A Dark and Stormy Night

by Edith Crowe - Autumn 1990
Originally published in "Forever & Always" #4

Catherine lay in the quiet darkness, too content to open her eyes, and wondered idly why she was awake. The November storm that had raged earlier, rattling the house and sheeting its windows with rain, had clearly stopped. Manhattan was never truly silent, even in the middle of the night, but its unceasing background hum was so familiar to Catherine it never would have disturbed her sleep. She smiled. Her mind might be awake, but her body was still heavy with languorous satisfaction. Something in the storm had triggered an answering wildness in Vincent, and their loving that night had been fierce and prolonged. Thinking of it brought an irresistible need to be closer, and Catherine turned to snuggle against him as he lay beside her.

Her eyes snapped open in surprise as she encountered not the relaxed muscles of a sleeper, but a tense rigidity that told her he was not only awake but alert. There was just enough light in the room to reflect the glitter of his open eyes. Moving her hand to touch his cheek, Catherine whispered next to his ear. "Vincent, is something wrong? Did you have another dream?"

Turning his head just enough to face her, he slipped one arm across her body in a reassuring caress. "No, it's not that. I just..."

"What? Tell me."

He sighed, then spoke slowly, reluctantly. "I heard something."

"Heard what?" she pressed him. "Where?"

"It sounds like it's coming from downstairs."

Catherine clutched his arm as a surge of adrenaline banished every vestige of relaxation from her body. "You mean someone's in the house?"

"No." He spoke quickly, but his voice lacked complete conviction. "It sounds more like someone at the door, trying to get in."

"But you can't be sure. Have you been hearing it long? Could it be someone from Below?"

Vincent shook his head. "I doubt it, it's been going on too long for that. If someone from the Tunnels needed to contact us in an emergency, they'd come up right away and knock on our bedroom door. Many of them know the house well enough to find their way around it, even in the dark."

As Catherine slipped from Vincent's arms and threw back the covers, he quickly grasped her hand to hold her back. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going downstairs to see what's going on, of course."

"Catherine!" Vincent's whispered hiss was sharper than he intended. "You don't know what's down there--it could be dangerous."

"Vincent, you know this house has the best security system there is, that's one of the reasons I bought it. If someone's trying to get in, I doubt they'll succeed. I'll look through the peephole, and if it's anyone who looks suspicious, I'll call the police. No heroics, I promise."

Vincent pulled her close, partly so she could hear his words, partly from his instinctive need to protect her. "I can't be sure the sound is coming from outside. And no matter how well the house is secured, there's still the Tunnel entrance. Some outsider could have found that."

"The way Mouse concealed it, that wouldn't be easy," she argued. "Besides--I can't just lie up here wondering what's going on. And I'm not about to let you go down there and risk discovery."

Vincent sighed, hugging her. "I don't suppose I could convince you to leave that way," he asked, nodding toward the wall that concealed the stairway to the Tunnels.

"Certainly not without you," Catherine replied emphatically, "and I don't want to leave the house at the mercy of who-knows- what. It means too much to me, to us. I can't stand by and see it violated." Vincent sighed again in a way his wife recognized as capitulation. She knew he felt the same way about their home, their refuge that was a bridge between Above and Below.

Releasing her, he threw off the rest of the covers. "We'll both go," he announced, "and very carefully."

"I don't want you to risk being seen---"

Vincent picked up his robe from the chair where he had flung it hours before. Its deep green was barely distinguishable from the surrounding darkness. He pushed his golden hair under the hood, which he pulled far forward over his face.

Catherine put on her own robe, somewhat reassured, and gently removed her gun from the nightstand drawer. It had lain there, untouched, since she had moved into this house nine months ago. She had hoped it would lie there forever. Quietly, she and Vincent moved to the bedroom door. Catherine opened it with great care, but its hinges were well-oiled and made no sound. She moved slowly down the stairs, walking on the side of the treads to avoid betraying creaks. Her right hand held the gun; Vincent held her left as he followed her closely. As they approached the lower floor, she heard the sounds that only Vincent's ears had detected earlier. Clearly, they were coming from outside, as if someone were trying to find a way in. Motioning Vincent to stay behind in the shadows, Catherine approached the front door, rising up on her toes to look through the peephole. After a moment, she returned to where Vincent waited, tense and alert. Dark as it was, Vincent could still see that Catherine's face was puzzled.

"What did you see?"

"Nothing," she whispered back. "Someone's obviously out there, we both hear it. But I can't see anything but the street." She was silent a moment, considering, then spoke with conviction. "I'm going to open the door."

"Catherine!" Vincent hissed. "The danger--"

Catherine put a reassuring hand on his arm as she spoke. "Someone could be lying there hurt. It's cold out tonight, and that storm was a bad one--how could I face myself if some poor homeless person died on my doorstep for lack of my help? Or someone who's been attacked, like I was?"

Vincent knew that Catherine could not turn her back on such a possibility, any more than he could have left her bleeding in the park three and a half years ago. "Let me--"

"No! You can't risk anyone seeing you! I promise," she argued placatingly, "I'll keep the chain on; I'll just look. I've got my gun. If it's someone who looks the least doubtful I won't let him in, I'll call for help."

Vincent agreed--reluctantly--but stayed as close to her as he could without being seen as she deactivated the security system and slowly opened the door. Expecting to find a shivering or bleeding body on the doorstep, they were slow to react as something shot through the small opening and disappeared into the dark interior of the house. Vincent was the first to recover, running after the mysterious intruder as Catherine pushed the door shut with an expletive that would have surprised Father. Not wanting to stop to turn on lights, Catherine followed the pursuit by its sound, wishing she had brought a flashlight. She thought she heard Vincent in the living room, but just before she reached it Vincent burst out into the corridor almost in front of her, heading down the hall to the library.

Close behind him as he followed his quarry into that room, Catherine had the presence of mind to push the door firmly shut behind her. Whatever it was wouldn't escape now. Vincent seemed to be all over the room; whatever he was chasing moved quickly. She could hear her husband caroming off the furniture. A crash and clatter in the far corner told her the table holding the chessboard had gone over. Concerned for Vincent, Catherine was about to abandon her post at the door when an unearthly screech almost made her jump out of her skin, and sudden silence descended. Fearful, she groped for the light switch.

As a lamp in the middle of the room illuminated the scene, Catherine's jaw dropped. Carefully clicking the safety on, she put the gun into the pocket of her robe. She needed both hands to clutch her stomach as she began laughing till tears came.

"Catherine," Vincent grumbled as he struggled up from his ungainly position on the floor, "I hope you are laughing in relief, because I find nothing funny in this situation." Not only had the hood of his robe fallen back; the belt had come undone, giving Catherine an unobstructed view of one of her favorite sights. Vincent in his semi-naked glory was normally no laughing matter, but--clutched to his chest, hanging on for dear life, was a soaking wet and hissing kitten no bigger than his hand. "If you can compose yourself," Vincent suggested, "perhaps you could help me find a more effective way to restrain this creature before he damages a portion of my anatomy you would sorely miss."

Galvanized by this frightening if unlikely possibility, Catherine ran across the hall to retrieve some towels from the downstairs bathroom. Returning quickly to the library, she carefully extricated the kitten's claws from her husband's chest and wrapped the small, dripping bundle in a towel, cooing softly all the while. Vincent gathered his robe and the shreds of his dignity around him once again, looking more than a little miffed.

Taking pity on him, Catherine made a prodigious effort to stifle her laughter. "Let's go into the kitchen; it's warmer there. Besides, I think we could both use a cup of tea."

Vincent ended up making the tea while Catherine continued to coo over the little furry bundle, drying him off with one towel then wrapping him snugly in a dry one and cuddling him close to her breast. Although quite unable to recognize the source of his irritation, Vincent frowned to see a spot which he regarded as his own usurped by the little hellion. "Catherine, are you sure you should do that? He might have fleas."

"Even if he had," Catherine smiled, "they've certainly all drowned by now. The poor little thing looks awfully skinny-- let's see if we can find him something to eat."

"Yes. Let *us* do that," Vincent said in resignation as he got up to search the refrigerator while Catherine continued to hug the kitten. Warming some cream in the microwave, he set the dish before her. Rummaging in the cupboard, he unearthed a can of tuna fish and put some on a small plate. Setting it down on the table as well, he sat again, pulling his chair closer to Catherine's.

"He's so tiny," she said softly. "I'm not even sure he's old enough to be weaned--let's see what he thinks of the cream."

A comfortable silence settled around them in the warm glow of the kitchen. As the kitten's fur dried, Vincent was surprised to see it was almost the same tawny gold as his own. He watched as Catherine settled the kitten on its back, against her breast, and carefully transferred the cream from the bowl to the hungry little mouth with her finger. Happy, as always, to watch his wife for hours, Vincent let his thoughts drift. The two of them, sitting in their own comfortable home in the middle of the night, steeped in the great contentment such togetherness always brought ... he smiled as Catherine made soothing noises. The kitten's eyes never left her face as he greedily devoured the cream. How beautiful she looked as she tenderly cared for it, almost as if it were...

The sudden pang of longing that overwhelmed Vincent was so intense and so unexpected he must have made some inadvertent sound. "Vincent?" Catherine raised her head. "Did you say something?"

It took all Vincent's concentration to make his voice sound normal. "He ... seems to be taking that well. Why don't you see if he eats on his own?"

The golden fur stuck out every which way as Catherine unwrapped her charge and set him on the table in front of the food. Devouring the remaining cream in short order, he began to attack the tuna fish with relish. "Well," Catherine exclaimed in surprise, "Seems like he can handle solid food after all. I guess he's just small for his age."

Vincent cleared his throat. "What do you intend to do with him?"

"Well, for tonight I thought we could put him in the solarium; he can't hurt the furniture in there. There's some sand in the basement for plants, so we can make up a cat box."

"I hope he knows how to use it." Vincent frowned. "I wonder if this was wise..."

"Well, we didn't really have any choice, did we?" Catherine challenged. "Besides ... " Catherine's voice became very soft. "I think it's a good idea, as a matter of policy, to rescue small adorable furry things left out in the cold. You never know how they'll turn out."

Vincent made the only response to this he could, leaning over for a long, loving kiss. They broke apart only when a demanding yowl from the table startled them back to reality.

"Well!" Catherine laughed. "It appears our guest is asking in no uncertain terms to be shown to his room."

After several trips up and down stairs, the kitten was installed in his new quarters with a makeshift cat box, bed, and second helpings of food. After warily examining every corner of the large room, he finally settled down and yawned prodigiously. As Catherine smoothed down his spiky fur he began to purr, and soon fell asleep. She rose and took Vincent's hand, smiling fondly at her new charge. They tiptoed away as quietly as possible, shutting the door gently behind them.

"Catherine," Vincent whispered, "this door doesn't latch very well."

"I know," she whispered back. "I keep meaning to ask Mouse to fix it. I'm sure it'll be OK--our furry friend is much too small to open a door this heavy."

Hearing the tiredness in his wife's voice, Vincent swept her up in his arms and headed down to their bedroom. Sighing in contentment, Catherine kissed the hollow of his throat as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Thank God, there had been nothing to fear tonight after all. Perhaps the Fates were through testing them at last. When they returned to bed, Vincent took Catherine in his arms as they nestled under the warm comforter. "You're going to keep him, aren't you?"

"No, love," she replied. "*We're* going to keep him. Don't forget, we're married now. What's mine is yours and vice versa."

"For better or worse," Vincent sighed in resignation.

"Think of how much the children will enjoy playing with a kitten ... and he'll be company for me when I'm alone in the house."

"Think of what fuel this will provide Cullen's dubious sense of humor," Vincent winced. "It could be worse, I suppose. It could be a raccoon."

Vincent could feel Catherine's smile as she snuggled into the circle of his arm. Soon afterward, she was asleep. It had begun to rain again, but a soft quiet rain as gentle as a lullaby. The warmth of Catherine's body beside him, and the sound of the rain, soon sent Vincent into the same sweet darkness.

A welcome winter sun poured through storm-washed air and the gauzy curtains of their bedroom. Catherine could feel the brightness on her eyelids as she slowly woke. When she finally opened her eyes, she had to clamp her jaw firmly shut to keep from laughing out loud and waking her husband. The poor man certainly deserved his rest after his exertions of last night. Between lovemaking and cat-chasing, neither of them had gotten much sleep. Lying on her side facing Vincent, Catherine kept as motionless as she could, unwilling to disturb the priceless scene before her.

Vincent lay on his back, his face turned toward her. During the night the covers had migrated downward, and his furred torso was pale gold in the winter light. The tilt of his head caused part of his hair to spill gloriously over the pillow next to her; the rest swept over his cheek and the upper part of his chest. Nestled there, so close in color he was almost invisible, curled one very contented sleeping kitten. It was too good to last. As he shifted in his sleep, Vincent's nose began to twitch as it encountered a small furry tail. The tail in question began to switch even more at this stimulus. A rapid escalation of switching and twitching soon caused Vincent to jerk awake, sneezing. His eyes opened as a small golden tornado launched itself off his chest, bounced off his thigh and leaped to the floor. It suddenly reappeared in one of the chairs that flanked the fireplace. After several loud complaints, the kitten ignored them and began washing its tiny face with vigor.

Vincent sat up, glaring first at the feline terror and then at Catherine as she dissolved into giggles at last. "Catherine, this is not amusing! Did you see where he landed? He could have..."

Pulling the bedclothes down all the way, she leaned over to inspect her husband's thigh very closely. "Looks fine to me, dear, but just in case ..." She bent even lower. "I'll kiss it and make it better."

Vincent drew in a deep, shuddering breath as he tried to concentrate on feeling indignant instead of ... "Catherine," he began firmly.

Restraining herself, Catherine moved back to Vincent's side, propping up on one elbow to caress his chest where it had been used as a launching pad. The thickness of his fur there seemed to have prevented any damage. "I'm sorry," she said contritely. "I should have removed him before you woke up ... but he did look so sweet there, curled up on your hair like he'd made a nest in the tall grass."

"Do you consider it flattering to compare your husband's body to... the African veldt?"

"Actually, it's more like northern California ... beautiful hills and valleys all covered in gold ..." Her hand moved slowly, sensuously, down its favorite landscape. "Why look, I must be right about the location ... there's a redwood tree!"

"Catherine," Vincent said hoarsely, "you are taking an unfair advantage in this discussion."

His wife continued her caresses. "I'm a lawyer, dear. I was taught there's no such thing as an unfair advantage."

Vincent was finding it increasingly difficult to marshal cogent arguments; it seemed his blood was finding better things to do than nourish his brain. Reaching for Catherine, he gave in. Why fight it, when capitulation would be infinitely more pleasurable? As her lips began to follow the route of her exploration, Vincent began stroking her naked skin with the furred backs of his hands. When he thought he could bear no more, she knelt above him then lowered herself slowly as she guided him into her, eyes never leaving his face.

As her strong legs lifted and lowered her in a rhythm that sent fire along his nerves, he slid his hands up her sides to support her, letting his thumbs caress her sensitive nipples. With a small sound, Catherine's head leaned back at his touch. Vincent never could decide what excited him the most when they made love--her caresses and the indescribable feeling of her welcoming body accepting his, the look on her face as their passion built, or the inarticulate sounds of pleasure she couldn't control. As if this were not enough, their bond flooded him with all her feelings as if they were his own. Sometimes the intensity was so overwhelming he feared he would die from the sheer joy of it, but could not bring himself to care.

As he felt Catherine nearing her peak, Vincent relinquished the last vestige of his control, thrusting powerfully upward as she pushed downward. Swept away by sensations too primal to be named, he knew nothing more until Catherine collapsed on top of him, too weak with pleasure to support herself any longer. As soon as his own limbs would respond he wrapped his arms around her, caressing her back as the world slowly took shape around them again.


Part Two

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