A Christmas Below

J Ecris

---

They had spent the whole, entire, glorious day together: Christmas Eve. Catherine had always loved Christmas Eve. In her childhood it had always been a day filled with excitement and anticipation, and the magical feeling about the day persisted. This day could certainly match, and probably top, her childhood Christmas Eve memories. She couldn’t remember when she’d been happier. She and Vincent hadn’t been out of one another’s sight for more than half an hour all day. It had been such a rare treat. The day’s events drifted through her mind as she and Vincent slowly walked through the tunnels.

She had come Below the evening before and had spent the night in the guest chamber. The morning began with Vincent himself awakening her. His face as the first thing she saw upon opening her eyes was something she had not experienced nearly often enough yet. She was immediately filled with joy and she sat up and threw her arms around him, wishing him merry Christmas. He returned her embrace and her greeting, but soon persuaded her to dress so as not to be late for breakfast.

Catherine had brought along two spectacular gowns, one for Christmas Eve and another for Christmas Day. The dress she’d picked out for today was a full-length maroon velvet dress with long sleeves and a rather low neckline. She had bought the dress without hesitation because of the way she felt in it. How could she find a better dress than one that made her feel like a princess? She’d be wearing it for her fairy-tale prince. And if truth be told, she’d be wearing it for herself as well. The soft plushness of the dress made it almost impossible to resist touching, and she longed to wear it, to have that lovely texture so available to her fingers. She hoped it would have the same effect on Vincent.

She considered again whether to wear such a dress so early in the day. She’d had this debate with herself a number of times since buying the dress. The Catherine who majored in fashion law would be scandalized by the very idea. But that Catherine’s social circle didn’t include many people who valued her for who she was, whose opinions would not be affected either positively or negatively by something as unimportant as her clothing. She was nearly always overdressed when she visited Below. So, this morning she would be somewhat more overdressed than usual, she thought as she slipped the dress over her head. At least, she thought, the dress was heavy and warm, practical even, for tunnel wear.

Vincent’s reaction when she greeted him where he waited outside the guest chamber was more than worth the extravagant price of the dress. His eyes went wide, and he was speechless for at least a full minute as his eyes traversed her body, lingering for deliciously long moments at her breasts. He had seldom allowed himself to caress her with his eyes in this way, and Catherine reveled in it. At last Vincent got sufficient control of himself to return Catherine’s greeting. “Catherine... you are... stunning, a vision of loveliness as I have never seen.”

Catherine beamed. “And you are your usual handsome self.” She reached up to stroke one cheek with the back of her fingers and then, impulsively, reached up to kiss his other cheek. He gazed at her intently, his face moving nearer hers at an almost imperceptibly slow rate. Suddenly, realizing what he’d been about to do, he stopped, announced they would be late for breakfast and, taking Catherine’s hand, turned to lead them toward the dining chamber.

Catherine was greeted by oohs and aahs when she entered the dining chamber. Vincent sat beside her rather than across from her, and while he was perfectly companionable, Catherine got the impression he was avoiding looking at her. As they were finishing breakfast, a delightful meal of cinnamon french toast, sausages, and fresh fruit, Mary came by to confirm that they were still planning to decorate cookies with the children. She suggested that Catherine change her clothes, and Vincent all but insisted.

She was glad she’d followed their advice half an hour later as she sat with children as young as two decorating cookies with frosting, colored sugar, and various kinds of sprinkles. The older children did well, but the younger ones tended to be a little exuberant, and the sprinkles got sprinkled in more places than they should. The little ones also seemed to have no qualms about touching others with sticky fingers. The best part of the cookie decorating project was that William had insisted that everyone either wear a hair net or tie their hair back. Vincent chose to tie his hair back, and Catherine somehow found this amusing, although the idea of Vincent in a hair net was funnier still. Every time she looked across the table at him, she broke into smiles again.

After an hour or so the little ones lost interest in the project, and were in dire need of a bath. Catherine volunteered. Vincent seemed surprised by her decision, but joined her. Catherine had never tried to bathe half a dozen children between the ages of 2 and 5, and she’d had no idea she’d be getting almost as wet as they. Vincent must have expected it, as he had removed his own vest and boots after helping the youngest children undress. Catherine had watched with interest as he did this, wondering for a moment if it was customary Below to bathe children by getting into the pool with them. Catherine was only slightly disappointed when Vincent removed no further articles of clothing, as she hadn’t really expected him to disrobe in her presence.

By the time the children were dry and dressed, Catherine was definitely ready for a break and she told Vincent so after they’d left the children in Mary’s care. “They wore me out! My, they’re full of energy,” Catherine remarked. They walked slowly as they talked.

Vincent smiled. “Yes. You seemed to enjoy their company though.”

Catherine returned the smile. “I did. I don’t get to spend nearly enough time with children. But after this morning I’m starting to realize that you must spend a lot of time with them.”

Vincent tilted his head. “A significant amount. The care of children is a responsibility shared by the entire community. Bathing the little ones is not usually one of my primary duties however.”

“Your duties tend more toward education, don’t they?”

“Yes.” Concerned for Catherine’s welfare, he changed the subject and quickened their pace. “Catherine, you should get out of those wet clothes before you catch a chill.”

She nodded. “I didn’t realize I would get this wet. It seems like it might make more sense to just get into the pool with them.”

“Yes. Mary and the others who usually bathe children often do.”

Catherine thought about that for a while as Vincent led her toward the guest chamber, wondering whether they wore a bathing suit, or their birthday suit or perhaps something else. Then she thought of something else. “Vincent, if you don’t usually bathe children, how do you know that?”

“It’s common knowledge. And it’s certainly sensible, as you surely realize by now.” He paused. “And... I was once their age.”

The mental image of Vincent as a toddler played through her mind during the remaining trip to the guest chamber. He must have been completely adorable. Then she felt a twinge of something else as she wondered what Vincent’s children might look like. She was so lost in thought that she completely missed Vincent’s question as they stopped outside the guest chamber. After he repeated it, she told him not to wait for her and that she’d meet him in his chamber.

Getting into dry clothes was a less pleasant experience than she’d expected. After peeling off her wet garments, she found the kind of lingering dampness that only time could remove. She spent a few minutes putting her hair back in some semblance of order, and then put the maroon velvet dress back on.

She made the short journey to Vincent’s chamber and, out of habit, walked in. She found him sitting on the bed, putting on his boots, and suddenly realized her mistake. “Vincent! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t have just come in. I wasn’t thinking!”

“It’s all right, Catherine,” Vincent replied nonchalantly, continuing to lace his boots. “I felt your approach.”

“Well, I still owe you an apology. You always go out of your way to be a gentleman, and I can’t seem to remember to be a lady.”

Vincent sighed and shook his head as he finished with his boots. “Catherine,” he said gently, “you know that’s not so.” He rose from the bed, looked at Catherine, inhaled sharply, and quickly looked away.

Catherine’s own breath was taken away by Vincent’s appearance. He wore primarily typical tunnel clothing, except for the rich, forest green shirt under his vest. “Vincent!” she exclaimed, “that color is... striking! You look... fabulous.”

He didn’t answer, but looked embarrassed by her compliment. Ignoring it, he asked, “What would you like to do next? We could visit Pascal in the pipe chamber, or go for a walk. Or perhaps we could help the children with dress rehearsal, or perhaps visit Elizabeth.” He was still avoiding looking at her.

“Can we just stay here for a while?” Catherine asked, walking toward him.

Vincent definitely hesitated. “As you wish, Catherine.” He didn’t look at her.

Catherine was almost certain it must be the dress that was causing this reaction in him, as he had not behaved this way when she’d been dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt. She came to stand directly in front of him. “Vincent, what’s wrong?” she asked gently.

He glanced up, looked quickly away, and answered, “Nothing” in a tone of voice that made it all too clear there was something.

Catherine sighed. “There is. I can tell by the way you’re looking at me.”

He exhaled heavily. “I’m sorry, Catherine. My behavior is shameful.” He still did not look up.

“Vincent,” Catherine said gently, “You’re hardly looking at me at all. I would appreciate an explanation, but you don’t owe me an apology, and I certainly see no reason you should be ashamed.”

He remained motionless for a few moments and then he slowly looked up, his eyes caressing her as they had done when he had first seen her in the dress. His eyes finally arriving at her face, he closed his eyes and whispered, “Catherine, you are... heart-stoppingly beautiful in that dress. When I look at you, I... I lose myself. All conscious thought evaporates.” He opened his eyes again.

“Would you be more comfortable if I took the dress off?” she asked.

Vincent’s face displayed a rapid series of emotions: shock, desire, embarrassment, shame. He was more flustered than Catherine had ever seen him, and it was clear to her that he had momentarily misinterpreted her question. She was simultaneously amused, sorry, and worried. “Perhaps I should have phrased that in a different way. I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, looking at the floor. “You have done nothing wrong.”

“I’ve made you uncomfortable,” she protested. He didn’t respond. Finally, Catherine suggested, “Vincent, maybe you’ll get used to the dress, and it won’t have the same effect on you any more.” Vincent still made no reply, but continued looking at the floor. Perhaps confronting him about his reaction had been a mistake. Deciding to leave it alone and move on, Catherine suggested, “Let’s read for a bit, shall we? Do you have anything Christmas-y?”

He finally looked up, almost in relief, nodded, and went to the bookshelf. Catherine took a deep breath, hoping that if she felt calm and relaxed herself, those feelings would filter through to Vincent. He returned with a book she recognized at once as How the Grinch Stole Christmas. She was delighted. She held out her hand, and Vincent gave her the book. “Oh, Vincent, I haven’t heard this story in years! Do you mind if I read?”

“I love to hear you read, Catherine.”

She smiled up at him and then looked back down at the book. “Shall we sit together so you can see the pictures too?”

Vincent chuckled. “All right.”

They sat down on the bed, and Catherine read. The story was as wonderful as she remembered, but she realized she missed the songs from the animated version. Several of the pictures conjured the tunes quite clearly in her mind. She made a mental note to someday share the video with Vincent.

As she read, she periodically felt Vincent’s eyes upon her. She smiled inwardly, but didn’t look back at him. She wanted him to grow accustomed enough to the dress to be able to look at her without feeling embarrassed. She shifted her position several times to change the view slightly. When she finished reading, she closed the book.

“What a charming story. It’s an old favorite of mine. Thank you for choosing it, Vincent.”

“Thank you for reading, Catherine.” He gazed at her with eyes full of love and she returned that look. Catherine was pleased to realize that he was actually looking at her. She smiled broadly. She set the book aside then and moved closer to Vincent, leaning her head against his shoulder. As she’d hoped, he put his arm around her, gasping as his fingers touched the fabric of her dress. She smiled again and slipped one hand behind him to rest on his back, bringing the other to his chest. She snuggled closer. Vincent seemed uneasy again, and Catherine again tried to fill herself with calm.

After a few moments Catherine realized Vincent was very gently stroking her sleeve. She smiled again and then suddenly felt a ripple of desire pass through her. She thought perhaps she ought to try and expunge it, but it was so pleasant she just couldn’t. She did manage to keep it from escalating though, telling herself that such strong feelings were likely to make Vincent very uncomfortable. She sighed happily, and Vincent pressed the side of his face to the top of her head. She sighed again, more noisily.

They held the embrace for several minutes until they were interrupted by the sound of Catherine’s stomach rumbling. “Excuse me!” Catherine said as Vincent pulled away from her.

“It’s nearly lunch time, Catherine,” Vincent replied. “We should go.” He rose from the bed.

“Already? Where did the morning go?” Catherine wondered aloud. She took the hand Vincent offered her.

Lunch was a delicious, hearty chicken stew with dumplings. Catherine had secretly met with William weeks before to help with “menu planning”. She had made sure William had all the items that were needed. He’d been in seventh heaven, to be able to plan anything he wanted rather than whatever could be managed from the food grown or donated or purchased with the small food budget.

After lunch, Vincent and Catherine went for a long walk, visiting many of the well-known scenic places Below, and one or two Catherine hadn’t seen before.

As they walked, Vincent told her at length about the children’s efforts in tonight’s play. It had been their idea to do a Christmas Eve play. They had selected it, arranged with a helper to obtain copies of the script, chosen a director, decided amongst themselves who would be cast in which roles and who would take backstage duties, built sets, and generally solicited advice or help from their elders when they’d needed it, which wasn’t often.

Vincent was clearly extremely proud of them. Catherine thought what an excellent father he would be, but she wouldn’t let herself dwell on that thought as it dredged up myriad feelings that Vincent wasn’t ready to discuss.

Vincent then inquired about news in Catherine’s life Above. There was nothing to tell, really. She didn’t want to bring up any of the depressing details of her work—the holidays seemed to bring out the worst in some people—and in any case, the trivial details of the rest of her life Above weren’t interesting even to her. The most interesting and important part of her life was here, with those she loved. With Vincent.

She settled on telling a story about Jenny and her misadventures with her latest boyfriend. The story definitely had humorous aspects, but when Catherine finished she realized in retrospect that it might not have been the best choice. The story left both of them with an acute awareness of the things their own relationship was missing.

They walked in awkward silence for a time, arriving soon at the pipe chamber, where they could put the uncomfortable moment out of their minds. Pascal was in exceptionally high spirits. He wore a Santa cap on his head and a red scarf around his neck, and he regaled Vincent and Catherine with all the latest news of Below, in between relaying messages, of course. Not that there was that much news. With the holidays upon them, most everyone was spending time with family or preparing feasts or the like. But they learned which of the helpers had left town to visit relatives.

They left the pipe chamber in much lighter spirits than when they’d entered. They walked in companionable silence, basking in the warmth of their love, until after a while Catherine realized by the landmarks that they were headed for Elizabeth’s painted tunnels. She quickened their pace. When they arrived, they found Elizabeth engrossed in her work. They greeted her and visited with her briefly until it became obvious that she was anxious to get back to her painting.

They spent a long time browsing the paintings. Catherine never tired of viewing the history of Below. She wished she could take Vincent to the art galleries Above—perhaps one year at Halloween. They came upon a painting of Vincent as a baby, and Catherine couldn’t take her eyes off it. He was even more adorable than she’d imagined, and once again the feelings of longing passed through her, less easy to dismiss this time, with the image before her eyes.

Vincent moved nearer her and put his hands on her shoulders. Catherine turned in his arms, pressing close to him and wrapping her arms tightly about him. Vincent held her firmly but gently, making no demands of her, just being there for her. The sure solidity of him helped ground her and her feelings evened out again. She took a step back and smiled up at him. “Thank you, Vincent.” He looked about to ask a question, and she quickly added, “It must be getting late. Should we start back?”

He took a breath and nodded, reluctant for their time alone to end. “Dinner is early tonight because of the play.” He offered Catherine his arm, which she gladly took. They invited Elizabeth to accompany them to the dining chamber, but she declined, mumbling something about needing to finish.

Catherine was pleased that Vincent’s disquiet about her dress had subsided. She even dared to think he had grown fond of it. At least it did not trouble him to look at her or to touch her. Catherine thought ahead to dinner. If she remembered correctly, dinner tonight was going to be ham, twice-baked potatoes, and a vegetable medley. The meal sounded delicious, and prepared by William it would no doubt be doubly so.

By the time they’d returned to the home chambers, it was roughly half an hour before dinnertime, and they decided to pass the time visiting with Father. But they didn’t find him in his chamber; instead they found many of the children, both younger and older, making final preparations for the play. Catherine and Vincent wandered around, endeavoring not to get in the way. They looked at the sets, admired the costumes, and began scouting out good seats.

“Vincent!” Samantha called. “You were right. We didn’t need you.”

Vincent smiled. “I knew you could do it.”

Samantha smiled warmly at Vincent and returned to helping Kipper with his costume.

“What was that about?” Catherine asked, smiling.

“Samantha asked me early this morning if I would help them with their final preparations today,” Vincent explained.

“And you refused?” Catherine asked, a little incredulously.

“I had already made plans to spend the day with you, Catherine. I did tell them I would look in on them if there was an opportunity. But, as Samantha said, they didn’t need my help. I suspected they wouldn’t. They had things well in hand when I stopped by dress rehearsal yesterday.”

Dinner exceeded Catherine’s expectations. She overheard a number of remarks about how well they’d eaten all day, and she smiled inwardly at having helped arrange it. Vincent suggested they return to Father’s chamber rather than lingering over dinner, to claim the seats they’d chosen earlier. Father joined them on their way out of the dining chamber, remarking that he was afraid William had spent the next two month’s food budget on today’s meals alone. He was bound to find out eventually that she’d had a hand in this, but Catherine wasn’t about to confess it now and risk a lecture on such a perfect day.

They took their seats, telling Father how they’d spent the day. Father, in turn, told them that he had been expelled from his chamber by the children in the late morning and had spent the afternoon having tea and reminiscing about Christmases past with Mary.

Most of the audience had arrived by now, and the rising noise level began to make conversation a challenge. Catherine leaned closer to Vincent, and he put his arm around her. She moved her hand to... to put it where, exactly? Touching one another’s legs was not something they had done before. Vincent averted the awkward moment by taking Catherine’s hand in his own. She turned and smiled at him.

Brooke appeared then, clapping to get everyone’s attention. She mentioned the minor role she had played herself and then went on to tell about all the work everyone else had put into the production. She then invited the audience to enjoy The Best Christmas Pageant Ever.

The play was completely wonderful. Catherine wasn’t familiar with the story, and she found it hilarious and touching. The children’s performances were outstanding, and the sets, props, and costumes were excellent in spite of having been scrounged and improvised.

After the play, cookies and hot chocolate were served, cookies Catherine recognized. Was it only this morning they had decorated cookies? It seemed ages ago.

She and Vincent congratulated the children. Catherine was in awe of Vincent. His praise was sincere and specific, and he had kind words for absolutely everyone. Most of the children hugged him, and many of them thanked him for his help.

At last Father announced that it was time for bed. This announcement was met with loud groans of protest. At the children’s insistence, it was decided there would be a bedtime story first. One of the children suggested A Christmas Carol, which Father, exasperated, immediately rejected as too long. He suggested The Night Before Christmas, which the children complained was too short. Someone else suggested The Gift of the Magi, which was also nixed. Finally one of the younger children shouted, “Grinch!” and most of the rest of the children chimed in as well, and thus it was decided they would read How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Catherine and Vincent exchanged a smile and a glance, and one of the children went to a shelf to retrieve Father’s copy.

Catherine took Vincent’s arm and pulled him toward a comfortable-looking spot before all of them were taken. The mention of bedtime had made Catherine realize she was feeling a little sleepy herself. She sat with Vincent on a couch in an out-of-the-way location and nestled close to him. Father began to read, and she closed her eyes. Vincent’s arm slipped around her again, and she moved her hand to his chest. His fingers gently rubbed her upper arm. She was blissfully content. She whispered, “I love you.”

Vincent responded by gently kissing the top of her head and then resting his cheek there. Listening to the story for the second time that day, Vincent reflected on the difference in his mood now as compared to when Catherine had first begun reading. He hoped she hadn’t noticed that he’d spent the entire time looking at her instead of at the pictures. She’d been right: he did get used to the dress, at least enough to be able to look at her in a civilized way.

Vincent came back to the present and realized Catherine was drifting off to sleep. He could tell by the change in the bond as well as by the way her body relaxed. The hand she had placed against his chest had slipped downward to his abdomen and threatened to wander even lower where it would no doubt cause them both considerable embarrassment.

Catherine realized that she must have dozed off when she felt Vincent’s hand against her palm. Her hand was rather lower than where she remembered putting it, and as Vincent slid his own hand beneath hers, he also moved it farther away from his torso. She gave his hand a squeeze and rubbed the fur with her thumb.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, Catherine,” Vincent said softly. She looked up at him lovingly, assailing him with the full force and complexity of her feelings for him, unable in her drowsy state to obscure them.

“The End,” read Father, and the children applauded and then renewed their protests, but picked up and went off to bed anyway. Some of the adults also went along, to tuck in the little ones, but most remained where they were.

“Some things never change,” remarked Father, and he launched into a story of some other, former children and similar protests over bedtime. He didn’t name names, but it was obvious from the smiles and glances around the room which ones he was referring to.

Father’s story reminded Rebecca of another humorous incident, and that story sparked another told by Pascal, who had, remarkably, pulled himself away from the pipe chamber for a few hours. He explained that he’d spent enough Christmas Eves in the pipe chamber to know it would be a quiet night. He’d left an apprentice in charge, with instructions to contact him if anything unusual happened.

The tunnel dwellers told one story after another, each one seemingly funnier than the last. Or perhaps not, but at some point the group had arrived at uncontrollable laughter, and nearly every new remark sparked more laughter still. Finally, silence began to settle over the group as some wiped their eyes, and others rubbed faces that hurt from laughing. Father suggested, “Well, I suppose we should turn in ourselves. I’m sure the children will wake us bright and early to open presents.” The group broke up slowly, exchanging hugs and greetings. Catherine and Vincent were the last to leave, bidding Father good night and merry Christmas.

Vincent chose a seemingly circuitous route after leaving Father’s chamber. Catherine couldn’t tell what their destination was, and she wasn’t paying much attention either, but she was, as ever, grateful for more time with Vincent. She began to yawn with increasing frequency, leaning on Vincent’s arm. Oh, it had been such a wonderful day.

***

Their walk came to an end as they rounded a corner and entered the guest chamber. Catherine’s drowsy smile dropped away and she suddenly felt terribly disappointed. She certainly had no reason to expect Vincent to invite her to spend the night in his chamber, but still it felt almost physically painful to have to separate from him. Irrationally, all the joy of the day was suddenly gone, replaced by an aching loneliness.

Vincent leaned against the chamber wall. “You’re tired, Catherine,” he said simply.

Not entirely succeeding at holding back her tears, Catherine was careful to hide her face from Vincent as she turned and put her arms around him, her face to his chest. She tried her best to suppress her feelings. He wrapped his arms about her in his habitual way and pressed his face to the top of her head. After what must have been at least several minutes, Catherine managed to reluctantly detach herself from Vincent, still not looking at him. She turned and took a step away from him. “Good night, Vincent,” she said as evenly as she could.

Vincent paused, fully aware of her distress, but unable to find words or actions to alleviate it. Finally, thinking of nothing else, he said, “Good night, Catherine,” and then, after another pause, “Merry Christmas.”

Catherine began crying in earnest then, unable to control her feelings any longer, but still she tried to be as quiet as possible so Vincent wouldn’t have to hear as well as feel her sadness. After a long enough time that she was fairly certain he had gone, she turned to confirm it. Seeing that he was indeed gone, her tears turned immediately to sobs. She went to the bed, lying face down and sharing her sorrows with the pillow.

The day had been so full of love and joy, of friendship and togetherness. Now she couldn’t help feeling dreadfully alone. Most of the time she could set aside her own wishes and just be happy with whatever Vincent would allow between them. But sometimes... sometimes... she just needed so much more, and it hurt not to have it. She tried to tell herself she wasn’t really alone here, but as her only companion was a pillow, she couldn’t bring herself to believe it. She gave up trying to coax herself out of her mood and just let herself cry.

Vincent, meanwhile, walked the path to his chamber in anguish. Catherine was miserable, and somehow he was to blame. What could he do or say that would not eventually bring her more pain? Arriving in his empty chamber, he felt fully the same loneliness that possessed Catherine. He knew this loneliness; it had been his cold and unfeeling companion on far too many occasions. It struck him suddenly that whatever barriers existed in their relationship, whatever behavior was expected for the sake of propriety, there was really no good reason for them to be alone and miserable when they could be together and content. He was achingly familiar with the pain of loneliness; he did not want Catherine to be subjected to it if there was anything he could do to prevent it. Decisively, he left his chamber to return to her.

Entering her chamber, he could hear her sobs as well as feel them, and Vincent couldn’t restrain his own tears. He knelt beside her bed, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Catherine.”

How did Vincent manage to so often surprise her but never startle her by his sudden presence? She wiped her tears away as well as she could, rising to sit facing Vincent, with one knee bent in front of her, the other leg stretched out on the bed.

Vincent looked up at her with great concern. “I’m sorry, Catherine,” he rasped. “I’m sorry I’ve made you unhappy.”

Catherine shook her head. “No, Vincent, you made me happy all day.” She paused, gazing at his face. “I just—I didn’t want it to end.” More tears trickled down her face.

“Nor did I.” He looked at her intently for a moment, then dropped his head forward to rest against her knee.

As large and strong as he was, Catherine had never seen him looking more vulnerable. Her heart went out to him. He was blaming himself for her unhappiness; she’d never wanted that. She brought one hand to the back of his neck and gently stroked his head with the other hand. “I love you, Vincent,” she said tenderly, and then leaned forward to plant several small, slow, gentle kisses on the top of his head, finally clearing the hair away from his temple to place a small kiss there as well. “I love you,” she repeated. And then, very quietly, her heart reaching out to his, she whispered, “I need you.” She continued stroking his head.

Abruptly, he raised his head and stood up, pulling Catherine into his arms in a kneeling position on the bed. He held her tightly, and she returned his embrace with equal fervor. “Vincent,” she murmured, leaving pauses between her sentences. “I need you. Please don’t leave me alone tonight. Please stay with me. I promise I won’t ask for more intimacy than you’re ready for. Please, I don’t want to be alone.” She buried her face in his chest again, certain the answer would be no, and thinking how needy and foolish she must look. Still she clung to him, because she could do nothing else.

Vincent began to wonder if he’d made the right choice in coming here. Perhaps he hadn’t thought this through well enough. He didn’t know what else to say or do, but he didn’t want to leave her alone again either. He continued to hold her for many minutes, and Catherine grew very comfortable in his arms and had even started to drift off to sleep slightly when Vincent finally made his decision. “Very well, Catherine. I will stay.”

In her drowsiness, it took a few moments for the words to sink in, and when they did, they brought her back to a somewhat more wakeful state. She pulled away from Vincent to look at his face. “Really?”

Vincent smiled that shy half-smile of his and nodded once. Catherine threw her arms around him again, and said, “Oh, Vincent, thank you! You don’t know how much this means to me!” A few more tears leaked from her eyes, but this time they weren’t the unhappy kind.

After a moment Vincent pulled away and said, “Come then, Catherine. You’re tired. Let’s go to sleep.” She nodded. “You need to change your clothes,” he said. She looked down and nodded again. “Shall I wait outside?” Vincent suggested.

“No,” she replied quietly. And then, her thoughts forming slowly as drowsiness descended again, she asked, “Are you going to change?”

“No,” Vincent said, quietly but definitively.

“All right.” Catherine yawned. “You climb into bed then, and I’ll be ready in a minute.” She rose from the bed with Vincent’s assistance, pulled the covers back, and crossed the room to the wardrobe.

Vincent removed his boots, and then had a brief debate with himself about whether to get into bed under the covers or on top of them. She obviously expected him under the covers, and whichever he chose, she would likely follow his example. For the sake of her comfort, under the covers was the logical choice. He sighed. Best intentions aside, he was afraid it was going to be a very long and sleepless, if pleasant, night. He got into bed, moving to the far side. He noticed Catherine’s movement with his peripheral vision and couldn’t resist a surreptitious glance in her direction. She was nude, facing away from him. His insides seemed to do a somersault and his heartbeat quickened. He squeezed his eyes closed and sighed. It would be a very long night indeed.

Catherine decided to put on one of the long, flannel gowns that hung in the wardrobe, thinking Vincent would likely be more comfortable if she wore something less revealing than her usual nightgowns. She approached the bed to find him lying stiffly with his eyes shut tight. She sighed. He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at her.

“Vincent,” Catherine said sadly. “I didn't realize this would be so difficult for you. You don’t have to stay. I’m sorry for making you feel obligated.”

Vincent stared at Catherine for a moment and then shook his head. He realized he’d been awaiting her almost in fear and chastised himself. “I’m sorry, Catherine. I am not entirely comfortable staying here, but I do not feel obligated. I choose to stay. I know loneliness, and I do not want it to know you.”

Joy and love squeezed the last of the sadness out of Catherine’s heart. She smiled and climbed into bed, lying back and turning to face him. She yawned again. She needed to be near him. “Vincent, may I touch you?” When his reply was only a look of slight alarm, she decided it would be easier to demonstrate. She moved closer and put her arm around him, her head resting against his shoulder. She looked up at his face. “Is this all right?”

He put his arm around her as he exhaled and nodded, tucking the covers more closely around her. “Good night, Catherine.”

Catherine murmured, “Good night. Merry Christmas,” She was already falling asleep. Vincent held her closer and was surprised to realize he was feeling sleepy himself. The day had given him sufficient reason to be tired, but he’d been afraid being so close to Catherine would awaken inappropriate feelings. Well, maybe it had awakened just a few. Yawn. But he was too tired to think about it any more.

***

Catherine awoke in complete peace, remembering at once where she was and with whom, even before she’d opened her eyes. She smiled. She was still in his arms. What utter bliss. She let herself savor the sensations: his warmth, the sound of his breath, the way he smelled, his arms around her, her knee between his thighs. Uh-oh, Vincent would very likely not approve of that. She briefly considered moving her leg, but that might wake him, and worse, make him think she didn’t like touching him that way. She decided to let well enough alone. She tipped her head back to look at him. Oh god, he was gorgeous when he slept! She watched him for a few minutes.

He moved in his sleep, moving his head forward and down and opening his mouth slightly. His face was so near her. His lips were so inviting. Catherine felt something stir within her. She sighed. He was completely irresistible. She kissed his lips very gently, lightly touching her tongue to his lower lip. She let her lips linger against his for a few seconds before she pulled away.

She opened her eyes to find Vincent's blue ones looking into hers. She started. "Vincent! I thought you were asleep!"

He blinked, coming more fully awake, and then said, "I was until a moment ago." Closing his eyes again, he moved his legs to disengage from hers.

Catherine felt herself turning red. "I'm sorry," she said meekly, dropping her eyes. She suspected she was in for the kind of stern but gentle lecture that she'd heard Mouse receive from time to time.

Vincent knew that Catherine was feeling acute shame and embarrassment and also a bit of dread. Her kiss had surprised him and he wanted to hear her explanation, but putting her at ease was more important at the moment. He said gently, “It’s all right, Catherine. You needn’t feel ashamed. I am not offended, nor upset with you.”

Catherine raised her eyes cautiously to meet his. “You’re not?”

He shook his head.

She sighed in relief. “I love you, Vincent. You’re so beautiful when you’re sleeping, and when you moved your face next to mine...” She shrugged. “I guess I lost control for a minute.” She looked down again.

Vincent considered those words in wonder. Being told he was beautiful was something he was not at all accustomed to, and he heard the words with equal measures of discomfort and disbelief. But the other part of what she’d said was more interesting. “You... lost control?”

She nodded, looking up at him again.

“In what respect, Catherine?”

She took a deep breath and thought for a moment. What could she say that wouldn’t scare him away, as so often seemed to happen when they got close? “Vincent,” she began slowly, caressing his face with her eyes, “there are things we don’t talk about... things we should talk about. Important things.” She paused to see how he would react.

Vincent was afraid of what she might want to discuss, afraid that the discussion would not be helpful, and in fact might be deleterious. But he knew she was right; they’d been avoiding certain issues for a long time. “Yes,” he said finally.

Catherine was cautiously optimistic. “You’re willing to talk about... our relationship?”

Vincent swallowed and nodded. “But Catherine, would it be all right if we have this conversation in a sitting position?”

“Oh, of course.” Naturally, she thought, he’d be more comfortable that way, and she no doubt would be too. They sat up, Vincent leaning against the headboard and turned slightly toward her, Catherine sitting cross-legged facing Vincent.

“Thank you, Vincent,” she began. Her appreciation made him feel uncomfortable, even guilty, but there wasn’t time to dwell on this as she continued, “There are so many things I want to say to you. I’m not sure where to begin.” Her eyes took on a faraway look for a few moments, and then she continued. “Vincent, I love you. And I want our relationship to... to grow, to become more intimate. I want to be able to kiss you without feeling like I’ve...” she shook her head, searching for the right word, “committed a serious breach of trust.”

Vincent didn’t know how to respond to those words. He felt very ill at ease and remained silent.

“Vincent, how do you feel about me? What am I to you?” Catherine queried.

“You are my life, Catherine,” he said intensely and without hesitation.

Catherine paused for a moment, then queried, “What does that mean to you?”

He took a deep breath. He was afraid to share with her the depth of his feelings. Yet he had agreed that they needed to discuss these things. What was he to say? The truth was the only possible choice, but perhaps it didn’t need to be the whole truth. “My life began when I met you. My heart did not know how to beat properly until I knew you. My world was gray before you and is now filled with color. You are everything to me.”

“Those are lovely words.” She tried to choose her own next words carefully, not wanting to hurt him. “I was hoping for a more concrete answer though.”

She’s a lawyer, remember? Vincent told himself. Of course she would see through that. He remained silent.

Catherine continued, “Vincent, sometimes it seems like you hide your feelings from me. Is that true, or am I mistaken?”

Vincent dropped his eyes. “It’s true,” he said quietly. A long silence ensued, which Catherine did not break this time. Vincent finally realized that she knew he was hiding his feelings now. Finally, he looked up. “I’m sorry, Catherine. You deserve... better.”

Catherine sighed. “There is no one better than you, Vincent. But I wish you’d be more....” She stopped and shook her head. “No. I don’t want to wish you to be anything other than what you are. I love you. I just.... Oh, why does this have to be so hard? Why can’t we, for once, just say what we really feel?”

Once again, Vincent said nothing.

“Vincent, may I tell you how I feel about you?”

He nodded.

“Will you promise not to contradict me and not to tell me about the life I deserve to have?”

He paused and nodded again.

“Will you promise...” Catherine broke into tears at this point, but continued, “not to run away from me if what I say is... I don’t know... too intense, or not what you want to hear?”

Those words hurt Vincent, but he knew he had deliberately put distance between them on occasion. He looked up, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “I promise, Catherine.”

She nodded, feeling relieved. “Thank you.” She cleared her throat and wiped her eyes. “Vincent, I love you. I am in love with you. I love with you all that I am, and parts of me are very frustrated because they have no opportunity to properly express that love.” She paused momentarily. “I want to have a life with you. I want to live with you. I want to marry you. I want to have your children. I want... you, in every way, now and forever.”

Tears had begun to trickle down Vincent’s face as she spoke. “You speak of our dream, Catherine.”

“No, Vincent!” she said sharply, “I speak of reality! I have told you how I feel and what I want. I believe these things can happen. Tell me you believe too, Vincent.”

“I want to believe, Catherine,” Vincent said truthfully.

Catherine smiled. It was a start. A tear trickled down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away. “Do you believe that I love you, Vincent?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe that I want you?”

He hesitated and wouldn’t meet her eyes. “You say it is so, and therefore I should believe you, but...” He sighed. “It is difficult to think of myself as...”

“Desirable?” Catherine offered. He nodded, still looking down. “You are, Vincent. You’re beautiful.” He shook his head dismissively. “I admit your beauty is not exactly of the classic variety, but you are incredibly attractive.” He shook his head again, his eyes closed. “Vincent, do you trust me?” Catherine asked.

He looked up slowly, surprised at this sudden, apparent change of subject. “Of course.”

“Then trust me when I tell you that you are beautiful and desirable. Another time, I’ll tell you very specifically of all the things about you I find beautiful. But because I can see it makes you uncomfortable to hear these things right now, I’ll stop saying them. All right?”

He nodded slowly.

“There’s just one other thing I want to tell you right now.” She paused, making sure she had his full attention. “It’s easier to get forgiveness than permission.”

Vincent was puzzled, but not for long. Catherine kissed him. At first she gave him brief, gentle kisses, leaving sufficient time between them that he could protest if he so chose. When he didn’t, her kisses began to linger, and when he responded she moaned and kissed him more passionately, trying to hold herself back for the sake of his inexperience.

Vincent pulled away finally, breathless and more than a little overwhelmed. “I believe you, Catherine,” he said.

“Huh?” she answered, not quite coherent yet.

“I believe that you want me.”

She smiled broadly, remembering where their conversation had left off. “I believe that you want me as well,” she said mischievously.

“It would not be appropriate for me to admit that without first telling you something else.” He paused to look at her tenderly. “Catherine, I love you.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb.

Catherine smiled again. “Oh, Vincent, I love you!” She moved closer for a hug, which she at once received. Pulling back, she said, “Vincent, will you tell me something? I’ve known for a very long time that you love me. Why weren’t you able to tell me before now?”

“I... I didn’t want to frighten you... with the intensity of my feelings. I see now that your feelings are a mirror of my own. Catherine, it has been impossible not to know that you love me, but I was afraid to let myself realize that you love me in the same way I love you.”

“Why, Vincent?” she asked gently.

He shrugged. “Fear of the unknown? I have lived my life by certain precepts, Catherine. Among them was the belief that there would never be anyone who loves me the way I now realize you do. I have dared to hope, to dream that you loved me in this way, but I was afraid of being proven wrong.” Tears slid down Vincent’s cheeks. “Thank you, Catherine. Thank you for... for not asking permission. You’re right; I wouldn’t have given it.”

Vincent’s words had moved Catherine to tears as well. He had essentially told her that he felt unworthy of love. For such a kind, loving, and gentle being as he to feel this way... she shared his pain. She knelt and pulled him into her arms, holding his head to her chest and planting a kiss on its crown.

“What I most fear, Catherine,” Vincent went on, “is losing you.” Catherine pulled back to look at him, sitting on her haunches. “And if I knew that my words or actions had driven you away... I could not go on. I was terrified that if I revealed my true feelings to you, you would be...” He swallowed, “repulsed.”

“Oh, Vincent!” Catherine shook her head, crying openly. “I could never feel that way about you! I love you. I will never leave you. You are my life!” She gathered him into her arms again, resting her cheek against the top of his head. “Oh, my sweet Vincent,” she said softly. She kissed the top of his head. “I love you.”

“I love you, Catherine.”

They held the embrace for a long time, Catherine hoping that she had allayed his fears, that he would be ready to move forward in their relationship. Then something else occurred to her. She released Vincent and sat back again.

“Vincent, I’ve worried about losing you too. You’re so terribly noble, always thinking about what you believe is best for me. But sometimes that hurts me. I want you to want me for yourself. I don’t want to have to worry that you’ll try to send me away if some man comes into my life who I happen to care about.”

He took her hands in his. “I’m sorry, Catherine. I never meant to hurt you. I promise I will let you make your own choices. Please forgive me.”

“Thank you, Vincent. I know you would never deliberately hurt me,” They embraced again.

“I’m so glad we had this conversation,” Catherine said.

“Catherine, I have more things to say,” Vincent replied.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Go ahead.” Catherine was thrilled he wanted to talk some more.

“I still have... concerns... about placing restrictions on your life,” he began. Catherine started to protest, but he held up a hand to silence her. “But I believe we will find ways to address them.”

Catherine smiled.

“And some of the other... things you mentioned... will take some getting used to.” He looked down shyly.

Catherine smiled again. “I won’t hurt you, Vincent. I promise,” she said softly.

He looked up and tilted his head. “I am more worried about the converse, Catherine.”

Catherine shook her head. “I’m not. It will be fine, Vincent, you’ll see. We belong together. Have faith that whatever force caused our paths to cross also made sure it was possible for us to fulfill our love.”

Vincent took a deep breath and nodded. “I will try, Catherine.” He gazed at her for a few moments. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Catherine replied. She yawned. “Do you have more to say?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “Merry Christmas, Catherine.”

Catherine smiled broadly. “Merry Christmas, Vincent.”

They shared another brief kiss.

“Vincent, we don’t have to get up yet, do we?” Catherine asked.

“Catherine,” Vincent said with mock incredulity. “It’s Christmas morning! Don’t you want to see what Santa has brought you?”

Catherine flashed a flirting glance in his direction and said, “I’ve already received my present.”

Vincent smiled in agreement. “As have I.” He paused. “Don’t you want to see, then, what Santa has brought for everyone else? A little bird told me that Santa was planning to be extremely generous this year.”

Catherine gave him a playful look and replied matter-of-factly, “Santa was extremely generous every year when I was a little girl.”

“Is that where you learned generosity, Catherine?”

The playfulness gone now, she replied, “No, Vincent, I learned that from you.”

Unprepared for this sudden shift in the conversation, Vincent was momentarily speechless. He shook his head in denial.

“It’s true, Vincent. I’ll allow that I had potential when you found me, but you’ve truly brought out the best in me. Thank you.”

“Catherine, you underestimate yourself,” he began, but Catherine interrupted.

“Hmm, I think it’s possible you overestimate me.” She changed the subject before he could reply. “Vincent, can we go back to sleep?”

He sighed, tilted his head, and after a pause, nodded. “If you’ll promise not to ask me for more intimacy than I’m ready for.”

Catherine smiled and nodded and then blushed, dropping her eyes. “I broke that promise, didn’t I?”

“Not exactly,” Vincent said, teasing. She looked up again to hear his explanation. “You didn’t ask, Catherine,” he finished drolly.

“I’m sorry, Vincent,” Catherine replied, unable to remove the half-smile from her lips.

“You’re forgiven, Catherine.” He brushed a hand through her hair.

Catherine's smile grew to its full measure. “You see, it is easier to get forgiveness than permission!”

“Oh, I quite agree. You need only ask Father.” He slid back down under the covers, Catherine following and chuckling.

She snuggled beside him again, enjoying the new direction their relationship had taken. “Vincent, may I have another kiss?”

“You’re asking permission, Catherine?” Vincent’s playful mood continued.

“Well, asking permission isn’t so onerous when you think the answer will be yes.” Catherine winked.

Vincent became more serious, looking deep into Catherine’s eyes. “Catherine, I’m not ready to....”

“I know,” she said gently. “I won’t ask for more right now. Just a kiss. I promise.”

He looked into her eyes for long moments, and then kissed her. Catherine had been expecting a chaste kiss, but what she got was a long, deep, passionate kiss that left her stunned and breathless. When Vincent finally removed his lips from hers she goggled at him open-mouthed. Pleased with the effect he’d had on her, Vincent sprinkled several more kisses around her face, brief, chaste ones this time.

Finally, Catherine managed to breathe, “Wow.” Vincent smiled and pressed his cheek to hers. “This is really happening, isn’t it? I’m not dreaming, am I?”

Catherine was shocked at Vincent’s nonverbal reply. She pulled back suddenly to look at him, and after seeing the look on his face, she couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Vincent! You pinched me!”

Grinning mischievously, he replied, “That is the traditional proof that one isn’t dreaming, isn’t it?”

She continued laughing, still surprised at his action, but pleased too, that he was so at ease with her. Settling back down next to him, a thought occurred to her. “Vincent, have you ever pinched yourself when you were dreaming?”

“Once.”

“And?”

“It didn’t hurt.”

She laughed again, and then yawned again. She let her thoughts swirl around a bit until they carried her off to sleep. Vincent began to doze as well: Catherine’s relaxed body and mind seemed to be rather contagious.

***

Elsewhere in the world Below, one child awakened, and this quickly led to most all of the other children being soon awakened as well. This, in turn, led to waking their elders, and before very long, much of the tunnel community was once again gathered in Father’s chamber in anticipation of opening presents.

Children and adults alike were awed by the sheer number of presents under the tree. Mouse had drawn the short straw in a contest to determine who would get to pass out the presents, and he was nearly jumping up and down with excitement. Father had just given the word that he could begin when Samantha shouted, “Wait!”

All eyes turned to regard her. “Vincent’s not here. Or Catherine. We can’t start without them!”

“I looked for Vincent,” said Kipper, “but he wasn’t in his chamber.” A few of the other children had apparently looked for him too, for they chimed in their agreement.

“Look for Catherine?” Mouse asked. “Find Catherine, find Vincent,” he stated with certainty.

“I’ll go and look for her,” Samantha offered.

“She’s staying in the guest chamber, Samantha. You might look there first,” Mary suggested.

Father had an uneasy feeling. Mouse was right, and he strongly suspected Samantha would indeed find Catherine and Vincent together. He shuddered to think what Vincent might be doing in Catherine’s chamber at this hour.

***

“Catherine!” Samantha began to call, well before she arrived at the guest chamber. “Catherine!” She entered the guest chamber, still calling, and not until she was almost at the bed did she realize she’d found Vincent as well. She was old enough to realize she had obviously intruded on a private moment and she began to back away quietly, but her calls had awakened them.

Catherine turned to face Samantha, smiled, and said, “Good morning, Samantha. Merry Christmas!”

Samantha smiled tentatively, and replied, “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Samantha,” Vincent said, sitting up and smiling reassuringly at Samantha. He had noticed her embarrassment.

“Merry Christmas,” she said again, her uneasiness dropping away. “It’s time to open presents. You’re both coming, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Vincent replied. “Have I ever missed Christmas morning?”

Samantha smiled broadly, “Not since I can remember! You should see all the presents! I’ve never seen so many in my life!” she enthused.

Catherine got out of bed, and Samantha took her hand, tugging her toward the doorway. “I should get dressed,” Catherine said.

“You can get dressed later. Lots of people are still in their pajamas. Come on!” Samantha insisted.

Vincent was putting on his boots. I guess there are advantages to sleeping in your clothes, Catherine thought. “Well, at least let me put on slippers and a robe then.” This done, Samantha again begun tugging Catherine towards the doorway. Catherine dragged her feet, not wanting to go anywhere without Vincent. She stretched out her free hand. “Vincent, are you coming?” she asked as she disappeared through the entryway.

“Yes, Catherine,” he replied, as he finished lacing his boots and hurried after them.

When they arrived at Father’s chamber, Samantha had them moving at a fast jog, and Catherine laughed as she ran more or less sideways, one hand still in Samantha’s and the other holding tight to Vincent’s. Finally Samantha slowed as they entered Father’s chamber. “I found them!” she called out unnecessarily.

Catherine was flushed, slightly winded, laughing, and looking as beautiful as Father had ever seen her. He noticed her clothing and tousled hair with some apprehension, but was pleased to note that Vincent, at least, was properly dressed. But, he suddenly realized, in yesterday’s clothes. Oh dear, he must have a talk with them.

Samantha led Catherine, still holding tight to Vincent, to sit among the group of children gathered near the tree. Mouse asked impatiently, “Start now?”

“Yes, Mouse, go ahead,” Father replied. Mouse snatched the first package from under the tree, read the name aloud and tossed the package across Father’s chamber to Pascal, who caught it. One or two people had to duck in order to avoid being hit with the package.

“Mouse!” scolded Father, Vincent, William, Mary, Pascal, Jamie, and several others all at once. They all said variations of, “Don’t throw the gifts!” or “There could be something breakable in there!”

Catherine, settled cross-legged on the floor, was surprised when Vincent seated himself in the small space between her back and the wall, his legs stretched out alongside hers. She was still more surprised when he wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her back to lean against him. She twisted her body to look at him. “Do you mind?” he asked very quietly.

She shook her head and then smiled, and finally finding her voice, said “No, I’m... pleased.” Vincent smiled back at her and kissed her cheek, surprising her again. Her face broke into a wide grin which she just could not remove. She settled back against Vincent, wondering just exactly how many such gifts he would give her today. She moved one hand to his upper arm and the other to the back of the furry hand that rested on her belly. Vincent pressed his cheek to her head, and she sighed in complete happiness.

Catherine had to make a considerable effort to concentrate on the gift opening. Most of the gifts were marked ‘From Santa’, as she was well aware, having purchased and wrapped them herself. Jamie had helped her select appropriate gifts for those individuals she didn’t know well. Catherine had sworn Jamie to secrecy, and had every intention of denying the presents were from her if she was asked; she had gone so far as to buy a present for herself from Santa too.

“Vincent,” Catherine turned and whispered. “That little bird you mentioned earlier, do you think she sang for anyone else?”

“I don’t believe so, Catherine,” Vincent said very quietly near Catherine’s ear. “She said she was sworn to secrecy, but she had to tell someone, and she knew I’d figure it out anyway. She did not mention your name, by the way.”

Catherine smiled again, without turning to face him. She squeezed his hand, and Vincent responded by leaning his head forward to kiss her temple.

Vincent received a gift then, and Catherine did her best to give him room to open it. It was from Samantha, a slightly odd shaped pair of red socks which she had knitted herself. Vincent admired Samantha’s work with the same attention to detail he’d shown when complimenting the children the night before, and then thanked her. Samantha beamed.

So did Catherine. She sighed and whispered, “I love you.” It was her turn to receive a gift then. It was the gift from Santa, a lovely black fleece scarf. Vincent would also receive one; she had had in mind to “accidentally” mix up the scarves, so she could take home something that smelled like Vincent and leave him something with her scent. That little scheme might be superfluous after this morning’s events, she mused, but they were very nice scarves anyway, very soft and warm.

The gift opening went on for some time. Vincent thanked Catherine upon opening his scarf. “It’s beautiful,” he said softly, “and it matches yours.”

She shook her head. “It is beautiful, but it’s not from me. Santa brought it.” She reached up and kissed his cheek.

Vincent received rather more gifts than average, many of them handmade presents from children, and some of them... not exactly lovely. Vincent accepted all of them gratefully and gracefully.

At last all of the gifts were opened. Father mused aloud, “Hmm, I wonder who all of these gifts from Santa could really be from.” Catherine was sitting next to Eric having a discussion about the merits of various kinds of building toys: Legos, Lincoln Logs, Tinker Toys, Erector sets, and so forth, and she chose not to take any notice of Father’s remark. She continued to ignore him when he called her name, and pretended to be completely unaware of his comment when Eric pointed out to her that Father was calling her. After he had her attention, he repeated what he’d said.

Catherine shrugged. “Looks to me like they’re from Santa,” she said with a smile.

“Yeah!” several children chimed in. “They’re from Santa.”

Father pointed out, “Santa doesn’t usually bring us so many presents.”

“We were good!” one of the little ones cried. This remark was met by a chorus of agreement, and Father could hardly argue with it. There was a message on the pipes then that breakfast was ready. A mass exodus of Father’s chamber ensued. Catherine smiled, thinking: saved by the bell!

Breakfast was yet another feast: mounds of scrambled eggs, piles of bacon, oodles of fresh croissants, and a wide variety of fresh fruit. Father again began to wonder aloud how such food could be afforded, and Catherine urged Vincent out of the dining hall before an accusing finger could be pointed in her direction.

Breathing a sigh of relief, she took Vincent’s arm. “Santa has been bringing us wonderful meals, the past day hasn’t he, Catherine?”

Catherine’s head moved from upper left to lower right, such that it was impossible to tell whether she was agreeing. Realizing the preposterousness of this reply, she suddenly burst out laughing, then putting on a straight face, she agreed. “The meals certainly have been wonderful, Vincent.”

Scolding gently, Vincent said, “Catherine, you should not spend so much money on us.”

She stopped in her tracks, hands on hips, and asked, “And why not?” Vincent turned to face her, at a momentary loss for words. “Don’t helpers make donations to the community Below?”

“Yes.”

“And aren’t I a helper?”

“Well, yes, Catherine, but—”

“There’s nothing wrong with my making donations, Vincent. I can more than afford it, and I certainly have nothing better to spend my money on.”

“Catherine, I apologize if I offended you. It was not my intent.” The regret on Vincent's face was clear.

“And I got a little overzealous,” she said apologetically. “I’m sorry, Vincent.”

They began walking again, arm in arm, and after a few moments, Vincent asked, “Catherine, may I ask you a question?” She assented. “If you think your donations are appropriate, why is it so important to you that they be anonymous?”

She sighed. “Because for some reason, Father looks at me differently from the other helpers— maybe that’s something to do with you, or maybe it’s because he knows I have money. But, does it make sense to not want donations from someone who can truly afford them? Anyway, I would rather not be on the receiving end of one of his lectures.”

Vincent nodded, “We’d all rather not be on the receiving end of his lectures. And I agree with you—he does look at you differently from the other helpers, perhaps for both the reasons you mentioned. Thank you for sharing your thoughts.”

“Oh, any time, Vincent. You know I’ll tell you anything. Where are we going, by the way?”

“I thought perhaps you might like a bath.” They rounded a corner and entered the bathing chamber she’d used before when she’d stayed Below, although she hadn’t known about this entrance.

“Vincent,” she said, deadpan, “Are you telling me I need a bath?”

“No, Catherine! Certainly not! I—” Then he noticed the grin she could no longer contain. He smiled in return.

“I would enjoy a bath very much, thank you.” Then, aiming for more embarrassed sputtering, she asked coyly, “I don’t suppose you’ll be joining me?” To her surprise once again this day, he actually appeared to be considering the idea. After her eyes had gone wide and she had begun to hope, Vincent looked up with mischief in his eyes, replying, “I don’t think that would be wise, Catherine.” Then he winked at her and left. She stood staring for long moments. Hoist by my own petard, she thought. She snapped out of her reverie and attended to her bath, a long luxurious one.

***

Today’s gown was green satin, again full length, full skirt, but no sleeves and no straps on this dress. She had deliberately not brought along a jacket, shawl, or sweater of any kind to go with it in spite of the fact that she knew she’d likely be cold. She thought she would have sufficient excuse either to ask Vincent himself to keep her warm, or to borrow something of his to wear. She’d find something, in any case. She put her damp hair up with a few pins.

Looking for Vincent in his chamber, she found him writing in his journal. She smiled, not interrupting, and noticed that he looked freshly washed too. He wore the ruffled shirt she so loved, along with green corduroy pants and a brown quilted vest. She wandered around Vincent’s chamber, quietly looking at his unusual assortment of possessions, stopping finally at the portrait Kristopher Gentian had painted. She sighed happily, thinking: soon, soon the promise of what he painted will be fulfilled.

Vincent closed his journal and came to stand behind Catherine, looking with longing at her bare back and shoulders. He raised his hands to her shoulders, but somehow couldn’t quite bring himself to touch her. Catherine felt his presence and turned to face him, smiling. “Catherine,” he breathed, gazing hungrily at her bare shoulders and cleavage, not trying to force himself to stop as he’d done the day before, letting himself desire her in the knowledge that she desired him as well. Still he did not touch her, caressing her only with his eyes.

Catherine, still smiling, reveled in his reaction as she had done the previous morning, expecting this time that he would be more accepting of his own feelings. She stood before him for long moments, enjoying the touch of his eyes and the growing desire that flowed through the bond. She put her hands on his chest and stood on tiptoe to kiss him, but Vincent stopped her, taking a step backward. “No!” he breathed. Catherine was stung. His desire a moment ago was unmistakable, and he had been so intimate with her earlier this morning. What could be wrong? She waited for him to explain.

Vincent shook his head. “Catherine, I’m sorry,” he began. “I didn’t mean to...” His hands balled into fists at his side, and his breathing became labored and faster. He was clearly upset, and Catherine waited patiently to hear what was troubling him. He took another few steps back, his distress growing. “I didn’t mean to hurt you!” He turned away from her, paced quickly back and forth a few times, and then stopped, raised his head, and roared. Afterward, he was shaking and still breathing hard.

Catherine was worried. She didn’t understand what had precipitated such a strong reaction in him, but calming him was first priority. She came to stand beside him. “Vincent,” she said gently, “please, tell me what’s wrong?”

He looked into her eyes, his own full of pain, and then looked away, unable to bear her regard. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Catherine touched his arm gently. “Will you come and sit with me?”

He nodded once and she led him to sit beside her on the bed. Vincent was filled with shame about his outburst. There was no excuse for losing control like that. He wanted to run away and hide and not let her see him, but she was being so kind and understanding; leaving now would only insult her further.

Catherine projected love and serenity through the bond and put her hand on Vincent’s upper back, rubbing gently in what she hoped was a comforting way. She leaned her head against his arm, giving him time to center himself. After his breathing had evened out somewhat, she quietly said, “Tell me.”

He raised his head, still inwardly berating himself, and looked at her. In her eyes he found such kindness, such love and understanding and patience, such tenderness, that it brought him to tears. He wrapped his arms around her, his head against hers. “I love you, Catherine.”

Catherine immediately returned his embrace, touched that these words were the first out of his mouth. He had forbidden himself to speak them for so long. Vincent continued holding her, speaking near her ear. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to... reject you. It just... happened, and I was so angry with myself for hurting you, and then frustrated that I couldn’t find words to explain... that I... I lost control. I’m sorry.”

No..., Catherine thought, that’s not right. That was not sufficient explanation for such an outburst. She tried to remember in detail what had happened. “Vincent,” she said gently, “there must be more to it than that. I’m sure I’m at least partly to blame for what happened.” He pulled back, shaking his head. “Yes. You’re too willing to blame yourself and unwilling to blame me.”

“Catherine, you have done nothing wrong!” he protested.

“Haven’t I? Thinking back, I realize you were already in a highly emotional state before I tried to kiss you. If I’d been paying more attention to your feelings than to my own, I might have realized it wasn’t a good idea.”

“You couldn’t know, Catherine.”

“Yes, Vincent, I could. I do. I am well aware that some of my clothing... has a certain effect on you. I’ve done nothing to ease your discomfort, and in fact, I’ve actively tried to cajole a reaction out of you by wearing things that might tempt you. That wasn’t very nice of me, and I’m sorry.

“Things are different since we had our talk this morning,” she continued. “I no longer feel as if the caresses of your eyes are the only ones I’ll ever receive. But before today I felt there were so few ways I could... try to solicit your attention. There was so little...” her voice caught at this point, “of any kind of... eroticism between us. Teasing you with revealing clothing seemed to be one of the only available options. If what I’m wearing makes you uncomfortable, I’ll change or cover up.”

Vincent shook his head again and said, “I have grown accustomed to the fact that you wear... alluring clothing. I...” He looked down shyly for a moment. “I like it.

“Your clothing does not disturb me, Catherine. You look... lovely... enchanting. I... I began to lose myself when I looked at you and let myself consider...” He took a few breaths. “Being with you. It’s always been a dream, a forbidden dream. Then you touched me, and my body was... on fire. I felt like I’d been caught doing something illicit, and I had to stop. Truly, Catherine, I did not mean to recoil from you. It happened before I could think. Please forgive me, and... please forgive my uncivilized behavior. I never want you to see that side of me. I don’t know how you can even look at me.”

“Vincent, I love you!” Tears trickled down her face. “I love all of you! I accept ‘that side’ of you as part of who you are. You don’t have to be ashamed of it. Not with me.”

A tear rolled down Vincent’s cheek, and he stroked her cheek with his thumb. He embraced her again, holding her tightly, whispering her name, and gently rocking back and forth.

“Vincent,” Catherine said softly, “I’m sorry for being so selfish and insensitive.” Vincent released her again, protesting vehemently.

“And for rushing you,” she added. “You told me this morning it would take you a while to get used to these things, and here I go and try to rush you into something you’re not ready for.”

“But that was not your intent. You were only reaching out to me because...” Another tear slid down his cheek. “Because you love me.”

She nodded, and he wrapped his arms around her again, holding her for many minutes.

***

Father had come to check on Vincent after hearing his roar. He had seen them sitting together on the bed, had heard Catherine blaming herself for his outburst, and pleased that she seemed to be taking responsibility for her actions, had left rather than intrude.

Returning to his chamber, he reassured the others that all was well. The children returned to building towers, and the adults returned to their conversations. Father proceeded toward his place at the chess board, but Mary waylaid him, making apologies to Kipper, who waited at the chess table, and asked Father for a word alone. She led him to his bed chamber, and asked what had happened with Vincent.

“I don’t know what happened,” he explained. “Catherine was with him, and as she seemed to have the situation well in hand, I didn’t interrupt.” He made to return to the study, but Mary stopped him. He looked at her questioningly.

“Jacob, there’s something I want to talk to you about. Why don’t you have a seat?”

Thinking it was rude to keep his chess partner waiting, he nonetheless complied with her request. “What is it then, Mary?”

“Something is happening between Vincent and Catherine,” she said directly.

He nodded, “Yes, I’ve noticed.”

“I know you noticed, Jacob. Why does it upset you so?” At his surprised look, she explained, “The look on your face this morning made your feelings very obvious. You’re the only one who seems to have a problem with this. Everyone else was happy for them. I know you and Vincent have always been close, but you know, Jacob, it’s true what they say. You won’t be losing a son; you’ll be gaining a daughter.”

He stared at her dumbstruck, feelings warring for control. On the one hand he was shocked that she would make a reference to Vincent and marriage. He was also angry that she seemed to think his feelings were inappropriate. And he also realized with some chagrin that she had struck a nerve: was he afraid Catherine would take Vincent away from him? He had to admit he was, although that was absurd from a rational standpoint. After all, where could she take him? Perhaps then he only feared losing Vincent in the emotional sense. He didn’t know what to think. Annoyed, he finally said to Mary, “Is that all then?”

“Well, that depends, Jacob,” Mary said gently. “Are you going to act on the feelings I saw in you this morning?” When he didn’t answer, but glared at her, she went on. “Vincent is a grown man, Jacob. He can make his own decisions, and he doesn’t need you scolding him. Heaven knows, it must be difficult enough for him to have a relationship with her at all. I know he’s felt different all these years, in spite of our best attempts to help him fit in. The last thing he needs, now that they seem to have made some progress in their relationship, is for you to remind him of his differences again.”

Agitated, Father replied, “Mary, you seem to ignore the fact that Vincent can be dangerous. No one knows what might happen if the two of them were to...” He paused, unwilling to put words to the thought. “He might inadvertently hurt her, kill her even.”

“That’s ridiculous. I don’t believe it for a moment. Vincent is in love with Catherine. He would never hurt her. Think about how gentle he is with the children. And patient. And even- tempered.” She paused, studying his face. “Don’t do it, Jacob. Don’t hurt him. I’m sure he’s considered all the same things you have and then some. Just let them figure things out on their own. Please.” She put a hand on his shoulder.

He sighed. “I will consider your advice, Mary.”

“At very least, don’t spoil their Christmas. Please?” He looked at Mary for a long moment, before she turned to go back to the library.

***

Vincent and Catherine joined the group gathered in Father’s library a short time later. Vincent had confided in Catherine that he would be more comfortable in the presence of others, and he had told her why: the reality of what they’d said to one another early that morning had begun to solidify, and while he had begun to accept that there were certain pleasant inevitabilities awaiting them, he was not yet ready to face them directly. The company of others would effectively eliminate those possibilities and his concerns about them.

Catherine was too thrilled with his use of words like ‘inevitabilities’ and ‘not yet’ to even be disappointed. She happily took his arm and proceeded to Father’s chamber, pausing only briefly to sheepishly explain her former plan about not bringing a jacket. She noticed with relief that Vincent must be completely past his former anxiety, for he seemed amused by her predicament, saying only, “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Their arrival was met by smiles and greetings, and several glances of concern. Five-year-old Ricky created a slightly awkward moment by voicing the question that was on everyone’s mind, “Whatsa matter, Vincent. I heard you... raaarrrrr.”

Catherine worried about Vincent’s feelings and quickly went through one scenario after another in her mind, wondering what explanation might be appropriate to a 5-year-old as well as everyone else who was listening in. She needn’t have troubled herself, she realized, when Vincent answered the boy’s question truthfully, if not completely.

Dropping to one knee next to Ricky, Vincent gently said, “I’m sorry if I frightened you, Ricky. Do you ever have times when things just aren’t working out the way you want, and you want to scream or cry?” Ricky nodded. “Well, that’s what happened to me, except because I’m different sometimes instead of screaming or crying, I...” He stopped, not wanting to use the word roar and not immediately finding a better one.

“Raaarrrrr,” Ricky supplied eagerly.

Vincent smiled. “Yes.”

“Sometimes when you feel bad,” Ricky said sagely, “a hug will make you better. Want one?” Vincent smiled again and opened his arms. Ricky hugged Vincent tightly, and the remaining children flocked to Vincent, offering their own hugs, which he warmly accepted and returned.

Catherine was again touched by the strong but vulnerable picture Vincent presented, and she couldn’t help shedding a tear. She noticed she wasn’t the only one who had to dry an eye. She also noticed Mary cast a strange look toward Father, who rolled his eyes.

The mood of the room brightened considerably after that. Vincent held a special place in most everyone’s hearts, and knowing he was happy made them happy too. Vincent joined the tower building with a nod and a smile from Catherine. He had not had the opportunity to play with Legos as a boy. Mouse, who had already been playing with the blocks for an hour, began to explain the finer points to Vincent.

Catherine spent the next hour visiting with her friends Below. She was surprised to find Pascal among the group again, and even more surprised when William came in. Knowing that dinner was turkey with all the trimmings, she found it astonishing that he would tear himself away from his beloved kitchen.

She stood next to the spiral staircase where Jamie was quietly telling her the story of how she’d almost been caught sneaking the presents under the tree the night before. She heard a few giggles from across the room, but she couldn’t tell by a casual glance what was funny.

Jamie excused herself, and Catherine looked across the room at Vincent. He had drawn back somewhat and was watching the children play. He looked over at Catherine and smiled. Then he looked surprised, but Catherine didn’t have an opportunity to consider it further because Pascal was approaching her, looking somewhat nervous.

Pascal wished Catherine a merry Christmas, hugged her, and then kissed her on the cheek. A surprised Catherine barely had time to return his greeting, before he retreated, blushing, to a place by the door. She looked over at Vincent, who had his head tilted to one side, smiling. She held his gaze for a few moments, but was distracted when William approached her.

“Catherine,” William began in a voice pitched so that only she could hear, “I don’t know how to thank you for all of your generous contributions. It’s been so wonderful not to have to worry, for once, about having enough to go around. And, you know, I love a challenge, but it’s been quite a treat not to to have to improvise. I can’t tell you how much it’s meant to me. Thank you so much.”

“I was happy to be able to help,” Catherine smiled.

William gave her a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek, blushing deeply. “Merry Christmas, Catherine. I have to be getting back to the kitchen now. Dinner’s nearly ready, and I’ve got one or two minor things to finish up.”

Wondering if it could possibly have been a coincidence that two such unlikely candidates would have hugged and kissed her within the space of a few minutes, her gaze wandered back to Vincent. He was smiling enigmatically. She was about to cross the room to him when Mouse suddenly appeared before her, looking at the floor and fidgeting.

“Is anything wrong, Mouse?” Catherine asked. He shook his head without looking up. “Are you wishing Santa had brought you Lego blocks as well?” she asked in an attempt to make conversation.

Mouse looked up, apparently terrified. Catherine was taken aback, and looked around to see what might be frightening him. Finding nothing, she looked back at him, puzzled. He abruptly lunged at her, kissed her on the cheek, and then scrabbled off like his namesake. Catherine stared after him open mouthed, and when she finally regained sufficient presence of mind to look in Vincent’s direction, she found him walking towards her with a smile on his face.

“Vincent,” Catherine asked in a quiet voice when he arrived before her, “what’s going on? Am I the victim of a practical joke?” She noticed that no one in the room was laughing, but there were a number of smiles, furtive glances, and expectant looks, all of them pointed in her direction. He looked upward in an exaggerated way, and she followed the path of his eyes, finding a bit of greenery affixed to the steps above her head.

“Is that mistletoe?!” she exclaimed, her eyes returning to Vincent. He nodded, still smiling. Catherine smiled too, sighed and shook her head. “They got me good, didn’t they?”

“I don’t believe it was a joke, Catherine. I believe they were trying to encourage me to follow their example,” Vincent speculated.

“Ahhh. If those three shy guys could find the nerve to kiss me, then a shy guy like you should too, hmm?”

“I suspect that was the plan, yes.” Vincent’s eyes twinkled.

Catherine smiled, pleased that Vincent could find humor in the situation after the incident earlier in his chamber. She glanced around the room again and smiled anew. “And now they’re all waiting to see what you’ll do.”

He nodded again. “If they had done this yesterday, I would have been mortified on both our behalves.”

“But not today?” Catherine thought that it was definitely nice to be able to flirt with him.

“No. Not today.” Vincent put his hands on Catherine’s shoulders. A loud gasp came from across the room and Catherine looked over to see Jamie elbowing Brooke in the ribs. She looked back at Vincent, whose face still held a smile as well. “May I, Catherine?”

Catherine’s smile melted away as she remembered kissing him hours earlier. “Yes,” she whispered, closing her eyes as he drew nearer. She opened her eyes again abruptly as Vincent kissed her cheek. She was disappointed. He drew back, smiling mischievously, paused a moment and then enfolded her in his arms and lowered his mouth to hers in a tender, but nonetheless long kiss. Catherine wrapped her arms tightly around him and opened her mouth eagerly, forgetting they had an audience. Too many years spent waiting had evidently had an effect on her sense of propriety.

Vincent lost himself in the moment as well, until an overloud whisper of “It worked!” brought him back to reality. He ended the kiss, Catherine still clinging to him. He was overwhelmed by the depth of her feelings. He drew her head to his chest, and pressed his mouth to her hair, trying not to become as lost in the sea of her desire as she was. He held her close, his golden tresses mostly obscuring both their faces from their onlookers.

Catherine could not suppress a moan as she struggled to get her feelings under some semblance of control. She began to notice hushed voices, and reality reasserting itself, she took a deep breath and found herself mostly back to herself. Vincent released her from his close embrace and took a step back.

“Merry Christmas, Catherine,” he said as looked deep into her eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Vincent!” Catherine smiled and threw her arms around him again.

***

Dinner was announced a short time later, and the tunnel dwellers converged once again on the dining chamber. Catherine and Vincent were besieged by well wishers. Catherine had been hugged, congratulated, and told people were happy for her so much that she was beginning to feel like a bride on her wedding day. And it was not an unpleasant feeling, not unpleasant at all; in fact, Catherine thought, it felt very, very right.

It was a sumptuous feast: turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy, rolls, stuffing, cranberries, squash, green beans, corn, peas and carrots, garden salad, pasta salad, fruit salad, pickles, olives, deviled eggs, canapes, mixed nuts, cheese puffs, truffles, pumpkin pie, blueberry pie, mince pie, pecan pie, chocolates.

Catherine couldn’t remember when she had eaten so much. She had taken small portions, but there had been so many things to taste, and each one more mouth-wateringly delicious looking than the last, that there always seemed to be one more thing to have just a bite of.

Below had never seen such a feast, not even at Winterfest; Catherine heard this mentioned a number of times, and she made a mental note to remedy that next year. Joy flowed all around her, and she sat back and basked in it. While she felt uncomfortably full, she was also starting to feel comfortably drowsy. Conversations around her began to seem farther and farther away. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder, Vincent’s, and he asked, “Catherine, are you finished with your plate?”

“Mmm.” She nodded, trying to rouse herself. “Yes.” Vincent picked up the piece of unfinished pumpkin pie from her plate and quickly finished it, before taking away her plate as well as his own. Eating from her plate—another small step toward intimacy, Catherine thought, smiling slightly.

She had evidently begun to doze again, because the next thing she knew Vincent was at her side, saying, “Come along, Sleeping Beauty.” Catherine smiled up at him drowsily and took the hand he held extended. She wrapped her arm around his, leaning her head against it.

“Where are we going, Prince Charming?”

Vincent was touched, amused, and a bit embarrassed by that appellation, but as he’d started the name calling, he supposed he shouldn’t complain. “To put you to bed.”

Catherine felt a little wistful that she was too tired to tease him about that choice of words, but she smiled inwardly at the thought anyway. She paid little attention to their route and didn’t realize Vincent was taking her to his chamber until they had nearly arrived there. She began to hope he had indeed brought her there for a nap because she realized she was too overfull and too sleepy to be greatly interested in any other purpose he might have in mind. It would serve you right, Chandler, she thought, in the future you’d better save room for dessert.

She sat down on the bed and Vincent kneeled to remove her shoes. She smiled at him and thought how truly like Prince Charming he was, handsome and chivalrous, and he was just a natural for the fairy tale part. She scooted back on the bed and lay down, leaving sufficient room for Vincent to join her. He did not, but instead covered her with a quilt. He turned a chair to face her and sat down. She sleepily asked, “Are you going to watch me sleep?”

Vincent smiled and tilted his head. “Do you mind?”

Catherine chuckled, closed her eyes, and shook her head. She made a few sleepy/yummy noises, took a deep breath or three and soon drifted off.

Vincent still sat watching her a few minutes later when Father arrived. “Vincent?” he called.

Vincent turned toward the entrance and put his finger to his lips, making a silent ‘shh.’ Father proceeded into the room, raising an eyebrow at Catherine’s location. He quietly pulled out a chair and sat, wincing a bit at the pain in his hip.

“Isn’t she beautiful, Father?” Vincent said, as if entranced by her. He spoke very quietly so as not to wake Catherine.

“Yes, indeed she is, Vincent.” Father also pitched his voice very low. He paused for a moment, watching his son who watched Catherine. “You and Catherine are enjoying your time together today.”

“Yes,” Vincent replied. He sighed and turned back toward Father. “I get the impression you think we’re enjoying ourselves too much.”

Father leaned back, considering what to say. Finally, he settled on, “I worry about you.”

“You worry too much, Father.”

Father shook his head and closed his eyes. “Wait ‘til you have children of your own,” he mumbled absently, rubbing his chin. Then, all at once realizing what he’d said, his eyes grew wide in shock and he looked at Vincent who was also clearly shocked, wanting to retract what he’d said, but no words would come. He hadn’t meant to say it, and certainly not to Vincent, whom he had always assumed would not—could not, ever have children. The remark had been incredibly insensitive, he thought, but as his mind slowed its racing, he realized that perhaps it wasn’t so impossible after all. What Mary had said about Vincent and the children was right: no child could ask for a better parent than Vincent. Was it possible he was imagining a future together for Vincent and Catherine, he asked himself, just as nearly everyone Below did? He glanced at Catherine’s sleeping form and back at Vincent, whose face, he now realized held a slight smile. His own face formed an unspoken question, which Vincent answered.

“Father, I was expecting the occasion of your visit to be a lecture, and instead you’ve as much as given us your blessing.” Vincent said this with humor in his voice, fully aware that the words had tumbled out of his father’s mouth without his consciously meaning them, but also aware that when Father had glanced over at Catherine, he’d actually contemplated the idea of them having children together. Any future lectures, warnings, advice, or criticism on his part would necessarily be tempered, in Vincent’s mind, by the fact that his father could envision their future together. Father’s words had inadvertently been remarkably touching.

Father gaped at Vincent, his thoughts running on a very similar track. Nothing he said now would have the same sway as his unpremeditated, offhand remark. He sighed deeply, rose from his chair, and put a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. He looked at Vincent for several moments. Perhaps Mary was right about him being afraid of losing his son. At last he said, “Go carefully, my son.” He began to step back and turn, but Vincent was on his feet in an instant and had wrapped his arms around his parent.

“Thank you, Father,” Vincent whispered. “I will. We will.” Vincent released him and Father turned to leave, unable to suppress a tear.

Vincent was almost giddy with happiness. Never in his wildest dreams had he expected Father to say the things he just had. He sat back down, again watching Catherine sleep, feeling completely relaxed, content, and at peace and, he noticed, a wee bit drowsy too. He pondered the idea for a moment, and telling himself nothing terrible had happened the night before, joined Catherine in his bed, moving close to her and putting his arm around her. He let himself imagine falling asleep beside her every day, and immediately realized that was not an idea he was ready for. He brought himself back to the present moment, and told himself to just enjoy it for itself, which was certainly extraordinarily easy to do. Whatever was meant to happen would happen, in its own time.

***

When he awoke a few hours later, Catherine was nestled beside him and he shared the quilt he had given her. The afternoon had slipped away into early evening, and as much as Vincent would hate to see it end, he knew his time together with her was coming to an end. For now, anyway. “Catherine,” he said gently.

“Mmm,” was her reply.

“Catherine,” he repeated, a bit more insistently.

She opened one eye, and said, “I suppose it’s time to get up?”

“Yes,” he said slowly. “Did you sleep well?”

She closed her eyes and smiled dreamily. “Oh, Vincent, I was with you. Of course I did.” She looked so lovely, and her love so filled him through the Bond, that Vincent could not resist placing a gentle kiss on her cheek. Catherine smiled even more broadly. “I love you,” she said softly.

Vincent sighed. “And I love you, Catherine.” He looked at her lovingly for a few moments then rose to sit on the side of the bed. He ran his hands through his hair a few times, Catherine watching admiringly. Then he reached down to put on his boots.

Catherine took the opportunity to put herself properly back into her dress—it had shifted considerably while she slept—and suddenly noticed she was cold. “That’s funny,” she said, shivering. “I expected I’d be cold all day.”

Finishing with his boots, he turned toward her. “You spent most of the day in very crowded chambers, Catherine. Sufficient bodies can warm a room quite effectively.”

“I suppose so.” She joined Vincent on the edge of the bed, and put her own shoes on.

“The day draws to a close, Catherine. What would you like to do with our remaining time?”

The things that came immediately to Catherine’s mind were the sort she knew Vincent was not yet ready for, and when she turned to look at him she was somehow unable to dismiss those thoughts. Instead her desire began to grow—she was certain he would notice, through the Bond—and she closed her eyes and tried to take deeper breaths to calm herself.

“Not yet, Catherine,” Vincent said gently, almost apologetically.

“When?” she heard herself ask, her eyes still closed.

Vincent took a breath before answering, and finding no words, released the breath in a sigh. Catherine opened her eyes. He spread his hands, palms up, and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

She nodded, trying to be patient. “Soon?” she asked meekly, her eyes smiling.

Vincent smiled shyly, and took her hand in his, holding and caressing it gently for a few moments. Then he rose from the bed, pulling Catherine after him, and started toward the doorway. “Father’s chamber?” She nodded.

***

The tone of the dwindling number of people gathered in Father’s chamber was subdued. Everyone was happy, tired, and well fed. The children were still enjoying the new toys, and they played happily near the Christmas tree.

It occurred to Catherine that some of the remaining people may have been deliberately waiting in Father’s chamber to speak to her, after a number of them greeted her, thanked her profusely, wished Vincent and her well, and then took their leave. Catherine was feeling chilly again. She pulled the pins out of her hair and pulled it close around her neck. That was a little bit better. Vincent, noticing her discomfort, moved the comfortable couch they’d shared the previous evening to a place closer to the rest of the group, then sat down. Catherine needed no further invitation to join him, and he put his arm around her and pulled her close. They passed the next few hours in relative silence, listening to the children play and to Father and Mary reminisce. When they were once again the last visitors in Father’s chamber, they took their leave of him as well, bidding him good night, and exchanging Christmas greetings.

Catherine walked very slowly when they left Father’s chamber, wanting to prolong their little remaining time together. Vincent wanted this too, and didn’t try to hurry her. In spite of their best efforts, they eventually arrived at the guest chamber. Catherine stepped into Vincent’s arms, and thought how different she felt tonight than she had last night when he’d brought her here. She was astonished at how much had happened in the last day. She was so filled with peace and love and the gentle certainty that they would be together soon and for always, that she thought she could bear having to part with him tonight. She reached up and kissed him gently on the cheek. “I just need a few minutes to get my things together. Make yourself comfortable.”

Catherine quickly tossed the few items she had brought with her into her bag and put the red velvet dress into a garment bag. She turned to find Vincent sprawled comfortably on the bed. She smiled; he presented such a tempting picture. But he rose from his place and offered to take her bags. She only gave him one, wanting his other arm free to hold onto herself, and they set out towards Catherine’s basement.

Vincent stopped a short way along and tapped a message on a pipe. He awaited a reply, received one, sent another short message of his own, received a short reply, and tapped one final short message. Catherine’s curiosity was piqued, and she hoped Vincent would explain. It seemed the polite thing to do, and Vincent was nearly always polite. But he said nothing. After a minute or so of silence, Catherine inquired, “Do you mind if I ask what that was about?”

Vincent glanced at her and continued walking, apparently thinking about his answer. Finally, he sighed, and said, “I sent a message to Pascal, asking him to contact me in an hour and if I did not reply, to send someone to look for me. I told him I was walking you home.”

Catherine thought this very odd, but no doubt there was a good reason for it, and she puzzled about what it might be. Finally, she asked, “Are you thinking that we’ll be so long saying good night that it might be morning by the time we’ve managed it?”

Vincent, again, glanced at her and paused before answering. “Partly.... No.” Pausing again, he finally continued, “Catherine, I don’t trust myself alone with you. I have told you, as well as myself, that there are things I am not ready for, and I do truly believe that I need time to adjust to... these ideas. I wanted to make sure I don’t overrule my own restrictions.”

Catherine was so pleased at his words that it didn’t occur to her to be disappointed. She did tell herself to be patient, though, to give Vincent the time he needed. They walked on, and Catherine began to feel a little sad at having to say goodbye, but she also noticed a growing anticipation and desire, which puzzled her until she realized suddenly that these feelings emanated from Vincent.

Finally, they arrived at the threshold. Catherine was surprised for a moment when Vincent walked directly to the ladder, but then she realized he was merely hanging up the garment bag. She smiled and set down the bag she carried.

Vincent returned to her and wrapped his arms around her without a word, pressing his mouth to her hair. After several long moments, he said quietly, “I love you.”

Catherine smiled, looking up at him. “I never tire of hearing those words. Or of saying them. I love you.”

Vincent leaned down to give her a brief kiss, but it lingered and seemed to acquire a will of its own. Vincent held Catherine close, more intimately than he had ever dared. His hands migrated upward to caress her bare shoulders. Catherine felt the gentle pressure of his extended claws, an exotic, exquisite pleasure. He released her mouth finally, but his eyes did not meet hers. He stared intently at her neck and shoulders, still touching her there. Oh, yes please, Catherine thought, turning her head slightly in invitation, her anticipation growing with each second. She could feel his hot breath on her neck, and when his mouth finally contacted her skin, she cried out, grasping great handfuls of his clothing. Her every nerve ending felt on fire, and she clung to Vincent to keep her legs from collapsing under her, gasping and moaning in turns. Suddenly his delicious plunder of her neck ceased, as Vincent wrested back his control.

He looked into Catherine’s eyes, stunned by the force of her attraction to him. How long had she felt this way? How had she managed to conceal it from him? What pleasures still awaited them? He shuddered with anticipation, regained his control once again, and stepped back from Catherine. He brought the back of his hand to her cheek. He tilted his head and sighed. “I’m afraid we must say good night, Catherine.”

Catherine, who had not yet regained control of her feelings, had to make an effort to focus on what Vincent had said. She wanted to beg him shamelessly to come up to her apartment and make love to her. She kept her mouth shut tight until the urge passed, but she did insert herself back into his arms, resting her head against his chest. Vincent pressed his mouth to the top of her head, and the sweet familiarity of that action helped calm her. She took a half step back. “I love you, Vincent.”

“I love you, Catherine.”

“Will you come see me tomorrow night?”

He looked at her intently, evidently considering the idea. Catherine was surprised that the answer was not an immediate and emphatic ‘Yes’.

“I...” He avoided her eyes, not wanting to see the pain he knew was there.

“Vincent?”

He summoned his courage, met her eyes and took a deep breath. “Catherine, I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be alone yet.” He could feel and see her disappointment. “Would you... would you meet me here? For a short while?” She brightened, smiled slightly, nodded, and hugged him again.

Vincent ended their embrace, tipped her head up and kissed her briefly. “Soon, Catherine,” he said gently.

She smiled, disappointment dissipated. Their love filled her again. “Good night, Vincent.”

“Good night, Catherine.”

He picked up her bag and walked with her to the ladder. “Thank you for spending Christmas Below,” Vincent said. “You were right. The time together was better than any objects we might have given one another.”

He ascended partway up the ladder to hand Catherine the bags. She took them and knelt to collect one last kiss from him. “Vincent,” she said, “Thank you for a wonderful Christmas.”
 

Written Christmas 2001