bath. Trust me."

With one hand he encircled her wrist, dislodging it from his face. With the other he drew her close, pressing a comforting kiss on her brow. "I do trust you," he said. "Always."

She stared down at him, thinking how adorable he looked, his face framed by a soft tangle of sleep-tousled hair, and his eyes shining with emotion. "Will you believe me if I tell you something?" she asked with a smile. He nodded, gently stroking her shoulder with his thumb. "You're beautiful," she whispered solemnly.

Slowly he shook his head from side to side. "And you are a hopeless case," he retorted playfully.

She laughed, glad that he had taken it this way. There had been times when he would have recoiled from such a statement, unable to accept it even as her very private and subjective opinion.

He smiled back at her briefly before he grew serious again. "You'd better start thinking something up," he suggested quietly.

"What about the truth?" she offered, climbing over him in order to get out of bed. Vincent's eyes rounded in disbelief. "Well, as much of the truth as can be revealed without giving away the secret of your world -- and you."

"Catherine, I don't think this is a good idea," he said as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

"You said you trusted me, Vincent," she gave back, slipping on her shoes. "And so does Joe. I'm afraid I'll have to take advantage of that, for once."

Standing, Vincent took her shoulders in a gentle clasp. "Yes, I do trust you," he murmured. "And I love you. Be careful, Catherine."

Rising on tiptoes, she kissed his cheek. "I will," she promised. "And, Vincent?"

"Yes?"

"I love you, too."

He pulled her gently against his chest and buried his face in her hair. She drew a deep breath, savoring his scent, the solid feel of his body, the possessiveness of his gestures. Memories of other moments of intense closeness popped into her mind, and she decided she'd better leave now before she lost the will to do so. He looked down at her with stormy blue eyes as she extricated herself from his embrace. "I must go now," she said, and he nodded, reaching for her hand as he led her from the chamber.

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