"Please come to the cabin with us, Cathy. We can ski and read by the fire. I'll make my famous lasagna," Jenny promised.

Catherine forced a smile to her face.

"Thanks, Jen, but I can't. I'm just not ready yet."

"Cathy, it's been months since you've left the house, much less the city. All you've told me is that you are going through a breakup, but Cathy, I have never seen you so heartbroken over a man. You need to go out, have some fun, and hang out with your best friend," Jenny said, in her sweet, hard-to-refuse way.

"Soon, Jenny, but not yet. I'm exhausted and I can't go more than twenty minutes without crying," Catherine told her.

Jenny plopped down on the sofa beside her.

"Whoever would hurt you this bad surely isn't worth it, Cathy," Jenny said, putting her arm around her.

Catherine felt tears come to her eyes again. "But he is ..." she whispered.

Jenny shook her head—she had been trying for weeks to help Cathy out of this, and nothing worked. She stood up, getting her coat and purse from the other couch.

"I have to run, Cathy. I've got a meeting with a new author in the morning and I haven't finished her manuscript."

Catherine nodded and got up to walk her to the door.

"Please take care of yourself and please think about going to the cabin soon. I'll even take off a few days, okay?"

She smiled and hugged Jenny. "Okay."

Jenny opened the door and was beginning to walk out when she turned around again.

"You know Cathy, you should just forget all the fancy ways to deal with this grief and just get good, old-fashioned drunk!" Jenny said, laughing.

"Maybe I will, Jen. Thanks for coming over."

"Call me anytime!" Jenny called back as she headed for the elevator.

Nearly two hours later, Catherine was sitting on her sofa, listening to the Brandenburg concertos, staring at the bottle of scotch on the table before her. It had taken her an hour to finish the first glass and she was now contemplating the second.

She had to admit that she felt a little better. Between the music and the alcohol, she was having brief respites from the constant gnawing pain of his absence. She never touched hard alcohol. She had kept this bottle of scotch for her father's visits.

She picked up the glass and forced some of the liquid down her throat, clenching her teeth against the burn. She dropped back against the pillow, relieved. She might even sleep tonight.

When the concertos came to an end, she sorted through her collection. She selected a compilation of classical pieces and pushed the play button. She made her way back over to the couch, slightly dizzy. She forced another gulp down.

Jenny was right; she should get out of the house, get out of the city. But she was scared—scared that she would just end up breaking down again, scared that she would need to be alone and wouldn't have the option.

But she knew that wasn't really the reason she wouldn't go. She wanted to be here in case someone from Below came to tell her that Vincent had come home. She wanted to be here in case he ever came to her balcony again.

The rumbling opening notes of Grieg's "Concerto in A Minor" floated across the apartment and Catherine's eyes filled with fresh tears. She hadn't heard this music since the anniversary of her mother's death, when she had left that concert, running blindly, feeling like she had lost it all, until she had finally found his arms.

That night he had told her to find another to love. As the door slid shut in front of her eyes, she was begging him to stay. But he had not stayed. He had turned away and closed her off from his world, from his love, without a backward glance.

So many times he had walked away from her, telling her she had a life Above to live, telling her to forget him. She did not doubt his pain or his love for her, but she realized that he would push her away, even at the expense of his happiness, hers even, especially when he thought it best for her.

She suddenly realized that it could actually be over, that she might never see him again. Their dream could really be over.

It must end, he had told her then. She had been shocked he could even say that to her, much less truly mean it. But he had meant it—just as he did now.

She picked up the glass in front of her and downed the rest of the alcohol. Bleary-eyed, she stumbled out onto the balcony. By the time she reached the balustrade, she was sobbing. She leaned on the ledge, begging for answers—but the answer was already in her heart and she knew it. He would eventually return to his family, but he would not return to her. It was over—all of it, over.

Her hand went to her chest and she tightly gripped the crystal. Without pause, she ripped the chain from her neck and stared at it in her palm. It was the last piece she had of him and his world and she couldn't bear its reminder anymore. Her fingers closed around it as all the emotions of the past few months swirled inside her. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath and held her arm out, the chain dangling.

"Vincent," she whispered. "Goodbye ..."

"Catherine, no!"

She felt strong arms pull her away from the ledge. In one swift motion, he had turned her around and was clutching her tightly to his chest. The tips of her toes were barely touching the ground. It had been so long; he nearly roared in relief. This is where he belonged.

Overcome with love, it took him a few moments to realize that Catherine was not responding to him. Her arms were still at her sides.

He released her and took a step back.

The sight of her nearly overwhelmed him. She was so pale; her face was red and her eyes were swollen. She held the crystal in a shaking hand at her throat. She backed away from him—there was disbelief in her eyes.

"Catherine, please, I'm so sorry, please let me hold you, please ..."

"Is it really you?" she whispered.

"Yes, Catherine, it's me. Please, I've been away from you for so long, please let me hold you!"

He took a step toward her but immediately stopped when she moved away from him. He was at a loss. She had never acted this way before.

He was a fool to think he could just show up and everything would be like it was. He had stayed away for months, without a word, abandoning her in her time of need and dishonoring all they had shared.

He remembered what Father had told him, that he must do whatever it took to make things right between them, even if it took the rest of his life. This was on his shoulders—he had to do something, say something, even if he had no idea what.

"Catherine," he began. "There are no words for how greatly I have wronged you. What I have done is unforgivable. I have betrayed you and abandoned you. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but I am begging for it. Please, I am so sorry. I will never leave you again ..."

He was stunned when she laughed.

He was confused. He didn't understand her behavior. He studied her and hesitated before he asked her.

"Is that alcohol on your breath?" he asked quietly.

"Yes! Yes it is! I wish I hadn't waited this long to try it!" she replied loudly, laughing again.

"Oh Catherine," he replied.

"No! Don't do that! Don't look at me with sympathy—poor drunk Catherine, so distraught over losing you, I had to drown myself in scotch to find a moment of relief from the hell you have put me through!"

"I'm sorry, Catherine, please, I didn't mean ..."

"Didn't mean what? To stay away ... for nearly four months!"

The last words were daggers thrown at him. She was right; what he had done was deplorable.

"You didn't mean to desert me when I was crying for you day and night? You didn't mean to ignore me when ... when I was attacked? I was scared to death it was happening all over again, Vincent, that I was going to die, and all you did was run further away from me!"

"I know, Catherine. You are right. My actions are indefensible. I know ... I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?" she said, disgusted. "Vincent, you have walked away from me a thousand times—when I first met Eliot, when I was thinking about moving to Providence, on the anniversary of my mother's death. Each time you have some honorable idea that it's the best thing for me, that you are not what I need, that it's just a dream. Each time, I have come back to you just so you can throw everything away again."

She paused, trying to stop herself from crying. Vincent had never felt so ashamed in his life. Every word was true.

"All this time, you thought you were pushing me toward something better, but all you did was push me away—and I have come back to you every time!"

"But this time," she continued. "This time ... I can't."

"Catherine," he cried. "Please, I am so sorry."

"It was never 'just' a dream to me, Vincent. It was never something I could wake up from and go back to my 'real' life. There is no other life! There never was. From the moment you found me, I have been yours and you mine. Every moment with you has been more real than anything I have ever known! I have never doubted you or our love. I never believed we would not be together."

"This time, Vincent ..." she whispered. "I stopped believing."

"No, Catherine, don't say that. I promise you ..." he pleaded.

"There is nothing you can promise me. I can't trust you ... I can't go through this again ... I can't ..."

"Please Catherine! I am so sorry for what I have done, for how deeply I have hurt you. I was selfish and self pitying—horrified for what I did to your shoulder, for not being there when you were attacked ... that you had to see me in that ... state."

"What state, Vincent?" she demanded. "When I felt the evidence of your desire for me? Are you crazy? I have wanted that for nearly two years. You were so busy drowning in your fears, you didn't even notice how happy that made me."

She turned away frustrated before continuing.

"You can feel everything I do, Vincent. Why are you trying to convince me that you can't feel how much I desire you? How could you think I would be repulsed by you? That I would turn you away when I have wanted nothing more! That was the best night of my life!"

"For me, too, Catherine! Everything you have said is true. Please, what I can do? Please!"

Catherine stood there with her arms across her chest. She looked angry, but Vincent felt her sadness and her struggle—she didn't want to walk away, but he feared he had left her no choice. He had to think of something—he could not lose her.

"Catherine, please, listen to me. I know this is my fault and I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but Catherine, I understand now. You are right—this is not merely a dream and it never was. I have been a fool! I have denied us what we both longed for! But I swear to you, Catherine, I will never leave you again. I will never push you away again. I will never give you another reason to doubt me ..."

He looked up—her eyes were blazing, her body trembling.

"Please, Catherine, I ... love you," Vincent whispered.

Catherine's head was shaking back and forth slowly. She sighed deeply and closed her eyes. Her head fell back and he saw her open her eyes to the sky; moonlight flowed in the tears streaming down her cheeks. Finally, she looked at him again—her face set and hard.

"Tell me, Vincent. Why should I believe you now? Why should I trust you?"

"I can only promise you. Please, I have never broken a promise to you."

Vincent saw Catherine pause to take that in, praying she would find it enough.

"Vincent," she said so low, he could barely hear her. "Prove to me that I can trust you."

"Catherine, please," he pleaded, dropping to his knees before her. "I cannot."

Her face went soft then and she walked over to him. She paused beside him and he felt her hand lightly touch his shoulder. Then, he felt her crystal fall into his lap. She walked to her balcony doors, stepped inside, shut them, and then, for the first time, he heard the lock slip into place. The curtains were drawn and within seconds, Vincent was in darkness.

"No, no," he cried.

Still on his knees, he rocked back and forth, his hands clutching his head in desperation.

No, no ... no!

Catherine awoke to a hammering headache. She had slept longer than she had in months, and was still exhausted. But she was determined to move on, starting today. Still lying under the covers, she clasped her hands together, as she had every morning since that terrible night. But today, she didn't pray for him. She prayed for the strength to live without him.

She forced herself to get up and start the day. She brushed her teeth and washed her face and had coffee brewing before the tears refused to be denied any longer. She wiped a few away and took her cup into the living room. She glanced at the balcony, where she had spent nearly every morning for months, where she and Vincent had created so many cherished memories ... where she had left him.

She strode across the room, knowing that if she faced the balcony now, it would not loom over her. Resolute, she pushed opened the doors.

Her cup shattered when it hit the concrete. Catherine put her hand to her mouth in disbelief.

"Vincent?" she whispered.

He looked up at her, still on his knees, in the place she had left him last night—he hadn't moved.

She stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. She had never seen him in the daylight before. He was so beautiful—the blue of his eyes, the gold in his hair, all of it shimmering in the sunlight. It took her breath away.

"Catherine," he said, softly. "There is nothing I can say to make you believe in me again ... the only way I can show you that you can trust me is by trusting you."

He stood up then, slowly, and walked over until he was standing right in front of her.

"I have never, in my entire life, been Above in the daylight. I am ... terrified," he admitted. "And I am trapped."

She could see it in his eyes—he was way beyond his comfort zone, and he was terrified.

"Still," he continued. "The greatest fear I have ever known ..."

He trailed off then and dropped his head. When he raised it again, tears were streaming down his face.

"My greatest fear is ... to touch you Catherine, and to be touched by you. It is my greatest fear because it's my greatest desire. Many times you have asked me to trust you and I have not, letting fear override courage ..."

He dropped his cloak from his shoulders. His fingers then went to the ties on his vest, which he removed and also let fall to the floor. Next, his sweater was over his head and it too fell to the ground. All that was left was a thin, creme-colored undershirt with a few leather ties at the top.

"Catherine, I know you are terrified too. I know that asking you to leave your fears aside and trust me is asking too much ..."

He reached for her hands and placed them on his chest, at the laces, where his skin was already exposed.

"Catherine," he said, dropping his hands to his sides. "I trust you ..."

Catherine stared at her hands upon his chest, not knowing what to do.

"Please, my love ..." he whispered. "Touch me ..."

Vincent dropped his head. He looked as if he were waiting for Zeus to send down bolts of lighting to destroy him on the spot. Finally, he raised his head, found her eyes, and looked into them deeply.

Catherine swallowed hard and pushed apart the ties, revealing more of Vincent's skin. She looked at her fingers upon him and was mesmerized. She tried to calm herself so she could be sure she was making the right decision, but it was difficult. Her heart felt like the battleground where fear warred mercilessly with love. She could barely breathe—the air between them was so fraught with tension and need, it was nearly suffocating.

Her hands were frozen—and he was looking at her. She held the future in her hands. If she didn't touch him, or say something soon, he would be destroyed forever. She was terrified—but everything she had wanted for the past two years was right before her.

As she looked at him though—she realized that he was more afraid. He was far from his world, entrusting his safety solely to her. He had taken off the barriers of clothing that had stood between them for so long. He was thin, and he looked just as exhausted as she felt. This was harder for him.

She knew he could, and probably would, doubt again—but she believed him; she trusted him. And God, she loved him.

Her hands rose and her fingers pulled apart the laces. He grabbed her wrists like a vise. Connected, they slowly moved inside the apartment. As soon as they felt carpet, they sank to their knees. For what seemed like hours, they didn't even move, kneeling before each other.

Then, Vincent kissed her forehead, lingering there.

"Catherine," he whispered. "I felt your desire; I just would not allow myself to believe it. I do not deserve you."

She pulled away from him and stared deeply into his eyes. He felt her fingers lightly grace his jaw.

"Vincent, what you feel for me—describe it."

He paused, suddenly nervous. Did he have the words?

"Catherine," he said. "You are everything ..."

"Describe to me what you feel."

"I don't understand," he replied.

He felt her hands on his shoulders. "Do you want to touch me?"

"Catherine ..." he said, embarrassed.

"Tell me," she told him. "Tell me what you feel for me."

"Catherine ..."

"Tell me."

He sighed, looking down. But before too long, his eyes returned to hers.

"Catherine," he said. "I ... I have desired you relentlessly. You are every dream I have—waking and not. I ... want to touch you; nothing would give me more pleasure. I want you to touch me. I want to love you, Catherine ..."

"Vincent, every single thing you just said is exactly the way I feel about you. I dream of being with you all the time. Every time you pull away, I want to pull you back. I have kept my feelings buried for so long, Vincent. It's too much to bear anymore—"

"I'm so sorry, Catherine," he told her.

"Vincent, don't you see? Everything you feel about me, I feel about you. How can you think you do not deserve me?"

"Catherine, you see something in me no one else ever has ..."

"So do you, Vincent!" she replied. "There isn't one thing that I have done for you that you have not done for me. I love you the way you love me. I desire you the way you desire me. Look into your heart—you deserve me, Vincent. It doesn't even need to be said. You are everything to me. I know you can feel it!"

Vincent's eyes closed as he focused on the Bond. The light there was a thousand suns—her desire curled toward him through the blaze. It was true.

He opened his eyes and immediately locked with hers. She touched a finger on the pulse at the base of his neck, before bringing both hands to frame his face. He grabbed her tightly, his large hands spanning the ribs beneath her breasts, and pulled her against him, pulling her hips flush with his.

Catherine gasped and his legs nearly buckled when a flicker of passion passed over her face. She opened her eyes slowly, they were heavy and dark.

"Oh, Vincent," she whimpered.

"Catherine ..."

He was afraid, worried that he would do something wrong. He was trying to remember every book he had read on this subject, but she was waiting for him—he couldn't disappoint her.

What Father said came to him. It wasn't about him—his fears, his doubts, none of it. He had to be strong for her. He had no choice. He had to—for her.

Vincent brought his hand up and pushed his fingers into her hair, his fingers resting on the back of her neck. Her eyes were wide open now and their faces had never been so close to each other. She glanced down at his lips and unconsciously swallowed in anticipation.

While he was still trying to find the courage to kiss her, she leaned forward, her arms stealing around his back, and kissed him.

The kiss was beyond exquisite, beyond perfect, nearly beyond comprehension. It was the worth the wait yet hard to believe they had waited so long for something that was so obviously destined. The sun streaming into the room bathed them in warmth. They were breathless when they pulled away.

Vincent's hand went to her shoulder and pushed back her robe, revealing her skin.

"Your shoulder ..." he whispered.

"It's fine, Vincent."

"It didn't leave a scar ..." Vincent said in wonderment.

"No. It didn't, Vincent."

Vincent leaned down and kissed her shoulder, pausing there. His lips touched her shoulder again. Catherine nearly lost her balance when his lips moved slowly up her neck.

"Vincent," she said.

He looked up at her—his expression was one of awe ... and trust.

"You won't hurt me."

Vincent looked into her eyes and finally believed her.