(This story is written strictly for the free enjoyment of fans of the "Beauty and the Beast" television series. No copyright infringement is intended.)

Friends

A sequel to "Together" (on The Steam Tunnels)

 Angie

None are so desolate but something dear,
Dearer than self, possesses or possessed
A thought, and claims the homage of a tear.

- Lord Byron

He sat as far forward as he could in the chair facing the window, long legs outstretched, hands relaxed on the arms, eyes closed, his head resting on the chair back. His long golden mane rippled in thick waves behind the chair.

He had given himself over wholly to the sensation of the sun on his body. He basked in the warmth heating the thin hospital gown and pants he wore. He could feel it even through the detested slit in the front of his pants – the one which would not stay closed, and had no means of keeping it so.

He never tired of being in the sun. So much of his life had been spent in candlelight and shadows. She had introduced him to sunlight during those first wonderful hours when they had at last consummated their love in her apartment. Now the two loves were inextricably linked and he ached for both, remembering. They had conceived their son, somewhere in that time – a third blessing no less than the others.

They were living in this ground floor suite of the brownstone she had renovated. It was a hospital room usually reserved for other, special patients. It was just more convenient until she was strong enough to move, able to navigate the three flights of stairs to their attic suite. This also made it easier for William to feed them and for Peter and Father to minister to her and their new son.

But there was not enough basking sunlight here – not like that he could enjoy through the skylight in their own suite. He wouldn’t leave her, though, had not since the birth. Her physical presence, and that of his son – plus the joy of feeling both of them through the bond – made it impossible for him to be out of their sight.

He gradually became aware that she was watching him, felt her feel his enjoyment of this rare treat. She was happy, and that was all that mattered to him. He projected his love along the bond and felt her sigh and drift into sleep again. He let himself nap now, ignoring the warnings that daylight always aroused in his brain – that self-defense mechanism which usually kept him Below. There was nothing to fear here in their own house.

…

A little later, he woke to the sound in the corridor and knew that Samantha was outside with a food tray. His stomach rumbled and he sighed, still reluctant to move from the kiss of the sun. He let his head fall forward and looked outside, where the tree leaves were now tinted red. It was late afternoon and would soon be dark. He would have to move. Already the warmth was less.

Samantha came in and paused. He knew that he was being observed but did not want to embarrass her by acknowledging it. Samantha had been his shadow since she was old enough to walk. He had watched her grow into a woman, now Peter’s assistant. Her silence spoke volumes to him. Then he heard the soft clink as she put the tray on the small table near the bed. She left, still without saying a word. She seemed to leave a tangible sigh behind her.

He sighed now, realized he had been holding his breath. But his nose could not be denied. He got up and padded over to the table. He lifted the cover on a large tureen to discover the source of the delightful smell - a thick, beef soup. He dipped a finger in it to taste it, then again. A basket with a large assortment of warm rolls, a cheese plate with fancy carved vegetables, a platter of devilled eggs, two chocolate mousses and a pot of Earl Grey tea completed the offering.

He looked over at her and decided he’d better wake her. She needed to eat to recover her strength. In the cot next to the bed, their son slept peacefully too. She had fed him just a short while ago. The baby’s satiated contentment ran along the bond.

He walked soundlessly across the room, stopping just long enough to plant a kiss on his son’s rosy cheek. Then he sat down on the edge of the bed and reached up to stroke her hair, plant a soft kiss on her cheek. She awakened, opened her eyes and stretched as she regarded him.

"The food of love has arrived," he told her, quietly, taking one of her hands and kissing its palm.

She curled her fingers over his hand and brought it to her mouth, kissing its hairy back and then turning it over to kiss the palm.

"Oh, something smells wonderful," she said, moving her nose along his fingers. She put one of them into her mouth as she located the source.

"Hmmm … William’s beef soup! That man could awaken hunger in a statue."

He loved the feel of her lips on his hand, something which, along with other revelations, had evolved into this sensual private game.

Their bond now transmitted much more than emotions. Over the months since they became lovers, her senses had been enhanced. She could see better, hear more and scent quite acutely. She enjoyed being able to snuffle him and know what he had been doing. The pleasure she felt at this game ensured that he never lost an opportunity to indulge it. He smiled now.

"Help me up," she said at last, looking at him suggestively.

He did so and she wrapped her arms about him, a hug that made him tingle from head to toe. He kissed her then, and her love wrapped around him, wound so tightly in his own for her that they were one. Their son was a further silken strand that bound them now. He sighed in contentment. No bonds were more welcome.

He left her mouth and looked at her, decided he did not want to let her go just yet, and carried her to a chair next to the table. He gave her another kiss as he planted her in it.

"I can walk, you know," she said, a little irked. "I must walk around or I will lose the use of my legs – to say nothing of other things."

He looked at her with pretend hurt.

"Let me pamper you a little now. Soon enough, you will have plenty to keep you fit."

He sat down next to her and they tucked into the food. Both closed their eyes in ecstasy as the flavours of William’s food met their empty stomachs. By the time they reached dessert and tea, they were both comfortably full. Together they leaned back and patted rounded bellies – and laughed.

"Come," he said. "Let’s sit on the couch and ruminate."

The big, overstuffed loveseat had been moved from their den down the hall because they needed a comfortable place, besides the bed, where they could sit and cuddle.

This time he held her hand and let her walk across the room. She was stronger, he could tell, almost back to normal. It would not be long before they could return to their own quarters upstairs – or their chamber Below, for that matter. He almost missed the latter, but re-adjusting to a life of candlelight and shadow was getting harder and harder, the longer he stayed in the brownstone.

They had just sat down, his arm holding her against him, his nose in her hair, when Peter came in.

"Well, you two look as if you are enjoying yourselves," he remarked, walking over to them and giving her a critical eye.

"While you, on the other hand, are looking somewhat exasperated," Vincent commented.

Peter grinned. "I did want to talk to you both for a minute or two. I have been hounded by phone calls from Joe and Jenny. They both want desperately to see you both and your child. What shall I tell them?"

The two lovers looked at each other. He held her hand in his big hairy one in her lap. Looking at it, as if for the first time, it suddenly seemed out of place, foreign to her world, almost obscene. She caught that thought and glared at him with a flash of anger.

"Don’t you ever think that," she admonished him hoarsely. "You have done more for my world – and me – than anyone will ever know or understand. Your hands belong with me and on me. They are beautiful – and talented," she whispered, looking at him with some of her old passion. It sent a shiver up his spine.

She looked up at Peter, then, decisive. He didn’t even try to argue with the resolve he could see and feel in her.

"I think it’s time we introduced Joe and Jenny to our entire family, together. See if they can come over tomorrow night – say around seven o’clock. We’ll plan a little reception for them if Samantha can help. I think Father should be here too – and Mary. And we want both you and Samantha to attend as well, of course."

It was soon arranged and the next day, a few more household chairs were brought into the room. By early evening, William had used the brownstone’s kitchen to prepare a huge platter of petit fours, another with neat lines of assorted cookies - and a mountain of chocolate covered cream puffs. In honour of the occasion, he had prepared a drink of his own devising – an aromatic, citrus-flavoured tea which had become an addiction Below.

The guests would, they agreed, be greeted in the living room.

Father and Mary wore their best "Above" clothing and Samantha and Peter were both wearing casually formal clothes, forsaking their clinical uniforms at last. Their hostess had decided to wear a long-sleeved, flowing dress in dark brown. She wore her crystal openly outside it. She also wore soft slippers, her feet still a little swollen. They were felt, with little brilliants and colourful beads sewn onto their tops. He thought she looked like a wood sprite and told her so as he kissed her forehead.

He had not known what to wear, but finally settled on a pair of soft leather pants and a long silk sweater in shades of gold and brown that would complement her dress. He wore a pair of dark slippers, covering his feet for the first time in days. His pouch with her rose he kept underneath his clothes, next to his skin, close to his heart.

He was nervous. Of all of them, he was the one who had most to worry about. He was the reason, after all, that she had had to give birth in the brownstone’s hospital room. He was the cause of all this continual – there was no better term for it - pussy-footing around, the constant diversions that kept him safe and hidden from inquiring eyes and dangerous curiosity. He had long ago taken this kind of thing in stride, but her love had made such imperatives even more urgent - and now there was their son to consider.

She sensed his emotional upheaval and walked over to hug him as he stood nervously against the wall by the window of the hospital room, as far from the door as he could get. It was dark outside and the feel of that dark was comforting, even from inside. He found himself wishing he could put on his cloak and hide himself, as was his wont.

"Don’t worry love," she admonished him. "You have nothing to fear, nothing to worry about from my friends. I don’t want you to hide from them. It’s time they saw the man I love. What better time than now? We have put it off long enough. Our son has proven that our love cannot be held within bounds. Neither should you be, my love."

She pulled his head down to her and kissed him on the lips, nuzzling him until he felt all fears dissolve in the heat of her love for him. He sighed.

"I know you’re right," he said. "But I must remain someplace while you prepare them for me."

The front door chime rang.

"I … I’ll wait in the bathroom," he said, panic setting in.

"Very well my love. But I won’t let you stay there long," she promised as she hugged him again.

He retreated into the room’s large, but clinical bathroom and closed the door until just a crack remained. He wanted to be able to hear his cue – hoped he would have the courage to respond to it. It was the most difficult thing he could imagine. He sat down on the lid of the toilet seat, suddenly weak with anticipation. And waited.

He heard the doorbell and the sound of feet moving down the corridor to the living room. There were a lot of greetings and then small talk. Still he waited.

Finally, he heard the tenor of the talk change. He wondered why. Then he caught her mild anxiety, then her relief – along with something else. She was feeling smug! Shortly after that, he could feel her coming closer, followed by the rest of their guests.

The room’s door opened and he caught the voices of those he knew and then the ones he didn’t, obviously Joe and Jenny. The room became a little noisy and he heard laughter and then gasps of delight. He knew that she had picked up their son and was showing him off.

He could also feel that their son, unused to a crowd, was gathering breath for a cry. As if on cue, that loud, insistent bawl soon dominated the room. He wanted to run out then and gather that tiny body to him, sooth it. Instead he sent calm along the bond, knew that she felt it too and was grateful. She had been too distracted to do so.

What was she going to do now? How would she prepare her two friends for him?

Her solution to the dilemma, he found out later, had been simplicity itself. Her friends had already been prepared for him before they entered the hospital room – without any lengthy explanations on her part. A picture was indeed worth a thousand words.

He felt her approach the bathroom, still carrying their child. She opened the door and peeked around it. He was incapacitated by pure fright, knew it showed in his eyes. He felt her decision to take pity on him. She walked in then and held him lightly, their son between them. She looked up at him and smiled.

"It’s all right love. They’ve seen Kristopher Gentian’s painting, so they’ve seen you already, so to speak. They want to meet you. You’ve nothing to worry about. You are so much more beautiful – and less intense – than in that painting. Come."

He followed her out, a little embarrassed to have to make this historic entry from the smallest room, but was immediately put at ease by what he felt around him. There were the smiles from his family and friends and he quickly located Joe and Jenny. They were a little surprised, probably by his height and build, but there was no fear, no horror, no withdrawal.

He took her arm and approached them, pulling his mouth into a mild smile – one that would not reveal his canines. They were not in shown in the painting – neither were his hands, come to that. Kristopher had put him in gloves, for some reason. He kept one arm behind her back, protectively, and the other under their son, just showing enough of it to give them time to adjust. He caught their gaze at his clawed fingers, but they quickly looked up at him and smiled back.

He looked at Catherine with relief then - and the look they exchanged sizzled between them.

Jenny pulled Joe to meet them. She bubbled with humour.

"Oh, Catherine, no wonder you kept him hidden away – even from me, your closest friend. ‘Course I might have tried to turn his head - but I don’t think I’d have had a chance, judging by that look he just gave you. Move away and give me room to hug this gorgeous man."

Catherine moved just far enough aside so that Jenny could put her arms around him.

"Oh, my, he’s delicious! He feels even better than he looks."

Laughter echoed around the room.

Vincent, his face warm, put his arms around Jenny and gave her a soft hug in return.

"Jenny, you feel pretty good yourself," he remarked, his mouth twitching. He dipped his head over her and identified a delightful combination of scents.

"I like your perfume – hmmmm, sandalwood and orange, with a hint of cinnamon – and something else, violets, I think," he remarked.

"That’s not fair," Jenny chided him as she let him go. "I spent a lot of money on what I was assured was a totally unique and irresistible perfume. And here you reveal it to the world in a breath. And with a voice that would melt that expensive crystal bottle they put it in."

Guffaws broke out at this and Vincent looked around, his face hot. He ignored the compliment, as was his wont, but addressed Jenny.

"Well," he said. "I wouldn’t dare say the perfume’s not irresistible. But I think someone else here is better placed to truly appreciate it."

He looked at Joe, who had watched this exchange with a little jealousy and a stiff smile. Joe coloured but came forward and took Jenny’s hand.

"She’s a hard one to pin down," he said, looking at Jenny affectionately. "So was Cathy, come to think of it. But at least I know now why I never had a chance with her. I’m so glad to meet you Vincent. You are both very special people, very lucky people. I’m honoured to be considered among your friends. We both are."

Joe held out his hand and Vincent shook it. To give Joe credit, he didn’t even shudder.

"Well then," Vincent intoned. "We should enjoy what good friends always do – good food. Please. Our cook has outdone himself with small treats. Let’s all enjoy."

He led the way to the buffet table, and quickly popped one of William’s cream puffs into his mouth. He looked around and realized that Catherine had seen him. She had put their son back in his cot and was standing close by with her arms crossed, regarding him with mock disapproval.

He smiled guiltily.

"You’re incorrigible," she laughed, putting her arm through his. She looked up at him with an invitation.

He accepted and bent down, planting a kiss on her mouth.

"Hmm … you even taste good," she said, breaking off the kiss to whisper into his hidden ear. "You are delightful. Jenny was right. You look incredibly handsome tonight."

He looked down at her, whispered back.

"You my love, are more than delightful. You are my sustenance, my reason for living. Even better than William’s cream puffs."

"Come," she said, sighing. "We have guests to entertain. Later, I’ll show you just what you mean to me."

He snagged another cream puff as he followed her. He was trying to inhale it without being too obvious when he raised his head and caught Father’s eye across the room. Humour was vying with an expression of joy - a parent’s and a grandfather’s love. No child of theirs would ever lack for love or the essentials, but this, their first child, was especially blessed. His eyes suddenly blurred, full of happy tears.

There was no substitute for good friends, as he knew only too well. Kristopher had given them more than just a beautiful painting – it had opened the door to friendship. Friends were as necessary as sunshine. Their son would have both.

At this thought, a single tear rolled down his cheek.

END