BEDSIDE MANNER

by JoAnn Baca

This story first appeared in Cyberdreams, volume 1.

Catherine tossed in a torment of fever. She was so hot . . . soachy . . . so thirsty. Her skin was flushed and tender, especiallywhere her nightgown clung to her in sweaty patches. She had beendrifting in and out of a restless sleep for hours. She tried tothink, but focusing was hard. She'd felt tired and out of sorts for acouple of days. She remembered waking up shaking with the chills andcalling in to the office -- was that Friday morning? -- but not muchafter that. She glanced briefly at the illuminated dial of her alarmclock: 4:30. So, I guess it's Friday afternoon . . . but it could beSaturday morning, she thought, concerned that she wasn't sure.

She licked her dry lips with her parched tongue, finding nomoisture to relieve her. The bedclothes lay in a clammy, disheveledheap around her waist and legs, evidence of her uneasy rest, but shewas too exhausted to pull them back into order. Her eyes werescratchy behind throbbing lids. Slowly she drifted back into a fitfuldoze.

***

Vincent had been aware since Friday that Catherine was not feelingwell, but he could not discern the nature of her illness. He knewthat she would not want to be disturbed if she were sick, and he usedthis argument to keep himself from visiting her. However, near dawnon Saturday morning his concern finally overwhelmed his caution, andhe knew he had to check on her before the coming of day prevented itfor another 14 hours.

He arrived on Catherine's balcony just as fingers of purple werebeginning to lighten the sky. He knew he was cutting things tooclose, but he had to satisfy himself about her condition. He peeredthrough the French doors leading to her bedroom and saw her lying ina tumble on her bed, moaning softly, surrounded by twistedsheets.

His first tentative knocking received no response, so he renewedhis efforts to gain her attention, rapping louder and longer.Concerned that she still seemed unaware of his presence, he gave uppoliteness and turned the doorknob, letting himself into the room.Uncomfortable with such boldness, he called to Catherine from wherehe stood within the door frame. Her continued unresponsivenessalarmed him so much that he finally forgot his discomfort at beinginside her apartment and moved swiftly to her side.

"Catherine! Catherine, are you all right?" She didn't seem to beawake exactly, but neither was she asleep. Through their Bond, hefelt her confusion and disorientation. "Catherine, please, speak tome? It's Vincent."

Catherine turned her head in the direction of his voice, andcroaked out, "Vincent? That you? Feel so . . . bad. Thirsty. Water?"She opened her eyes a crack, but could barely make out the outline ofhis figure, a darker black against the dawn's shadows.

Vincent brushed Catherine's damp hair from her face. "I'll get yousome water. Rest now." He made his way through the darkened apartmentto the kitchen, found a glass, filled it with water, then entered thebathroom and dampened a face cloth before returning to her bedside."Catherine, I have water for you. Would you like me to help you situp and drink?"

She shook her head and attempted to raise herself on her elbows,but slipped down immediately, the effort too much for her. Concerned,he placed an arm under her shoulders and cradled her gently againsthimself as he raised the glass to her lips, letting her take smallsips until she pushed the glass away. As he laid her back against thepillow, he asked, "How long have you been ill like this?"

Catherine tried to open her eyes again and attempted to respond,but her words came out slurred and indistinct. "Dunno . . . I've . .. been sleepin' . . . a while. . . . "

Vincent began to bathe her face with the damp cloth. The coolnessfelt wonderful against her brow, and she smiled a small smile as shemurmured, "Nice . . . thanks . . . 'm OK . . . really."

He shook his head worriedly. "If there's one thing you are not,it's 'OK.' You have a high fever. Do you have a thermometer?"

She nodded weakly and waved a limp hand in the general directionof the bathroom. He followed her sketchy guidance and searched themedicine cabinet until he found the thermometer, then sat on the bedand urged her lips open with its tip until he got it positionedproperly. While her temperature registered, he returned to pressingthe damp cloth against Catherine's face and neck. When he took thethermometer from her mouth and read the results, he wasn't surprisedto find that she had a raging 102-degree temperature.

"Catherine, you are quite ill. You shouldn't be alone. Please callsomeone to come care for you for a while."

In a nearly inaudible mumble, she replied, "Can't. No one. . . ."

Vincent suggested some names. "Edie?"

"Albany . . . family wedding."

"Jenny?"

"Uh-uh . . . Bermuda."

He grew desperate. "Joe?"

"Useless . . . at this. I'll . . . be OK . . . don't worry . . .just need . . . sleep. . . . "

Vincent sighed in frustration. He couldn't leave her alone. Hewould just have to stay... Above...

in her apartment...

during the daytime...

until she was well enough to care for herself.

He hoped they would both survive.

***

After some initial fumbling, he managed to call Dr. Peter Alcott'soffice; since the doctor was with a patient, Vincent left a messagefor him, asking him to get word to Father that he was caring forCatherine and would not be home until she was feeling better. He thendecided to set himself specific tasks, hoping to fill the timeproductively and provide a distraction against the panic rising inhim at the thought of being in such a vulnerable position.

He was vulnerable on so many levels, his mind whirled.

The first thing he decided needed doing was the bed. The sheetswere a hopeless tangle, and they were exceedingly damp fromperspiration. He didn't think it would be healthy for Catherine totry to rest in them any longer.

Carefully lifting Catherine from the bed, he carried her to acouch in the living room, then placed a comforter over her to keepher warm. She stirred softly against him while he did this, but madeno protest, nor even opened her eyes.

After assuring himself that she was secure on the couch for awhile, he went back to the bedroom and pulled all the bedclothes fromthe mattress. He located clean sheets and a fresh comforter in thelinen closet and expertly remade the bed. Living Below, everyone hadto pitch in with the housework, and long experience made him quite acapable, if reluctant, housekeeper.

His reluctance stemmed not from the nature of the work, but fromthe fact that it was Catherine's bed he was changing. As he worked,he fought against the fantasies that threatened to overwhelm him atthe thought of Catherine in her bed, at the thought of what he haddreamed of doing to and with her there. He pressed his lips togethergrimly and finished the job, then went back to the living room toretrieve his patient.

As he cradled her sleeping form against him, he realized that hernightgown was even more damp than the sheets had been. He couldn'tplace her beneath clean, cool sheets in a bedraggled, clammynightgown. But he knew that, at this moment, Catherine was notcapable of undressing and re dressing herself. Also, her hair wasplastered to her head from her night sweats. It should be driedbefore she was put back to bed.

Groaning inwardly, Vincent roused Catherine as he laid her back onthe couch, and whispered that he was going to run a bath for her. Shesmiled sleepily and patted his cheek affectionately, nodding as shesaid, "Perfect."

Yes, perfect, Vincent repeated silently. If I'd wanted to invent amore perfect torture for myself, I could not have done it. Still,it's for Catherine, so it must be...endured.

He confronted his options in the bathroom. The shower wasdefinitely out. There was no way Catherine would be able to standsafely and wash herself, and the thought of entering the shower withher to hold her up, and becoming soaked himself in the process, wasimpossible. And the only way to prevent his own clothes from becomingwet was . . . no, absolutely not!

Resolutely, he turned to the controls for the bathtub and gingerlytried all the nozzles and spigots, eventually working out acomfortable level of warmth. He added some bubble bath for goodmeasure as the tub filled. At least she'll be covered by somethingwhile I bathe her, he reflected. How are we going to get throughthis, Catherine? What will you think when you recover? Will you be asembarrassed as I am just contemplating it?

The tub filled rapidly, and he could avoid the situation nolonger. He decided at the last minute that, since her nightgown waswet already, it couldn't hurt to leave it on her while she was in thebath. At least that spared him the ordeal of a naked Catherine in thebath, and having a wet, slippery and naked Catherine to contend withafterwards.

He retrieved Catherine from the couch, not relinquishing her untilhe could place her feet inside the tub. He slowly eased the rest ofher into the bath water and folded a towel to place under her neck soshe could rest against it instead of the cold hard tile.

Catherine sighed deeply as the warm water caressed her hot skin.Content that she would be comfortable for a while, Vincent retreatedto the relative safety of the bedroom while he considered his nextmove. He decided that he needn't scrub her, that the soak in the tubwould eliminate the perspiration and leave her feeling refreshed. Hedid, however, need to wash her hair. That didn't seem too bad.

After some time to allow Catherine a relaxing soak, he entered thebathroom again.

"Catherine, I am going to wash your hair. Is that all right?"

Her response was a small nod. Her eyes were still closed, but shehad a ghost of a smile on her face now.

He stood indecisively a moment longer, then retreated again to thebedroom, removed his vest and tunic, rolled up the sleeves of hisshirt and returned to face his ordeal.

Gingerly he lifted Catherine from her reclining position to aseated one, averting his eyes from the sight of her languid form -soaking wet, with silk gown clinging like a second skin - only inchesfrom him.

Catherine roused herself as much as she was able, and tried tohelp him by placing her hands on the edge of the tub to hold herselfup while he repeatedly cupped water in his hands and poured it overher head. He then squeezed some shampoo into her hair and used onehand to massage it in while his other held her firmly upright, nottrusting the strength in her arms in her weakened state.

As the lather foamed, he slowly ran his fingers through her hairfrom the crown of her head to the nape of her neck, then upwardsagain. He was actually enjoying this contact. It was devoid of overtsexuality, but there was an element of subtle sensuality in themovement of his hand through her slick, sudsy hair which thrilledhim.

Get hold of yourself, he scolded. God knows, you're not here toenjoy yourself. Still, it was hard to deny that this, at least, wasmore enjoyment than torture.

Catherine, meanwhile, having been stirred from sleep once byVincent's arrival, and again when he moved her from the bed to thecouch, and still again when he shifted her to the tub, was thoroughlycontent to lie in the enveloping warmth of the bath water, resting,floating. As the bubbles died down and the water cooled a bit, shesighed in disappointment. But when Vincent began to wash her hair,sick as she was, she could have wept for the sheer delight of it.

She rarely went to the hairdresser's anymore -- her hectic lifedidn't allow for such indulgences. When she did go, it was only for aquick trim, not the more leisurely wash, cut and blow-dry. She hadalways enjoyed having someone wash her hair, but it had been at leasttwo years since she'd last had that pleasure. And now, to haveVincent be the one to do it, and to be doing it so tenderly andgently -- it was almost too much to bear. Had she been well . . .well, it did no good to ponder "what if" -- if she'd been well, hewould not be here washing her hair! She sighed deeply and pressed herhead back, rubbing it against Vincent's hand, giving him a start.He'd become so engrossed in his actions, he hadn't realized how thismust be affecting her. He guiltily ceased his massage and loweredCatherine slowly to rinse her hair in the bath water.

As he shifted his hold on her shoulders from front to back, he wasfaced once again with the revealing bodice of Catherine's nightgownclinging to her breasts and ribs. With her throat completely exposedand the line of her body arching back, she presented an achinglyappealing vista to him. Grimly grateful that he'd had the foresightto leave her in her nightgown, he swallowed hard and pulled his eyesaway.

Carefully he raised cupped handfuls of water and brought them toher forehead, rinsing the remaining soap away. He splashed water overher upper torso to sluice away the last of the bubbles, then raisedher to her knees, repeating the procedure, made more uncomfortablebecause of the alluring cling of wet silk against bare skin.

Gritting his teeth, he bent to the task with determination,anxious to complete this procedure before the agony of holding her sointimately and gazing upon her so closely could cause him any morepain. When he raised her to her feet, he urged Catherine's hands torest upon his shoulders while he rinsed her lower legs. Then heassisted her out of the tub and onto the thick cotton throw rug,which soon became waterlogged. He would have to deal with thatlater.

If Catherine had been unsteady before her bath, she was almostlimp after it. She literally could not stand on her own, so slack didher muscles feel after the relaxing bath and Vincent's tenderministrations. She felt like a little child, and wanted nothing morethan to be wrapped in a fleecy robe and tucked between coolsheets.

Vincent realized that Catherine was almost at her strength's endand could not be left alone to remove her gown and dry herself off.At this point, he nearly regretted having initiated this particularendeavor. He knew it was the right thing to do, but he was hideouslyembarrassed already, and his imagination could not extend to the nextfew minutes. Whatever was he to do?

He placed a towel on the lid of the toilet. "Catherine, we need toget your nightgown off. Do you think you can stand steady while Iremove it? I'll have my eyes closed, and I won't be able to see ifyou start to fall, so please stand near the wall and lean against itif you need to."

She nodded bonelessly and leaned both arms against the wall. Shetried to pull herself together, but the effort of holding herselfupright caused her entire body to tremble.

After setting several large towels within easy reach, he raisedCatherine's gown slowly by the hem. When he reached her thighs, heclosed his eyes, held his breath, and lifted.

Catherine released the wall momentarily so that Vincent could pullthe soaked gown over her head. He dropped it to the floor and, eyesstill tightly shut, groped for the largest towel. As he shook it out,he draped the bath sheet over Catherine's shoulders. She clasped itabout her, and he peeked quickly through his lashes to ensure she wasmodestly covered before opening his eyes all the way. Assured thatshe was, he led her to sit on the towel he had placed on the toiletlid, and she collapsed onto it gratefully.

Vincent then reached for another towel for Catherine's hair. Hewas completely stumped by what to do with it, though, so Catherinewrapped it for him, then her arms dropped wearily to her sides.

Taking yet another towel up, he began to dry her feet and legs. Atthis rate, he thought, I'll use every towel in the apartment! I'dbetter add laundry to my list of projects for the day. He pressed thetowel tenderly against her now-rosy skin, blotting rather thanrubbing the moisture away.

Being so close to her, breathing in her fresh warm scent, causedVincent momentary panic. He wanted to touch her so much, but not inthis careful, impersonal way. He fought down a sudden wild impulse tolick the beads of water from her soft, inviting skin, to slake theterrible thirst for her he had harbored for so long. Doggedly, hemoved to her arms and back, repeating his gentle daubing actions,while he struggled to push his desires back into the tight box of hiscontrol. Finally, he finished drying her off. He exhaled a heavy sighof relief, however he was unable to restrain a companion pang ofregret that he was done.

Unwrapping the towel turbaned around Catherine's head, he used itto squeeze the excess water from her hair. Earlier he had noticed acomb by the sink, and he retrieved it now and carefully pulled itthrough her damp, slick hair, giving the few knots he encountereddelicate tugs until they came free. In a short time he had it smoothand neat, but he was concerned about putting her back to bed with herhead still wet.

Catherine herself suggested the hair dryer. He had never used sucha machine, but she instructed him on how to plug it in and operateit. He gently ran his fingers through her hair, lifting it for thewarm air from the strangely purring appliance, and shortly her hairwas a slightly unruly but definitely dry mass of golden brown framingher face. Vincent caught his breath at the natural beauty before him.Even ill, with no makeup, and her hair very unprofessionally dried,she was incomparable.

Struggling mightily, he finally pulled himself from hiscontemplation. Leaving her for a moment, he went to the dresser inthe bedroom and opened drawers until he found a neat pile ofnightgowns, grabbing up the first one he encountered.

The things he saw before he found her gowns caused him to blushfuriously, even though Catherine was not in the room. He didn't knowif he'd ever live down the mortification of his actions this morning.It was all he could do to return to the bathroom, gown in hand, andhand it to her.

She smiled and looked up at him when she saw which gown he hadchosen. He hadn't realized that he'd selected a low cut blue silkgown with daring straps across the back -- revealing, elegant andlovely, it was hardly appropriate for the sickbed. He blushed andmade to take it back.

"I'm sorry, Catherine. If you would tell me where your . . .warmer gowns are, I'll get one for you."

Still smiling gently, she shook her head and tugged until hereleased the gown, then shakily rose to put it on.

"Vincent, help me?" She extended a hand to him. As he took it, sheleaned heavily against him, and he turned his head and closed hiseyes.

He heard the soft thud as the towel which had been wrapped aroundher hit the floor between them. For a short while, he felt only thechanging pressure of her hand as she dressed, Startled by a muffledcurse, he realized she was struggling to put the gown on one-handedand obviously having little luck.

He heard a plaintive "Vincent, please?" and turned toward her. Shewas gloriously naked, a vision devastating to his fragile nerves. Heclosed his eyes for a moment in an agony of rushing desire. When heopened them again, he looked into Catherine's face and found the muteappeal in her eyes for help, although he thought he could detectthrough their Bond a strange melancholy and a barely suppressed urgefor . . . something more.

Fixing his gaze stubbornly on Catherine's left ear, he gatheredthe gown in his hands and held it over her head. As she raised herarms, she wobbled against him on unsteady legs, and he struggled toright her and slip the gown down to cover her at the same time.

This might be comical with another man, Catherine thoughtruefully, but I know Vincent, and this is killing him. Please know,Beloved, if I could help this, I would. And if I weren't so sick. . ..

Finally, she was covered and, his relief visible, Vincent gatheredher up in his arms once again. A few short strides took them into thebedroom.

When she saw the freshly made bed, Catherine was touched at thethoughtful gesture -- she hadn't realized that he'd been so busytending to her other needs.

Bending low, he placed her gently between the crisp cotton sheets,tucking her legs in and pulling the top sheet up to her chin. Butwhen he moved to raise the comforter to follow, she stayed him withone hand.

"Too warm."

He ducked his head in acknowledgment and instead folded thecomforter back at her waist.

Catherine felt exceptionally coddled, wrapped in a cocoon ofrelaxation. She was refreshed, soothed and so comfortable in her drygown. She thought she'd never felt so happy to be lying in her bed.Almost immediately, both relieved and exhausted by the effortexpended for her bath, she dropped into a doze.

Vincent knelt watching her for a few moments, then tentativelyreached out a hand to brush her hair behind her ear. When she didn'tstir, he allowed himself a few moments more, stroking her hairtenderly. Then he placed a soft kiss on her cheek, sighed, and heftedhimself up. The bathroom needed swabbing, the sheets and towelsneeded washing, and then he should think about getting something warmand nourishing into them both.

***

Bathroom and laundry duty took most of two hours, but bymid-morning Vincent had things well in hand. He next turned to thethought of food. The kitchen yielded few choices. Catherine was not awoman who relaxed by cooking gourmet meals -- or cooking much ofanything, apparently. The refrigerator contained only eggs, milk,juice and a few vegetables and cartons of yogurt. Looking into thefreezer, Vincent noted a couple of frozen dinners and a container ofwhat looked like frozen spaghetti sauce. He searched the cupboardsfor a box of pasta and found some penne, along with a few cans ofsoup and some crackers. He decided to heat up one can of soup for hisown lunch, and set another aside for Catherine's. Contemplating whathe could do with what he had found, he determined that he had enoughfood for several more meals, if necessary. He would not need toreturn Below for supplies.

***

After eating lunch, Vincent made himself a cup of chamomile teaand sat in the living room to wait out Catherine's nap, first pullinga few interesting-looking books from her bookshelf to read. Herealized that he had left his vest and tunic in the bedroom, but didnot want to disturb her by entering again to retrieve them. Theapartment was warm enough; he didn't really need the extralayers.

Before turning to the books, he allowed his thoughts to center onCatherine. He had kept himself busy in the hours since he hadarrived, but now that he had the time, he wanted to consider andreflect upon the new sensations he had experienced in his timeAbove.

Catherine was, he knew, happy to have him here. She needed him tohelp her now, of course, but beyond that, he sensed a deep feeling ofcontentment from her, merely because of his presence. It was afeeling that, despite all his frustrations, echoed within his ownsoul.

He also had to admit that, despite the embarrassment of thebathing incident, he was quite comfortable now in her apartment. Thebuilding was quiet, and he no longer felt so apprehensive about beingAbove in the daylight. No one could get into the apartment, afterall, without giving him ample warning. Being outside would have beensomething else, but here within Catherine's cozy apartment, he feltsafe enough, and he treasured the hushed, peaceful atmosphere, sodifferent from his own world during the day.

He didn't mind the chores. He was anxious to be of service in anyway to his beloved. She gave so much to all of them Below, and therewas so little he could do for her in return -- this was one thing hecould do, and he did it gladly.

Being with Catherine -- alone -- was another thing, though. He wasacutely aware of his body's response to her, and he feared to thinkthat she might notice and be repelled by the inappropriateness of hisfeelings. She needed simple human kindness right now; she did notneed to be bothered by his raging hormones. Yet . . . all he wantedwas to press her close against him...kiss those incredible full lipsand trail hot kisses down her throat...stroke her bare skin andcaress her...everywhere...bring her to ecstasy through his deepeningtouches....

Abruptly, Vincent sat up and shook himself. This is exactly what Idon't need right now, and neither does Catherine. Expelling a hugebreath, he pulled a book open and began to read.

***

At around 3:00 p.m., he decided to look in on Catherine. She wasawake, but resting. When she heard the bedroom doors pushed ajar, sheopened her eyes and smiled weakly at him, managing a cheerful iftired, "Hi!"

Vincent ventured into the room, a shy half-smile on his lips. "Howare you feeling?"

Because she had been made so comfortable -- soaked squeaky cleanand popped into fresh sheets - she had rested well, and in fact wasfeeling much improved.

"Better." Then she added timidly, "Hungry."

He acknowledged her request as he stood by the bed. "Everything isready. I 'll bring you something to eat right away."

She reached her hand out to him, and as he moved forward and tookit, she pulled him down to sit on the bed. He obliged her, but satgingerly, a wary look in his eyes. Catherine, however, refused tosurrender his hand, certain that he would bolt from the room giventhe opportunity.

"Thank you, Vincent. I haven't been so well taken care of since .. . I can't remember when! You think of everything."

Her grateful smile warmed his heart. He wished he could tell herthat all he ever wanted to do in life was take care of her, hold herclose, be what she needed him to be. But he was not entirely sure heshould be sitting here, holding her hand, considering what that didto him inside.

She seemed aware of what he was thinking, and squeezed his handgently, making his blood race even faster through his veins.

Breaking the tension deliberately, he used his free hand to feelher forehead. She was less feverish now, and seemed a bit stronger."Keep resting, Catherine. You are quite ill."

With a soft smile she replied, "With you here, I can rest well."She pressed her lips lightly to the back of the hand that seemed torest so unwillingly in hers.

Flustered, Vincent rose, breaking that tender contact. "I musttend to your meal." That said, he turned and strode purposefully fromthe bedroom.

He nearly ran from the room, Catherine noted sadly. Being with mehere distresses him so. I'm sure that part of it is being Aboveduring the day, but most of it is because he is just so uncomfortablein my apartment . . . in my bedroom . . . with me. Her spirits, whichhad rallied a moment ago when Vincent walked into her bedroom, nowplunged. Why must it be like this between us? Why must so much remainunspoken? I try so hard to play this by his rules, but I am so tiredof ignoring the obvious. She punched her pillow feebly in frustrationand a small tear crept from the corner of one eye. Buck up, Chandler,she warned herself. If he suspects he's upsetting you, he'll go forsure, daylight be damned.

***

As Vincent put the final touches on Catherine's lunch, gatheredutensils, and poured her tea, he thought about his abrupt departurefrom her side. What's wrong with me? Why do I constantly pull awayfrom the one person whose tenderness I desire most of all? What wasso wrong with her holding my hand? Or even that tiny kiss? Heresolved to relax and allow himself to enjoy these precious momentsalone with his beloved. She's ill -- what could happen? Don't be sucha fool.

After a few minutes, he walked back into the bedroom with a trayand set it on the end of the bed. Under his arm he was carrying somethrow pillows from the couches in her living room, and these hetucked behind Catherine's head, lifting her so she could eat morecomfortably.

She felt a bit woozy from raising her head so suddenly, though,and her hand trembled as she reached for the tray. Noting hershakiness, Vincent settled the tray in front of her and announcedthat he intended to feed her himself. She smiled. "Like oldtimes?"

He returned her smile, nodding as the memory caught him. "Yes,like old times."

She didn't realize just how hungry she was until she smelled thesoup he held to her lips. After the first spoonful, she couldn't helpremarking, again with a smile, "It's good soup."

Her teasing comment provoked an entirely unexpected response.Vincent put the spoon down and bowed his head for a moment. When helooked up, there were bright tears glistening in his eyes.

"Oh, Catherine. When I look back on that time, I can't help butthink of how I almost lost you . . . after I had waited my whole lifeto find you. To see you ill now . . . it breaks my heart to know youare unwell."

She was stunned. She reached out a small, soft hand to pat one ofhis large, work-roughened ones.

"Truly, Vincent, it's just a bad cold, and I'm feeling muchbetter. Please don't worry. Please? Please?"

As she said the last two words, she tilted her head to the sideand smiled up at him imploringly. He couldn't resist her when shespoke to him this way, and he nodded his head, his sad moodbroken.

* * *

Catherine finished her meal of soup, crackers and tea, and Vincentremoved the tray and bent to take the throw pillows from behind herback. With their faces in such close proximity, she longed to reachup and caress that downy cheek. He is so irresistible. It just isn'tfair! She groaned inwardly. Aloud she said to him, "Please don't,Vincent. I don't want to go to sleep again so soon. Read to me?"

He was happy to oblige, and even, to her intense surprise, agreedto her half-joking request to sit on the bed so she could rest on hisshoulder while he read to her. As he climbed onto the bed, heremembered that he still had not put on his tunic and vest. It wastoo late; he'd seem ridiculous if he stopped now to do so. He decidednot to worry about that. He decided not to worry about anything rightnow. So, despite his misgivings, he pulled an unresisting Catherineagainst his chest with one arm as he opened a volume of the collectedworks of Shakespeare.

* * *

Catherine really wasn't sure what Vincent was reading to her. Shewas entirely given over to the almost casual intimacy of the moment,to the ecstasy of being held close by the man she loved. His bareforearm felt wonderful against the sensitized skin of her back. Shestole an arm out to clasp him around the waist and snuggled moreclosely against his side. Delicious, she thought. She breathed in thearoma of him -- the light scent of the laundry detergent used on hisshirt, the fragrance of the shampoo he'd used on her hair, his ownunique musk. Heaven! Best of all, a few stray golden hairs peeked outover the top of his shirt to tickle her face. It was all she could doto keep from reaching up to unbutton that shirt and set her handadrift across that gorgeous deep chest . . . to nuzzle against hisneck and lick her way to his nipples . . . to stroke her way throughthe thick mat of hair she could feel through the fabric of his shirtuntil she got to the buttons of his jeans. . . .

Vincent became aware of the drift of Catherine's feelings andrealized that she was not as totally absorbed in Henry V as he was.He ceased his reading, and the two of them sat together for a time,just holding each other, thinking their separate thoughts.

***

Vincent was the first to pull away. He gently disengaged himselffrom Catherine and urged her to lie down again and rest. She began toprotest, but her yawn effectively silenced her opposition. Shegrinned instead, and lay down, curled close to him. He stayed besideher until she fell asleep, his hand brushing through her hair with arhythmic stroke which lulled her almost immediately.

When he was sure she was slumbering, he left the bed and completedhis clean-up chores from Catherine's meal. By the time he was done,the sun had set, so he let himself out onto the balcony, where heleaned against the balustrade, drinking in the late Septemberair.

Catherine was feeling much better. He really didn't need to stayany longer. She could probably take care of herself now. Still...hethought he'd better stay at least through the night, just to makesure. He could always leave before dawn, and she did say that shecould rest better knowing he was near.

He was surprised to find that all his initial trepidation hadfled. He had gotten through the worst of it, and now he could lookforward with some pleasure to spending time with anonly-slightly-sick Catherine -- a Catherine who was happy, indeedanxious, to spend some quiet time with him.

The closeness, the casual intimacy of their time together, hadleft a deep impression upon him. It had presented him with a teasingglimpse of an aspect of life he'd never known before - the deepcontentment, the quiet joy, of an unremarkable day spent with hisbeloved. No menace or crisis had brought them together for just a fewintense moments, no crowd of loving friends had intervened todistract them - if he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine whatliving a full life with Catherine might be like.

Smiling, his thoughts turned to the kind of mundane matters thatsuch a life would entail. He thought he might heat up that sauce andmake some pasta for a late-night dinner, if Catherine felt up tosolid food in a few hours. Happily, he returned to the kitchen andbusied himself with preparations.

***

He had readied dinner as far as he was able, and was settled onthe floor in the living room with Catherine's CD collection, bootsoff and cross-legged, rummaging through for something soft andpeaceful to aid her rest. He was pulled from his scrutiny by a faintstirring within the Bond -- Catherine was beginning to awaken, andshe was . . . dreaming of him.

He folded the bedroom doors open and padded across the floor onstockinged feet to kneel by the bed. She was on her side, facing him,hands tucked beneath her cheek, an angelic expression on her face.Moved, as always, by her extraordinary beauty, he was compelled totouch her. He found himself reaching toward her to stroke her hairagain, the impulse impossible to resist.

Thus, Catherine awoke as she had fallen asleep, with Vincent'scaress upon her. In her dreams, he had been by her side, running hisfingers through her hair, so that when she awoke, she was momentarilydisconcerted. As her sleepy gaze fell upon him, she asked in a smallvoice, "Am I still dreaming?"

He responded with one of his precious half-smiles and whispered,"Yes."

She closed her eyes again, wriggled happily under his hand andsighed.

Mesmerized by her reaction, Vincent ventured a question henormally wouldn't consider asking. "What would happen, Catherine, ifyou were dreaming?"

With her eyes still closed, she answered in a low tone. "I'd openmy arms to you, and you would come and lie beside me and press meclose to your heart." After speaking of her dream-wish, she openedher eyes and looked deeply into his intense blue ones. She shiftedslightly on the bed, and Vincent found himself silently implored tojoin her as she opened her arms wide, and all the yearning and desirein her heart rushed to him through their Bond.

He hesitated only briefly before coming to her, settling gentlybeside her. She nestled against him, almost moaning with the pleasureof it. He relaxed in her arms and was not surprised when she repeatedhis question.

"What would happen, Vincent, if you were dreaming?"

He thought his heart would burst as he replied with quiet fervor,"I would take your beautiful face between my hands and place a kissupon your lips, a kiss of gratitude and benediction for everythingyou have given me."

Catherine looked at him with a mixture of surprise andexpectation, and Vincent knew he could not disappoint her now. Hemoved as if in a trance, his hands coming up to cradle her cheeks ashis lips lowered to meet hers.

As he kissed her, reverently and slowly, Catherine drew him closerstill to prevent his escape -- an escape he no longer contemplated.She deepened the kiss as sparks of pleasure jolted through theirBond. When finally their lips parted contact, she began to nuzzle hisneck, running the tip of her tongue along the tender skin at the baseof his throat, pressing soft moist kisses against the underside ofhis softly bristled chin, cherishing the exquisite freedom he hadgranted her to show him what his love meant to her.

Vincent groaned with the bliss of Catherine's touch, but he had amore pressing desire. He captured her chin and guided her up toresume his exploration of her mouth, so sweet and exciting, sodelicious and enticing.

Catherine was on fire, her fever forgotten, replaced by a heatwhich could never be extinguished now that it had been allowed toignite. Her first taste of him had transformed her instantly into acreature of enormous appetite -- she was obsessed now with her needto taste more of him, to keep on tasting him until she could sate herdesire in a fiery consummation.

Vincent was breathless in the face of her sensual onslaught, androde the crest of her unleashed energy. He was stunned by the forceof her desire for him, always assuming that his was the stronger,darker urge. Now he knew that his deep, compelling need for her wasmatched by an equally powerful craving on Catherine's part.

She began to whisper something to him. It sounded like the wordsof a poem or song, but he couldn't understand her, her voice was sobreathless. He asked, a bit breathless himself, "Catherine, what isit?"

In reply, she half-sang, half-recited the chorus from an old BobbyDarin song, "I want a dream lover, so I don't have to dream alone."She looked longingly at him and murmured against his ear, "Vincent .. . dream with me now?"

He was undone. He had emerged on Catherine's balcony this morningand, with considerable apprehension, had crossed the invisiblebarrier into her apartment. Since then, he had bathed and dressedher, had fed her and read to her, had watched her sleep...and hadallowed his fantasies full sway. In the process, he had moved fromacute discomfort to this passionate embrace. He was surprised thatthe trajectory had been so steep and short. Now, Catherine was givinghim a chance to live his most cherished dream.

Catherine . . . his Catherine . . . her reality more wondrous thanany dream, wondrous as they could be. The promise and the hope werebefore him now. A phrase from the past tickled his memory: one eithermoves toward love or away from it. With no apprehension, no secondthoughts, Vincent moved toward his love . . . his Catherine . . . andenfolded her in a fierce embrace. "I have no need of dreams, Beloved,now that you are in my arms."

***

Vincent didn't make it Below for several more days. Father wasmost distressed, but Peter reminded him that Vincent had said hewould stay until Catherine was feeling better. By the time Vincentleft, Catherine was feeling very much better indeed.