FLYING

Vincent grabbed a piece of cloth to wipe off the glue that stuck to his fingers. The children had loved the spine off this particular tome of beloved fairy tales, and he had set his mind to repairing it as best he could. Turning the heavy volume in his hands, he eyed the newly mended part of the cover critically. Raising an eyebrow, he used the pad of his thumb to smooth out a stubborn wrinkle where the patch of leather he'd had to apply refused to cling to the spine properly. Finally satisfied with his work, he put the book down and began to clear the table when someone called out to him from the chamber entrance.

"Pascal," he acknowledged his visitor, "please come in. What brings you to me at this late hour?"

"I'm sorry, Vincent. I know you're not on duty tonight. But I've just received an emergency call from Narcissa."

"Narcissa?" Mildly surprised, Vincent shook his head. Known as someone who was quite capable of fending for herself, the old woman hardly ever contacted the community. She was a rather reserved person, treasuring her privacy almost like a hermit. It had to be an emergency, indeed, if she called for someone's help, thus breaking with the habit of so many years.

"What exactly did the message say?" Vincent inquired.

"Not much, I'm afraid," Pascal answered. "We received the emergency signal, but no request for medical aid, her name, her location, and your name."

The latter didn't strike Vincent as odd, since the old woman was known to be quite fond of him ever since he'd been a child. He knew she trusted him, and if she'd had an accident she would turn to him for help. Maybe to keep her embarrassment to a minimum, Vincent thought with a wry smile.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"Down in the catacombs," the pipe master replied.

"Then I'd better hurry. Would you please notify Father for me?"

Pascal gave a short nod and left.

Packing together some things he might need in case Narcissa needed first aid after all, Vincent made a mental list of possible reasons for her call. Finally realizing that speculating would get him nowhere, he grabbed his cloak and the pack, and rushed from the chamber.

The way to the catacombs led downhill for the most part, so Vincent fell into an easy, ground-eating trot and soon reached the big staircase winding down to the lower reaches of the underground world. From its base he made his way to the maze, but on entering it a strange feeling of apprehension began to stir inside him. Something was definitely wrong, and the hairs along the nape of his neck stood on end all the while he passed through the treacherous and twisted corridors of the labyrinth. The uneasy feeling even increased when Vincent finally arrived at the catacombs. He had come here many times before, so he knew that it wasn't the place itself that was causing him gooseflesh now. It was as if he knew he was being led into an ambush, and yet something drew him inevitably forward.

An unfamiliar smell made Vincent stop in his tracks and cautiously sniff the air. Tiny points of light settled around him, caught in his hair and clothing, and he brushed some of them off his sleeve with one probing finger. There was a bitter taste on his tongue, and he tried to spit it out, suddenly feeling nauseous. Everything was beginning to swim before his eyes, and he staggered and fell into an endless silent chasm of blinding light.

It was the sounds that came back to him first; the trickling of water, the soft hiss of a flame, a crackling fire. And the voice. There was a deep and forcible voice that spoke to him words he could not quite grasp. He blinked and wiped his eyes in an effort to pierce the darkness that engulfed him. But there was nothing. Nothing except the sounds -- and the voice.

*

He looked so pale lying there amid the patchwork pillows on his bed. Catherine put her hand on Vincent's forehead. He was still damp with perspiration, but cool; the fever was gone at last.

"He must not be left alone," Father said. "Someone has to be there to wake him when those unpredictable nightmares return."

"I'll be staying with him," Catherine offered quickly, the thought of leaving him, now that she had come so close to losing him, unbearable to her.

Father nodded. "I think in his current condition he wouldn't be able to tolerate anybody else's presence," he agreed, his voice betraying his own longing to be with his son. "But you need to rest as well, Catherine. He is probably going to sleep most of the time anyway. I'll have someone bring in a makeshift cot for you."

"Thank you, Father," she said with a tentative smile which he returned before he left.

After the cot had been brought and put up by the wall opposite Vincent's bed, Catherine wasted no time in exchanging her dusty clothes for the soft gown of homespun cotton somebody had handed her. She was so tired that the events of the evening blurred in her mind. Hopefully she'd be able to get some sleep before Vincent needed her. With one last look at his still form she extinguished all the candles but one, slipped beneath the blanket, and closed her eyes.

A strange rumbling sound pulled her from her sleep, and she sat up, scanning her surroundings disorientedly. The rumble became a growl, and instantly she was on her feet. Vincent was kneeling on his bed, braced on his arms, and rhythmically swinging his head from side to side. Low growls were escaping his throat, and his eyes moved restlessly behind closed lids.

Reminding herself that she was supposed to wake him, Catherine padded across the chamber on stockinged feet. The image before her was strangely compelling. It triggered some distant memory she was unable to grasp, but the growls were quickly becoming snarls now, and she knew that she had to act.

Softly, she called out his name once, then again, but it was the touch of her hand on his shoulder that finally stilled his motion. He froze and his body went rigid with the tension of pent-up energy. His eyes flew open and, panting laboriously, he blinked several times as if he was straining to see.

"Vincent," she whispered again, but he was beyond the reach of her voice.

Touch. It was her touch that had penetrated his trance. She had to try again. Slowly, carefully, she lifted one hand to stroke his head, but he jerked away from her, leaving her helpless and confused. Suddenly his body began to tremble, and the way he cowered on the edge of the bed, poised for flight, reminded her of a shy animal, or a frightened child, triggering her motherly instincts immediately. She sat down beside him, cautiously edging closer so as not to startle him further.

"Come here," she crooned. "Everything's all right. I'm with you. No one will hurt you."

This time he didn't resist her tentative caresses. She cupped his cheek, all the while babbling tender words, and finally he leaned into her touch, rubbing his face against her palm. That made her bold and she encircled his neck with both arms, drawing his head against her breast and rocking him gently. Small sobs shuddered through him, and his arms stole around her waist, his large hands desperately clutching the fabric of her gown. Close to tears, she rained tiny kisses upon his shaggy head, massaging the nape of his neck beneath his heavy mane with shaking fingers. "I love you," she breathed. "I love you so much."

Suddenly he pushed her back against the pillows, and she was engulfed by his strength as he pressed his quivering body into hers. Burying his face in the folds of her nightshirt, he slowly rubbed his cheek back and forth against her breast. The intensity of his actions made her swallow, and the fact that his touch wasn't so much a lover's caress but rather a child's plea for warmth and comfort, left her heart aching and overflowing with tenderness.

She continued stroking him, and gradually his muscles relaxed beneath her hands, but he was still trembling.

"Cold," he stammered, pressing more firmly into her. "I'm so cold."

Extending her hand, she reached blindly for the quilt and pulled it up to cover them both. She kept rubbing his back even when his regular breathing told her that he had fallen asleep. His head was still resting on top of her chest, and she regretted that he was facing away from her. She would have loved to study his face, for once relaxed and untroubled in the welcome oblivion of sleep.

She awoke with a start, missing the warm weight of him against her body. The chamber was dark, the last candle long burnt out. Slowly she pushed herself to a sitting position, turning her head toward a faint rustling noise about an arm's length away. The stained glass window was not completely dark, and she could see Vincent's large shadow vaguely silhouetted against it. She moved to reach out for him, but he recoiled, pressing into the small shelf behind him. Catherine wished she knew how long they had slept. It must be nearly morning by now. But when she listened for the familiar sounds of the pipes, all she heard was the regular "all is well" from the sentries and the occasional rumble of a faraway train.

Her eyes returned to Vincent's unmoving form beside her, and as much as she would have liked to touch him, she knew instinctively that he needed this distance now. He was quiet, so it wasn't any nightmare which had awakened him. Maybe he just needed some time to return to his normal self, she thought and lay back again, closing her eyes.

The next time Catherine awoke was when she felt his warm, solid body curled up at her side. She smiled to herself and shifted slightly, cautiously placing her hand on his softly heaving shoulder. He stirred, and she quickly withdrew her hand, but he just inched a little closer, seeking her nearness and her touch. She turned to her side then, and he came into her arms, tucking his head under her chin and firmly clasping her waist. His breath was moist and hot against her throat, and her heartbeat increased considerably when she felt the undulating movement of his hips against her legs. Oh, God, how was she to resist this gentle plead, this unmistakable invitation? For somewhere in her mind she knew it wasn't right to pursue the direction their actions had taken. Yet, she leaned into him, meeting his rocking body with small thrusts of her own. Sensing how aroused he was, she ached for his release with an intensity that took her breath away.

Suddenly Catherine found herself turned onto her back, and with a deftness that surprised her the hem of her gown was pushed up over her thighs and hips. Vincent was completely silent as he positioned himself between her legs, and only when she reached down between them to guide him, could she hear his sharp intake of breath.

Again, doubts at the rightness of what she was doing, of what she was allowing to happen, invaded her mind, but tongues of desire quickly dissolved her ability to think, and all she could do was feel. At first Vincent was holding himself completely motionless within her, and she could hardly contain her own longing to strain toward him, to feel the friction of their joined bodies. Delighted, she noted a soft purr emanating from deep within his chest, when a sudden thrust of his pelvis drove away everything but the need to move with him, to receive him more fully, to give herself up to him.

He shuddered violently against her when release claimed them both, and with a barely audible sigh he came to rest heavily atop her. Tears of joy crept down her cheeks, and she paid no mind to the fact that she could hardly breathe under his weight. She just wished she could hold him inside her forever.

But the world came back to her all too soon with its usual harsh and relentless persistence. Slipping from her body, he sank down beside her, and she shivered as the cool air of the chamber touched her skin. Instantly he nestled closer, enfolding her in his arms, and for the second time this night she reached for the quilt and adjusted it about them.

Catherine lay awake for a long time, trying not to think, to just savor the languid contentedness of her body. Vincent's even breathing had a calming effect on her senses. "No more nightmares tonight, my Love," she whispered, glad that he was sleeping so soundly. He needed his rest. Everything else could wait. She was just about to drift to sleep when his voice startled her awake again.

"Flying," he murmured huskily. "I was flying."

She smiled into the darkness, and tears welled up once more.

*

Vincent woke to the familiar sounds of his world that told him it was morning. Flinging back the covers, he sat up, noting with dismay that he felt slightly dizzy. Puzzled, he took in the cot at the far end of his chamber and, frowning, he searched his memory for the reason why it was possibly there. Shreds and remnants of blurred images surfaced slowly. He recalled his trip down to the lower levels where Narcissa lived, but momentarily he was at a loss as to why he had gone there and how he had gotten back to his chamber.

A soft footfall in the corridor outside made him aware of his state of undress, and he fumbled with the laces of his nightshirt in order to cover his chest more properly. There was just enough time to grab the quilt and place it around his shoulders, before Catherine emerged from the doorway, carrying a breakfast tray. At his attempt to explain her presence Below to himself, especially this early in the morning, he remembered Narcissa's emergency call and his trip down to the catacombs where he had inhaled a substance that had caused him intense hallucinations. He assumed that he must have passed out after that, for he couldn't recall anything beyond it. Except that he had never found Narcissa.

Watching as Catherine placed the tray on the table, arranged the saucers and cups, and poured some tea, he wondered once again whether he had made it back home on his own or whether someone had found him and brought him. This lack of memory was highly disquieting.

Catherine's voice interrupted his musings. "You look...rested," she observed.

Casting her a self-conscious smile, he rose and walked over to join her at the table.

"I feel rested," he replied, and with a quick glance at the cot he added, " Did you...spend the night Below...with me?"

The teacup she was holding clattered against the saucer as she put it down and looked up at him with a hooded expression. But not before he had noticed a shadow passing over her features. Instantly his worst fear reared its head, but she was quick to reassure him with a warm smile.

"Yes, I did. Father thought it best that someone stay with you after the ordeal you had been through. You seemed to find my presence calming, so I volunteered." After a brief pause of consideration she added, "How much do you remember, Vincent?"

Slowly shaking his head, he shrugged. "Not much, I'm afraid. I followed an emergency call sent by Narcissa, but on my way down I inhaled some kind of a drug. After that everything is just a blur. Do you know if I found my way home by myself?"

She nodded. "You were in an awful shape when you arrived. You weren't quite...yourself."

His heart constricted with terror and shame and, unable to meet her eyes, he dropped his head, concealing his face behind a curtain of hair. "Did you see me...like that?" he inquired.

She nodded again. "You had retreated to a small alcove, not far from the Home Chambers, and Olivia and some others could hear you. But no one could reach you there. You were frightened and disoriented and lashed out at everybody who would try to soothe you."

"Was anybody hurt?" he cut in.

"No, but they were worried that you might harm yourself. So Father got me to call out to you. He hoped that my voice would calm you."

"And," he prompted, "did I listen?"

"No, but you followed me when I went in to get you out."

He stared at her with utter disbelief. "They had you go in there? Although I was..." His voice fell away, but when she stepped around the table and he felt the warmth of her small hand on his bare wrist, he finished hoarsely, "...although I was like that?"

"Father wouldn't let me," she replied, "but feeling your anguish and despair, how could I have stayed away?" Her eyes were huge as she looked up at him imploringly. "I only had to touch you, Vincent, and you calmed at once. There was no danger."

"You couldn't know that," he retorted tersely.

"But I did," she insisted, and the plea in her eyes melted his resolve to keep his distance. With a quiet sigh he accepted, and returned, the embrace she was offering, and he didn't even relinquish her when the quilt that had been draped around his shoulders slid slowly to the floor. Holding on to her was his anchor in a sea of uncertainties and doubts.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "that I'm not properly dressed." And her soft answering laugh was a balm to his confused and battered soul.

"You are forgiven," she said simply, leaning back in his arms, and there was something in her eyes, in the way she looked up at him so lovingly, that made his heart soar with elation. He couldn't tear his gaze from hers, so sweet was the magic of the moment.

"I dreamed I was flying," he heard himself say all of a sudden and apparently out of context, and her reply only added to his puzzlement.

"I know," she breathed, placing a fleeting kiss on his chin.

Pulling her close again, he savored the contentment he could feel in her now. And whatever shadow may have been there, he could no longer sense it.

*

Vincent ate his breakfast with appetite, but Catherine sensed such a bone-deep weariness in him that she urged him to lay down again and get some more sleep. He obeyed, if reluctantly, and she tucked him in ceremoniously. He smiled as she pressed a small kiss on his forehead, and she thought that she had never seen anything more endearing than one of Vincent's rare smiles.

"Will you be all right, if I go and look in on Amy?" she asked.

"I will be perfectly well," he replied, "but Catherine, you should rest, too."

"Is that an invitation to join you?" she teased, but the way his eyes briefly widened reminded her that Vincent simply wasn't accustomed to the ways of flirtation. Growing serious again, she mentally reprimanded herself for her thoughtlessness and added, "Honestly, Vincent, I will rest. But first I have to see Amy. I looked in on her on my way to fetch breakfast, but she was still asleep. Rebecca told me that she's been rather distraught. When I come back, I will rest. And then we must talk."

Vincent's assent was a barely noticeable movement of his head against the pillow, and Catherine could see that his eyelids were drooping already.

"Sleep well," she murmured, remaining at his side just a little longer. She had to be tired, indeed, for she could hardly restrain the irrational urge to sink to her knees, bury her head against Vincent's chest, and just cry.

Taking a deep breath, she brushed an errant strand of hair from his face. "You will remember eventually," she whispered to him soundlessly. "And if you won't, I'll be happy to tell you." The memory of their lovemaking brought a sudden heat to the pit of her stomach. "I love you, Vincent," she breathed before tearing her gaze from his sleeping form and turning to leave the chamber.

*

A desperate whimper from the nursery accelerated Catherine's steps, and on entering the room she could see Amy's small figure huddled on the bed, arms around her shins and head buried between her knees. She was rocking back and forth, obviously heedless of Mary's comforting hands that tried to bring her out of her trance-like state.

Catherine's heart constricted with panic and she rushed to Amy's side, trying to draw her into her arms and drive away everything that was upsetting, or hurting, her little girl. But Amy resisted her efforts, only growing more rigid at Catherine's attempt to soothe her.

"She's been like that since she awoke about an hour ago," Mary explained. "And she's had nightmares. Rebecca told me that Amy awoke several times during the night, crying out and afraid to fall asleep again."

"Oh, baby," Catherine crooned, persistently stroking Amy's forearms and her unruly mop of hair. Suddenly a nagging suspicion crept down Catherine's spine. Should the child be able to pick up on Vincent's emotions the way Vincent could sense her own? She was far from understanding what he had tried to explain to her, but what Mary had just told her sounded alarmingly like Vincent's own nightmares that must have occurred at the same time. Of course, it may just as well have been pure coincidence, Catherine mused, since there had never been any indication of empathy between the two of them before.

Resolutely, Catherine scooped Amy up and began pacing the room, all the while whispering soft words of reassurance into her ear as she had always done when the baby was distraught. Finally the child relaxed against Catherine's shoulder and, after a few heart-rending sobs, fell asleep.

With Mary's help, she put the girl back into her bed, unable to keep from smiling at the way Amy's head rolled instantly to its side in that familiar way of hers, and her fingers curled into small fists. Catherine tucked the covers around Amy's body and bent to place a brief kiss on one rounded cheek.

"It looks as if she just needed some more sleep," Mary observed. "Don't worry, I'll stay with her. And if I'm not able to, someone else will. You go on, Catherine. Vincent needs you, too."

Touched by the woman's insight and kindness, Catherine hugged her briefly. "I'll be back as soon as I can," she said and quickly left to return to Vincent.

*

Hushed voices drew her from her sleep and slowly Catherine opened her eyes, wondering how long she'd been asleep on the cot in Vincent's chamber.

"It has always been John's way to manipulate people and use them for his own purposes," she heard Father say.

"But what could he possibly want from me?" Vincent asked.

Catherine sat up in time to see Father's helpless shrug, and then both men turned to acknowledge her presence.

"Ah, Catherine," Father greeted her. "I'm glad to see that you took time to rest. Vincent and I were just talking about John Pater and his possible reasons for luring Vincent down to the catacombs and poison him with that terrible drug of his."

Catherine stood up and walked over to join Vincent and Father at the table.

"How are you feeling, Vincent?" she asked.

"Better, thank you," he said. "Father just told me a little more about my return, and about the man who calls himself Paracelsus."

"So your memory has not yet returned," she observed.

He only shook his head, but Father cut in, "He must remember something, since I didn't mention the name Paracelsus to him."

"You mean he's never heard that name before?" Catherine dropped herself into a chair, staring at Vincent expectantly.

"No," Father replied. "John Pater was once one of us, but he left our world a long time ago. He was exiled, to be precise, because some of his obsessions had begun to endanger our community. His greed for knowledge and power exceeded any responsibility he may have ever felt toward the inhabitants of our world; a world he had an important part in founding. Only his motives weren't by any means noble. The only person he cared about has always been himself."

"He said he had cared for me," Vincent interrupted Father's explanations.

Father's head snapped up and he stared at Vincent unbelievingly. "Was that what he told you?"

Catherine's heart skipped a beat. Vincent's memory seemed to be gradually returning. From the startled look in his eyes she could tell that his remembering was happening in random bits and pieces, obviously triggered by words that related to what he had experienced. She just hoped that he wouldn't remember everything at once, not with Father in the room.

"He said that I had been brought to him and that he adopted me as his son," Vincent relayed haltingly. "Father, is that true?"

"Partly," Father answered with downcast eyes, playing nervously with a fringe on his sleeve. "It was his wife Anna who found you. Of course she brought you to him first. But soon he became so obsessed with you that it frightened her, and she feared for your safety. So she brought you to me."

Vincent's voice held a trace of incredulity and distrust when he spoke again. "Why did you omit that particular piece of information when you told me about how I came to live in this world? What did Paracelsus do to me?"

"To answer your second question, I do not know. Anna Pater died shortly after entrusting you into my care. And as to why I didn't tell you everything -- Vincent, I have always fought to help you maintain your peace of mind as best I could. You have to admit that a story like that one would have troubled you greatly, only adding to the insecurities you were dealing with already."

"He meant to nurture my...dark side," Vincent said in a toneless voice. "He wanted me to be his bodyguard, his trained killer."

Catherine was helpless to suppress a gasp, and Father quickly put a comforting hand on her arm.

"That was what I had suspected, Vincent, but..."

"No, Father," Vincent cut him off, pushing himself from the chair and starting to pace back and forth in front of his bed. "There is no need to continue. I understand. Believe me, I do."

Catherine was almost a little afraid to address Vincent in his current state of mind, but she suddenly remembered Amy's nightmares. "Vincent," she began, and he froze as if he was only now becoming aware that she was in the room. "It's about Amy," she went on. "When I was with her earlier, Mary told me that she was having bad dreams last night. I was wondering if..."

"The child," Vincent gasped all of a sudden, whirling around to look at her. "The child," he repeated with a blank expression on his face. "He said that...I...fathered that child." With a soundless sob, Vincent collapsed on his bed, burying his face in his palms.

Neither Catherine nor Father dared move or speak, lest they distract him in any way. Both hoped that he would resume this revelation on his own volition.

Vincent's head came up and his voice was deceptively even when he continued, "He told me that he had drugged me before, and that I used to roam the city in that state. He said that was how it happened. I found a woman and..." His voice broke and he dropped his head again, pressing his tightly clenched fists against his temples.

"Vincent," Father cut in soothingly, "you don't have to believe that. I told you that Paracelsus is..."

But Vincent wasn't listening, just cradling his head in his hands and rocking slowly back and forth. "I raped her," he said, his voice cracking, and then he fell silent, stopping his motions altogether.

Father rose from his chair and bent over to whisper in Catherine's ear, "I'll go and get him something so he will be able to sleep. Would you care to accompany me?"

When she just shook her head in refusal, he added, "You can't do anything for him right now. It may take hours, or even days, for him to come out of this self-imposed trance. This is how he copes with pain that is beyond his endurance."

"I have to stay with him nonetheless," she said resolutely. "We'll talk about this later."

When Father returned with the medication a little while after that, Catherine tore her gaze from the unmoving figure on the bed and rose to assist him.

"Vincent is unable to tolerate most of the medications I usually administer," Father explained as he rolled up Vincent's sleeve. "But this one has proven quite helpful over the years. All it does is relax his cramped muscles. Anyway, it will help him to sleep."

After Vincent had been helped into bed, Catherine turned to Father. "Do you think you could answer a couple of questions for me?" she asked.

"Of course, if I can," he said, leading her over to the table again where he indicated for her to take a seat.

"For one, what do you think of all this? Do you think it could be possible?"

Carefully shaking his head, Father replied, "I don't know. There were times when Vincent had been gone for days, so I cannot say for sure that it is entirely impossible. But if you ask me whether I believe it or not, I must tell you that I don't. Paracelsus is a liar and he would stoop to anything that may serve his purposes."

"But Vincent will believe it," Catherine mused. And then, with a sad smile, she added, "You know, when I saw Vincent for the first time, even I thought he was Amy's father. The resemblance is just too striking. But I simply don't think Vincent has it within himself to rape somebody."

The words had hardly left her mouth when her mind was reeling with the question, What if I had denied him last night? Would he have taken me against my will?

And all of a sudden she realized that, no matter what she believed, Vincent would think so, and that reminding him of last night's events would only add to his turmoil.

In spite of herself, she wondered fleetingly whether his deft and secure movements when he had positioned her for his lovemaking had been instinct or experience.

"Catherine, are you all right?" Father's voice startled her from her thoughts, and she hurried to reassure him.

"Yes, Father. It just bothers me that I must go back Above tonight. I have to work tomorrow, but I hate the thought of leaving Vincent and Amy. Somehow I feel as if they were both withdrawing from me, and I dread the moment I'll find myself unable to reach them."

"There was something you wanted to tell Vincent about Amy earlier. What was it?"

"Mary told me that Amy was having nightmares last night, and afterwards, in the morning as I came to see her, she was behaving rather strangely. I was wondering if she may have picked up on Vincent's own nightmares somehow."

Father cast her a probing look, asking, "What gives you the idea that something like this could be possible?"

Catherine's reply came hesitantly. "I know that Vincent can feel...things...in people. In me. So I thought..." Helplessly, she looked over at Father, hoping he'd be able to provide an answer.

"It could be possible," he said, "even more so if Amy is indeed Vincent's child. Vincent has always been very perceptive and intuitive, especially with people he felt connected to." Shifting his body to seize her hand, he continued, "Catherine, I won't even try to hide my concern from you. Vincent's personality is a very fragile thing, and it terrifies me to think of what may lie ahead. Vincent and I have been through dark times, when his struggle for balance and control, for his very humanity, demanded every ounce of his strength and willpower. Every time he emerged from one of those struggles, he was...changed...somehow. And often it was hard to tell whether it was for the better or the worse. What Paracelsus has done to him is undermining the very foundations on which Vincent has based his life." He shook his head in desperation. "Shattering Vincent's confidence in his ability to control his own decisions and actions means taking away a very important part of his hard-gained sense of being human."

"Father, what can we do?" Catherine asked desperately.

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