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

Inside My Heart

 Angie

… heart speaks to heart,
while language speaks only to the ears.

Francis I, King of France
 

"Leave me now. Please."

She had whispered "I love you," but he had refused to look at her. So she had left, her heart clenched into a knot that only he could untie. All the way to her tunnel threshold she had been able to feel that pain which originated deep inside him. She had looked back then, wondering if she should go back to him, knowing that she shouldn’t. But when she reached the ladder, she stopped. She couldn’t go back Above to her soft apartment with all its distractions, either. There were no answers for her there. She felt as if she didn’t belong anywhere.

Catherine turned and slid down the wall to sit on the sand and drew her knees up, hugging them to her. Her eyes were burning but she couldn’t cry, wouldn’t. She had to think. Now, before she went back to her life, away from him.

Her bond with Vincent had been strong since he had rescued her from the Watcher. Something had shifted aside that night, allowing her to feel his love as a part of her, as if his hands held her heart – as indeed they did. Now his pain was wrapped around her own misery.

She could feel his self-disgust as if it was her own. Perhaps it was. She was not without blame. She had gone into the tunnels from the park entrance earlier – granted, after waiting a long while for someone to show up with the children she was supposed to escort. But she had not used the brain Joe valued her for. She should have left and entered the tunnels from this threshold. She knew the shifting ways well and could have reached the tunnel folk without any danger of running into the intruders. She knew they could not have penetrated so close to the Hub. Vincent and the others would not have allowed that.

Even after Vincent had saved her again, at a cost she felt to her bones, she had not been careful enough. When that filthy, undernourished boy had held her gun in his shaking hands, she had been merely cautious. The child’s reaction to Vincent’s words, the exact repetition, had shocked her and his obvious neglect appalled her.

All those sympathetic feelings ended when he shot Vincent. White-hot rage had possessed her then and she had hit the child with all she had, knocking the gun from his hand and violently flinging him aside.

Vincent was all that mattered and she had gone to him quickly, discovered with relief that nothing vital had been hit and she had kissed him hard on the mouth, inside the curtain of his hair. That kiss had been an affirmation of her love and her share of the responsibility for the violence. Vincent had responded by relaxing a little, then hugged her close as she buried her head in his uninjured shoulder. She could feel his mouth on her hair and see the beat of the artery in his neck.

She was so relieved that he wasn’t seriously injured, or worse, that she could think of nothing else for long minutes.

Then she remembered the boy and turned from Vincent to look at him. What would they do with him, she wondered? But one look told her any such concerns were irrelevant. There was only a small, pathetic bundle of dirty clothes with two stick-thin legs protruding from them. Then she realized his head was at an unnatural angle and his eyes open. His neck was broken. She had flung him so hard that he had hit the wall. She had killed him.

Vincent must have known immediately. She looked up at him, her guilt and remorse almost overwhelming her, but one look at his face, bleak with despair, his self-disgust pulsing along their bond, and her own concerns dissolved. She knew, without him saying so, that he blamed himself for her guilt as well.

She had helped him back to Father. Nothing was said between them as she stood close by and waited for Father to finish and leave. Then when she tried to reason with him, to lift that heavy blanket she sensed was smothering him, she quickly realized it was futile. There was nothing to say, nothing that would make it right, just as he had said.

Now, she could feel undercurrents along the bond. The anguish was still there, but also something else – frustration and annoyance. With her? No … something else. Then she realized that his left hand was bound and he would not be able to write in his journal. He would have no outlet for the emotions churning inside him. That would be hard. Well, she couldn’t write for him, but here in this place, with only the stone walls and sandy floor between them, she might be able to give him the kind of solace he had so often given her, even when he was not with her physically.

She leaned her forehead on her knees, closed her eyes and cleared her mind of everything but his name.

She shouldn’t have left him, she realized now. He would come to the same conclusion later, she had no doubt - but it was too late for regrets now. He would have hardened himself against her return, almost expecting it. No, this was the better way.

Catherine opened up her side of the bond completely. Vincent had not shut himself off from her, which was encouraging, but he was so wrapped up in his misery that he was unaware of her, almost as if he had forgotten she existed. She finally felt him relax a little, guessed that he had returned to his chamber and was probably lying on his bed.

Vincent lay in the dark. He wanted no candles, no light. The stained glass window glowed a deep, almost baleful red now that it was night. It matched his mood exactly. He stared into the darkness, then closed his eyes. There was no escape tonight. He was a creature of the night, and that name seemed singularly appropriate. Could a man have done what he had done earlier – killed like that?

Father had taught him never to hate anyone, that hate was a destructive emotion which rebounded on its source tenfold. He had never doubted it. History books were filled with the effects of hatred. So he had learned not to hate, to let it drain from him like sand in an hourglass. But Father could not teach him how to tame his anger. That came from a deeper place, one Father didn’t like to admit existed. That anger triggered the violent protective instinct he drew on to protect Catherine and his family Below. It frightened him. It wasn’t the wild, out-of-control berserker rage everyone assumed took hold of him. No, his dispatch of the outsider gang had been clinical almost – cold and hard – and very deliberate. He wasted no movement, killed like a machine, with maximum efficiency. Something inside him took over at such times and reveled in the pain he caused. He was lost in that dark, blood-lust place until it was over.

Catherine could feel it now to some extent, he knew. That pained him more than his own disgust.

He could sense her now. Tonight he found himself unable to close off the bond between them. She was a bright thread around his heart, a candle at the end of a long dark tunnel. He needed to know she was there, even though he had rejected her earlier. Her love for him was all that kept him sane. He needed it like water or air.

Catherine knew Vincent’s chamber as well as she knew her own apartment. She pictured herself there now, sitting in his big chair, watching him. He had such couched beauty, such strength, even in his pain. Then she imagined herself moving to sit next to him on the bed, taking up one of his strong hands and threading his fingers through her own. Slowly she began to stroke his hand with her free one, felt his fingers curl around hers in response. She brought the hand to her mouth and kissed it, ran her lips over the soft hair on the back, over the knuckles and down his strong fingers to their long nails. Then she moved closer, putting his hand close to her heart. It wasn’t close enough. She lifted her sweater and placed his hand under it, against her heart, felt his fingers spread wide. There was nothing between him and her now but a silk camisole. His hand was warm and she held it in place as she softly brushed a kiss on his lips and lay down next to him.

She felt a quiver along the bond, realized Vincent had suddenly become aware of her. He did not close her out though, almost as if he was uncertain about what he was sensing. She felt mild curiosity now, and something else. Hope? Catherine smiled to herself. She was feeling a little better already.

Vincent became aware of Catherine when a sudden calm spread its way into his consciousness along the bond. How could she be calm at a time like this? He investigated and realized she was not – but that she was fantasizing along their bond. He had not realized she could do that and he momentarily forgot his own pain. Her guilt, which he had ignored in order to mull on his own, was still there, still potent, but she had pushed it deep inside. He felt a different kind of disgust at himself now.

How often had he let his self-indulgence affect his awareness of Catherine? Far too often. No more, he decided. Suddenly he felt her resolve. For what, he wondered? He closed his eyes and let himself relax further. Whatever she wanted from him along their bond, was hers. He owed her that much. The sensation was too wonderful to deny, in any case. He needed that.

Catherine stretched her legs out in front of her and leaned against the wall. She needed more solid support for her next move. With a thought, she was back in Vincent’s chamber. But now she wished her jacket and sweater away, and then her slacks. Yes, now there was nothing between them but her camisole and panties, and his thermal shirt and pants. She lay on the bed beside him and snuggled under his right arm. She had to proceed slowly and carefully.

Vincent recognized the emotions along the bond and realized with a shock that Catherine was imagining a seduction. He kept his side of the bond quiet while he thought furiously. How could she do this and have him share it? Where was she? Should he go to her? He suddenly knew that she was not Above in her apartment, as he had presumed, but still in the tunnels. His innate sense of her whereabouts told him she was below her threshold. He had to go to her.

He slid carefully from the bed, keeping his emotions neutral. He slipped his feet into his boots. There was no way he could hurriedly put on a sweater or vest, so he flung his cloak about him one-handed.

He quietly made his way to her threshold, waving at the sentry station along the way. He couldn’t send them a message on the pipes. Catherine knew too many codes now. He reached the tunnel leading to the ladder and stood in the ragged opening, paralyzed. Yes, she was sitting on the ground with her back against the wall and her head flung back, in such concentration that she was unaware of him. Vincent took a deep breath.

"Catherine."

Her head shot forward and she saw him, but seemed unable to move. He saw her flush and realized her embarrassment was keen. He moved towards her slowly, held out his uninjured arm. He didn’t know what to say.

Catherine rose in one swift movement and almost ran to him, burying her head in his chest and hugging him to her as if he might disappear. Her pressure and warmth against him forced a sigh from him. He could feel her heartbeat even through his thermal shirt.

"Catherine," he whispered into her hair. Her scent made his head spin and he felt his arousal growing.

"Vincent?"

"Catherine, forgive me." It was the only thing he could say. "I felt your guilt, and then your … desire. I had to come."

Vincent wished again for two arms to hold her close. He did his best with the one he had, no longer caring if she could feel the bulge in his pants. She felt right against him.

"Catherine, come back to my chamber. Please."

She looked up at him then with such hope and love that he quailed. What had he done to deserve that? He knew what she wanted from him, but his injury would not allow that level of intimacy tonight. They could comfort one another, though. That thought made him warm.

Vincent turned towards the home tunnels, keeping his arm around Catherine, partly for support. He was bone weary. She must have felt it, for she shifted to put an arm around his waist, a pressure that aroused him yet further, even as it gave him strength. He wondered if she sensed that, and looked down at her. She was looking up at him. Her mouth quirked, but she said nothing.

When they reached his chamber, he threw the cloak over a hook and grunted in frustration when it fell to the floor. Catherine groped around in the dark until she found it and replaced it. In the dim light, he could see she was looking at him with concentration, trying to judge his expression, waiting patiently. He sighed again and found his voice, which sounded half-asleep, even to himself.

"Catherine, I … I’m very tired, body and soul. Would you stay with me tonight? I’m ... I can’t offer you more."

Catherine nodded and immediately took off her jacket and gloves. She went to the bed and flung back the covers,

"Vincent, lie down and I’ll help you undress."

He did so and she removed his boots and then pulled off his pants. He canted his hips and held the waistband of his long underwear so they didn’t follow the pants. He felt her hands linger on his feet as she took off his socks, then a flash of delight and desire ran along the bond. He was too exhausted to consider this reaction to his hairy, sharp-nailed feet. He sighed and quickly moved to the middle of his bed, leaving plenty of room for her. He was glad of the dark. His manhood was hard and threatening to use the exit provided in his underwear. He pressed his legs together and yanked the waistband sideways to prevent its escape, his face hot. Was this a good idea, after all? He no longer cared. Catherine’s presence was like a balm to his raw nerves.

Catherine, meanwhile, had removed her sweater and sat with her back to him on the bed, removing the rest of her outer wear and tossing it onto his big chair. Vincent could not prevent himself from watching and saw a silken gleam. Then he caught a glimpse of a rounded breast through one armhole as she reached over him to grab the covers. She seemed unconcerned and snuggled up to his right side, burying her head under his arm.

Vincent sighed in delight. She felt wonderful there and he automatically hugged her closer, felt her mould herself to him.

Even so, he was a bit shocked when he felt her foot slide over his calf and stroke his leg. He realized then that she was enjoying the contact. He couldn’t deny her anything and certainly did not want to argue the point. For the first time since the outsider gang had invaded, he felt good. He closed his eyes.

Catherine felt Vincent relax. She could tell he was enjoying their closeness and she loved the warmth and strength she could feel against her. His hand had moved to rest against the naked skin between her camisole and panties. It was warm and gentle. In response, she moved her own hand under his shirt to rest on top of his navel. His sigh confirmed his permission.

She would have to be careful now. She waited until she felt him slide into sleep and cleared her mind again. She wasn’t sure if she could do this, but she knew he needed release, a reminder of his humanity. That was what she hoped to give him tonight. It would be only temporary, she guessed, but it was necessary.

Catherine leaned her forehead against his ribs and closed her eyes. She spread out the hand on his stomach, loving the uniquely erotic feel of the long soft hair there.

She had not seen much of Vincent’s body – he was too careful when he knew she was around, but she had caught glimpses, especially when Father ministered to him. She knew he had a lot of body hair, but also guessed that it was soft, like that on his face. Oh, he felt delightful and the scent of him next to her made her heart race!

The warmth of Catherine next to him was balm to his heart and soul. Vincent’s hand, almost of its own volition, found the naked skin on her waist and rested there. Her heat ran up his arm and then straight to his groin. He sighed internally, feeling Catherine’s joy at the contact. Her calm was seductive and contagious. When she placed her hand on his belly, he gave up trying to think. He let himself slide into sleep … and dreamed.

Catherine could feel Vincent’s muscles relax under her hand and sensed he was asleep. He was very tired and she didn’t want to wake him. Theoretically, this should work. Slowly, carefully, she imagined her hand moving southwards to where Vincent’s legs joined. She could not know what she would find there, but she had seen the impressive bulge in his underwear as she grabbed the sheets and knew that his arousal embarrassed him. She gave her imagination free rein.

Her fantasy hand moved slowly, bypassing his erect column to slide down to his testicles. She was sure they would be delightful to touch and pictured her hand cupping a pair of large globes in a soft covering, perhaps softly furred like his face. She felt him growl softly, paused her fantasy in amazement. Her own heat began to build in reaction, but still he didn’t awaken. She resolutely continued. Her hand now squeezed a little and she felt a sudden frisson along the bond. Had he joined her in her fantasy? She paused and realized she could feel his arousal along their bond. She suspected he’d had erotic dreams before and the thought made her labia ache with desire. She clamped down on that. This fantasy was for Vincent’s benefit, not hers.

Gratified at her success, she moved her imaginary hand slowly higher, until she could touch the base of his penis. Ah, it was hot, engorged, just as she wanted it. She could feel Vincent’s awareness and felt as if she was under his skin, feeling both her own hot imaginings and his. She thought her hand higher yet and circled his column with it. Then she slid it upward slowly, relaxing and tensing her hand as she did so. She could feel his desire building towards climax and moved further, until she could feel his crown, smooth and hot against her palm. She tightened her grip just a little, felt the internal gasp and tensing under her real hand that was Vincent’s reaction. Then she imagined a drop of wet warmth under her hand and squeezed.

There was a real shudder as Vincent’s manhood exploded, shooting wonderfully warm fluid over her real hand on his stomach. He gave a large sigh that made her heart ache.

She just had to know what he was like. She quickly moved her hand under his waistband and captured his organ in it, heard that soft growl again. He was wet with semen, but that sensation only added to her delight, which she tried to suppress. Gods, he was large! Then she heard Vincent moan and felt him tense under her hand, but still he didn’t awaken. Thank goodness he had been so exhausted! She tentatively moved down carefully to cup his testicles, found them as soft as she had imagined. Curiosity satisfied for the time being, she sighed, gently removed her hand from his underwear and returned it to his stomach.

Vincent knew he was having another wet dream, but the sensation was so much more intense than usual, he felt delight rather than disgust. Then he realized the reason - he wasn’t alone! Catherine! Somehow she was there, her love surrounding him, her hands working magic on his organ. He had never felt anything like it. Was it real? Was he awake or asleep? He didn’t care. He let the dream have its way, felt himself suddenly climax and ejaculate. He sighed with relief and let his body melt into the bed. Then he felt her hand cup him again, lightly and lovingly, then move back to rest on his belly. He sank into a deeper, dreamless sleep.

Catherine felt Vincent’s relief and knew she didn’t need to worry about waking him. Now their hearts beat as one, as if they occupied the same space almost. She wondered what he would think of that. In the days to come, when she would have to work Above, she hoped this heightened connection would help him come to terms with his demons. At least now she knew he was no more than a thought away from her, wherever she was.

…

The next morning, Catherine awakened on her back to daylight brightening the stained glass window. The events of the past night flooded over her, overlaying the violence of the day before, and her role in that. She had to force herself to keep her emotions under control. Vincent had turned onto his side, facing her, but was still sound asleep, his breath soft on her shoulder.

With the clear sight of morning, she realized she had to leave before he awoke. The events of last night would be an embarrassment to him – and she was not sure he would be grateful for her part in them. Nevertheless, the experiment had been a success as far as she was concerned.

She quickly slid from the bed. She was about to get dressed when she decided she wanted to leave him something, a token. A note? But that might be read by someone else. Well, there were two obvious choices. She opted for the less erotic one and took off her camisole. Now where should she put it? Why not next to him? She carefully laid it next to his face on the bed, then threw on her clothes and left as quietly as she could.

She had a full day of work ahead of her and no idea what the time was. Well, Joe would have to take her as she came – whenever that was. She needed a shower and a coffee.

As she entered her apartment, she looked at a clock and realized it was not even five o’clock. She could only have slept for a few hours. She let herself sense Vincent along their bond and felt his peace. That was ample reward for a few less hours of sleep. She hoped it would continue, but feared it would not. Daylight would bring his anguish back into focus, but perhaps it would not be as sharp now. She resolutely decided to say nothing about the events of the previous night, unless he asked.

She undressed and went into the shower. She had to get her mind into work mode or Joe would ask awkward questions.

Vincent woke to the aroma of tea and the scent of Catherine. He shook his head a little at the latter and looked around. She was not in his chamber. Then he saw the wisp of silk next to his pillow and gathered it to him reverently. Now why had she left this? He carefully brought it to his face and sank his nose into it, breathed in her scent with delight for long moments. A tapping on the pipe reminded him he could expect visitors at any time and he reluctantly put the camisole under his pillow, away from curious eyes.

Where was Catherine? He reached out to her and felt the slight frisson that told him she knew he was awake. Her emotions were under tight control. Something was bothering her, but she was obviously at work.

With a sigh, he threw back the covers and slid his legs onto the floor. His underwear seemed welded to his body hair and he tweaked it impatiently with his free hand. Then he realized what must have happened during the night and remembered a dream – the kind he usually felt great shame about in the morning. Today, it seemed to have the opposite effect and that was another puzzle. Catherine had come to his chamber and he had brought her, although he couldn’t remember why. Hadn’t she helped him undress? Hadn’t she lain next to him in his bed? That was the last thing he recalled, and that was disturbing. He couldn’t make sense of the timeline. Had he had that erotic dream while Catherine was with him, or after she left? What would she think of him if she had seen the result?

His head felt as if it were filled with sand and his shoulder ached. Father had given him a painkiller the night before. They always made him feel disconnected. The shoulder! Memories washed over him – the violence of the day before, Catherine in danger, his coldly efficient killing of the outsider gang. And the bullet fired by the feral boy.

He rose and threw a heavy wool robe over his shoulders before he sat down with a thump. Then he realized he couldn’t pour because his left arm was in a sling. He got up again and impatiently turned the chair so his right hand could. He grunted as his shoulder protested the rough treatment.

That’s why Catherine had come to his chamber! He had felt her concern for him and her own guilt over the boy. He had found her sitting under her threshold. There was something more, but his mind had gone blank again.

He drank a cup of fragrant jasmine tea and sighed. Too much was making no sense. He needed time to think. He definitely wanted to avoid Father for a few hours. He stripped off his long underwear and went into his bathroom to clean himself. The water was icy in the pitcher and the cold washcloth on his privates made him gasp, but did serve to wake him up a little more. He managed to put on a clean pair of much-patched long johns and his pants one-handed, but he couldn’t change his shirt. He buttoned up a heavy flannel shirt and managed to ease it over his head and get his good arm in, although his shoulder ached afterwards. He was fortunate the bullet had been a small calibre and easily removed.

The gun! Another mystery. It had to have been Catherine’s. Why had she brought it Below? She never came armed. She knew their prohibitions. He sighed and shook his head, trying to get his brain to function.

Something had changed between himself and Catherine. That bright thread he always associated with her seemed much stronger now. He could feel her inside him, close to his heart. He wasn’t sure what to think about that. Had something happened the previous night that he’d forgotten? He felt a flush run up his face. Surely not! She couldn’t have seen him in the throes of his dream – or could she?

He reached out to her again, but now sensed nothing but her usual daytime emotions along the bond, although he was certain she felt his concern, which puzzled him still more. Their connection was definitely stronger. When had this happened? He would have to think about this too.

Vincent yanked on a pair of socks and his boots, then flung his cloak over his clothes, grunted when the shoulder protested. He almost ran to the waterfall cavern.

Once there, the water seemed to flush away his doubts and he decided he felt remarkably good, considering his state of mind the night before. He had sent Catherine away, he remembered that much. Yet she was the key to his present peace. He always felt better when she was near and he shouldn’t question that either. He still had a lot of thinking to do, but it could wait. Once his arm healed, he would go to the nameless river for a day or two. The quiet there would allow him to think clearly.

He suddenly felt a shudder from Catherine along the bond, and guessed she had a few regrets herself. He seemed to be very aware of her today. He shared some of his new calm with her, felt her love for him return along the bond. He sighed and leaned back against the rock.

Catherine felt Vincent’s confusion and smiled to herself. He seemed only a little upset, at least at present. She could live with that.

Her own dismay at her actions yesterday would have to be examined carefully, in an impartial lawyer-like manner, or Vincent’s hard won peace would be upset. Well, she’d had lots of practice with that. Just the same, she couldn’t help thinking about the dead boy. What kind of life had he had with that gang? He’d deserved better – certainly more than being smashed against a wall by someone who’d had the advantage of being well-fed and fit. She guessed that her anger had been similar to Vincent’s. It seemed to come from a deep place inside herself, something primal and heartless. She shivered.

Catherine suddenly felt Vincent’s comforting presence like a benediction around her heart. He could not have known what she was thinking, but he’d felt her unease. She sent her love to him and knew he felt it. Their hearts now spoke to each other, without words. If nothing else resulted from her night of fantasy, that melding was worth everything to her.

She knew that she would need some time to understand this new level of intimacy too. She didn’t want to push Vincent further. The next time she saw him, she’d better be prepared to give him some space. Perhaps a gift – a book they could read together. Yes, he would appreciate that. Some things didn’t need words, but words could still give solace.

There was a wonderful old bookstore near the courthouse. She’d explore that one day soon.

In the meantime, there was this dratted brief to complete. She pulled her concentration back to the immediate and made herself focus on it.

By the waterfall, Vincent felt Catherine’s resolve and sighed. Suddenly his stomach growled and he realized it had been a long time since his last meal. He’d slept through breakfast and lunch was almost over now. If he didn’t hurry, William would eat all the food that was left over.

One thing at a time, he swore to himself, and rose to return to the Hub. Father would want to look at his shoulder too. With enough distractions, he could postpone his ruminations for a while longer. He could still feel the warmth around his heart that was Catherine’s love. It would give him strength in the days to come. After that, anything was possible.

END