Chapter Text
Vincent stood at the tunnel entrance, watching the last bit of blackness in the sky give way to a muted purple hue. The promise of sunrise, a view so often denied to him, seemed an apt metaphor for his life. And never had it been more true than in that moment.
But he knew he had no business remaining above past dawn and with a sigh, Vincent began the long trek to his home in the tunnels. His feet carried him without conscious thought as his mind was very much elsewhere. Truthfully, his thoughts had been on the same subject without fail all week.
Catherine.
She was alive. Somehow, the woman he had believed dead for so many years, the woman he loved more than life itself, was living and breathing and serving coffee at a diner in Brooklyn.
It was the sort of revelation that dreams were made of and Vincent constantly feared he might wake up at any moment, alone in his bed, one hand reaching out to the emptiness.
But no, a week had passed. He had seen her several times and proved to himself that it was Catherine. While her memories had remained suppressed all this time, the sight of him - and meeting Jake - had suddenly awakened them in her.
"Are you just now coming in?"
Vincent looked up to see Father staring at him with concern and consternation. His path had taken him towards his own chamber, but Father had happened upon him in the cross tunnel at just the wrong moment.
Having promised Catherine to keep her existence a secret a little longer, Vincent said only, "I had business above."
"Again?" Father demanded. "You are becoming as elusive as your son."
For good reason, Vincent thought.
"I should rest before my afternoon class," he said instead. "Were you looking for me for a reason?"
Father looked as though he wished to admonish his son further but in the end, simply nodded.
"Yes, I've just heard that the inspection of the Great Hall did not go well. Perhaps due to… unfortunate events, a small collapse occurred. Even if the rubble can be cleared in time, the stairway at the back of the hall has been damaged."
Vincent nodded slowly, understanding the problem. While they ceremonially used the entrance to the Great Hall through the Chamber of the Winds, the back way out allowed stragglers to come and go without disrupting the festivities by opening the great wooden doors. As well, having only one way in and out of such a large room with so many people presented a grave danger in the event of a fire. A single working entrance just would not do.
"Have you spoken with Kanin?"
"He is the one who informed me after surveying the damage."
"And he believes it cannot be fixed before Winterfest?"
Father crossed his arms defensively. "He believes he can construct a suitable replacement for the broken stairs in time, but he will need help-"
"I am glad to assist."
"He needs a full crew, Vincent," Father corrected him.
Vincent nodded, finally understanding the hesitation.
"And most of our skilled workers are in the lower chambers this week," he stated.
All but me, Vincent thought, although I could not tell you why I refused the assignment.
"What if I had Jacob's help as well?" he asked. "I'm sure between us, Kanin, and… Maybe Pascal and Jamie."
"Jamie should not be doing heavy lifting," Father admonished him.
"No, but she can assist with measuring and cutting wood. And what Jacob lacks in her expertise he can make up for with in the strength she cannot employ at the moment."
Pressing his lips together, Father questioned, "And Pascal?"
"Young Tim has demonstrated himself a worthy apprentice. A few days in charge of the pipe chamber will give him a chance to prove himself."
Father still seemed skeptical of the plan, but he regarded his son for a long time, his thoughts obviously on matters greater than fixing the staircase in the Great Hall.
Finally, he observed, "You seem very intent upon making this happen."
"I have no wish to see Winterfest canceled. Do you, Father?"
"Of course not! But we have canceled it in the past. Or a simple postponement…"
Vincent shook his head. "No," he said adamantly. "The year we canceled Winterfest was a dark time. Catherine's death was still too raw, an open wound for us all. None of us could conceive of merriment and music so soon after her loss. But this year is different."
"I don't disagree, but is it worth so much extra effort-"
"Yes, Father!" he snapped abruptly.
The sudden outburst silenced his father, and the man took a step back, clearly having miscalculated his son's attachment to the holiday.
"I'm sorry, Vincent," he said quietly. "Sometimes I forget how important it is to…"
"...keep the old traditions?"
"To make certain we all come together," Father asserted. "No matter how difficult the trials we have faced, sometimes the best healing comes from being with our loved ones."
With a wry smile, Vincent agreed, "Yes, that is… very true. More true than you know."
Father's eyes narrowed as he regarded him, obviously sensing something left unsaid. But whereas he might have once wheedled his son until he touched upon what was hidden, Father knew that Vincent would not relent his secrets so easily.
With a nod, he said only, "Well, get some rest, Vincent. If you're to begin work on the repairs in the Great Hall, I should take over your afternoon classes for the week. What are you covering now?"
"Kipling."
Father nodded. "Gunga Din?"
"The Jungle Book. For the younger children," Vincent reminded him.
"Ah, yes. Young Mowgli and Shere Kahn. Well that shouldn't be too difficult…"
"Today's lesson is supposed to focus on the difference between the book and the film."
Eyebrows raising in surprise, Father repeated, "The film?"
"It is a Disney classic, apparently."
"And have you seen this, this, this… film?"
Vincent chuckled at his father's indignation.
"I have."
Father looked away, either impressed or horrified.
"Well, then I suppose…"
He paused, obviously at a loss.
Taking pity on him, Vincent suggested, "Let the older children guide the discussion. And truly, Father, you should see what treasures the world has to offer in the Media Chamber."
The tunnel elder harrumphed audibly, and Vincent hid his amusement as he always did. The "media chamber" had been in existence for nearly a year, a specially carved room with thick blankets hung on each wall to absorb sound. On one end stood an impressively large tube television, loving scavenged from the world above and carefully transported the long distance into the tunnels.
An electric cord ran along the top of the tunnel to where it carefully tie it into the city's grid, the bit of power diverted for their purposes small enough not to attract the notice of authorities. Beside the television, a cabinet had been installed to house a growing collection of cast-off VHS tapes. Where the world above seemed to have no use for such antiquated technology, the youth of the tunnels were enraptured with it. Vincent had been forced to enact strict "TV hours" and eventually set a schedule to coincide with both educational needs and the children's entertainment desires.
While Father held a well-known disdain for the "media chamber," he could not gainsay the movie room as it was the last project Mouse had completed.
"Really, Vincent. I'm not so much a luddite as you make me out to be."
"Then I'm certain you will enjoy the film."
Were Vincent not already exhausted and his mind so full of other things, he would take full advantage of teasing his father move over his old fashioned tendencies. But instead, he simply bowed graciously before continuing on to his chamber.
Unlike so many other things in the tunnels beneath the city, Vincent's chamber had changed little in the years since his son had been born. The furniture and furnishings remained the same. His stained glass window still adorned the space above his spacious bed. A few new items had been added but mostly, the space remained fairly untouched by the passage of time. As he stood in the doorway for a moment, Vincent took a deep breath and wondered if Catherine would feel at home here.
Catherine… home.
The thought washed over him with such pleasure that he nearly lost his footing. Instead, he leaned heavily against the solid rock wall, letting it hold his weight for a moment as he indulged in a dream so long denied.
He could feel her again.
The bond which had connected them in the beginning had returned, banishing all doubt as to the truth of Catherine's identity. He could once more feel her emotions, could hear her heart beating alongside his own. Closing his eyes, Vincent imagined her in her small apartment, safe and asleep. She had been through much over the past week, and each new memory to surface seemed to sap her energy. Their reconnection earlier in the evening, as electric and intense as it had felt for him, had left Catherine exhausted. But, he reminded himself once again, she had not seemed harmed by the experience.
He had worried about that after her first memories had broken through. The occurrence obviously pained her, and Vincent wondered if it would not be better for her to continue to avoid such recollections. After all, she had existed in a state of amnesia for over a decade. Who was to say that suddenly exploring such long-buried memories was a good idea, especially without some sort of professional help?
And yet, he had been unable to stay away. And having heard her confessions on this night, he was glad to have confronted the inaccuracies of her memories.
She genuinely thought she had… harmed me, Vincent thought as he lowered himself onto the edge of his bed. Some deep part of him might have marveled at the irony if her revelation had not left him so utterly bewildered.
He still had no memories of that dark cavern where he had been lost to the ravages of his own madness. That entire time period felt like a bruise in his mind, a soft spot which he tried not to explore too often lest the pain return. But Vincent knew one thing for certain: Catherine had saved his life. And she had risked her own safety to do so.
Guilt over the loss of the bond had remained with him always, a constant but silent companion. After all, had he not lost the bond, he could have easily found Catherine when she was kidnapped. Her death could have been avoided.
But now, after so many years, she had put that assumption on its head as well. Catherine had insisted that the loss of the bond resulted from her pregnancy, not his illness. While part of him had always wondered if such was possible, Catherine's death had rendered the question moot. And yet…
The bond had returned.
He marveled at the return of sensation through their connection, like a blind man who had been suddenly restored his sight after so many years denied. While Vincent had never felt cold precisely, he suddenly understood what it meant to be warm again. The feel of her through the bond suffused him inside and out, every muscle and vein and pore of his body alive once more with the utter beauty of belonging.
All it had taken to restore that bond was a touch. A kiss. He had stolen it boldly, seizing a moment he thought to never again encounter. Catherine had felt it too, he was certain, although not as keenly as he. The way she had looked at him, with such surprise and instant recognition, he knew she had understood something tremendous had passed between them.
For the next half hour, sleep proved elusive as Vincent let his mind retrace the events of the night before, pausing for long periods to reflect on Catherine's familiar features. He could not truthfully call her unchanged, but she still looked lovely to his eyes. A few more lines on her face, some gray hairs among her blonde locks, and some dark shadows beneath her eyes could not alter her inherent beauty.
Her voice was a little different. Years of smoking had made it rougher and a little deeper than he remembered. But no one could have expected her to be completely unchanged after so much time.
Just as a combination of physical and mental exhaustion and the distant hum of Catherine's quiet dreams began to lull Vincent to sleep, the sound of footsteps approaching his chamber roused him. As he sat up, Jacob entered the room, the youth appearing flush with determination and excitement.
"You're still in bed?" Jacob asked, mildly incredulous.
"More like I haven't had the opportunity to sleep yet."
Vincent watched as his son's eyebrows shot up in surprise. In some ways, he very much resembled his grandfather despite the fact that they shared no common blood.
"I didn't know you had century duty last night," Jacob stated blankly, obviously confused.
With a slight incline of his head, Vincent answered, "I didn't."
Watching as Jacob tried to work through the puzzle of his father's answers, Vincent finally prompted, "Did you need something?"
"Grandfather said I would be excused from afternoon lessons this week. He said you needed my help to make repairs in the Great Hall."
"This is true."
Jacob stared at him for a moment, as if not quite believing. "You need my help?" he repeated finally.
"Yes," Vincent assured him. "The regular work crew has other, more pressing matters in the lower tunnels. But between you and I, Kanin, and Pascal, we should be able to finish the repairs in time. I'm sure Jamie can assist as well."
"But Jamie's like… a million months pregnant," his son interjected.
"Seven months," Vincent corrected him. "And that does not make her an invalid. Just yesterday she was telling me she wishes for a more active occupation."
"But-" Jacob began to sputter.
Cutting him off, Vincent informed him starkly, "Without these repairs, the Great Hall cannot be used for Winterfest this year."
For a handful of heartbeats, Jacob merely blinked at him in response. But soon the full importance of their responsibility began to take hold. Without the Great Hall, there could be no Winterfest. And for reasons they shared - although Jacob did not yet realize it - they both very much wanted Winterfest to go forward this year out of all years.
Jacob's expression changed instantly, and Vincent could sense the resolve in him harden into stone.
"This is really important," he said, as though suddenly trying to convince his father.
"Yes."
"I should skip morning lessons this week as well, to help make sure it gets done."
To anyone else's ear, Jacob's statement would have sounded like a juvenile attempt to get out of school, but Vincent knew better. His son had always been interested in learning. And the way that the children below were taught, rarely did they come to associate lessons as a negative occupation. Rather, they were encouraged to pursue the subjects which interested them most while simultaneously learning in ways which made the most sense to them.
Having served as a teacher for most of his life, Vincent recognized in his son not an enthusiasm to skip class but an avid desire to be of greater use in restoring the Great Hall - as quickly as possible.
"I don't think that will be necessary…" he began to say, but Jacob immediately shook his head.
"No, but if it is, I don't mind. Really, Father. I can catch up next week - after Winterfest."
Vincent considered the matter for a moment and was about to assure his son there was no need for him to miss classes. But Jacob interrupted him, "We should start now! Why are you still in bed?"
With an indulgent smile, he answered, "I haven't been to sleep yet. I need a few hours or I will be no good to anyone. Besides, Kanin needs time to assess the damage and determine the materials we will need. Go to your morning lessons and I'll come for you this afternoon."
Jacob's eyebrows knit together in confusion at his Father's pronouncement.
"Did you go above last night?" he asked, a little incredulous.
Vincent admitted, "Yes."
"Why?"
He was not yet ready for Jacob to know the real reason. But he also refused to lie to his son.
"I felt… a strong desire to go," he admitted, the statement entirely truthful, if not complete.
Jacob studied his father thoughtfully.
"Did you feel anything… strange?" he asked. "Or… familiar?"
"Familiar," Vincent admitted after a moment.
"Familiar like…"
The boy paused, and Vincent recognized in him a reflection of his own empathic sense. He should have known it was useless to try and hide the truth from Jacob, who stared at him with wide eyes and an expression of awe.
"Have you seen her?" Jacob asked softly, his voice nearly dropping out as he uttered the feminine pronoun.
Vincent almost could not speak the word at all as he struggled with his own growing emotions.
"Yes," he managed.
A hundred emotions flowed through his son - awe, happiness, disbelief, disappointment. Jacob had wanted to share the tremendous news with his father. But he had also wanted to hoard it, like a treasure only he was privy to knowing. Now, with Vincent having found out about Catherine on his own, he was both dispirited and eager to hear his father's thoughts.
"It's really her," Jacob stated with complete conviction. "I made sure."
"It is her," Vincent agreed.
His face showing a sudden sadness, Jacob added quietly, "But she doesn't remember. Not a lot, anyway."
The way he said the words, Vincent knew it hurt his son to have met a mother he had never known only to find out she did not know he existed. Jacob stepped forward into his father's waiting arms, the way he used to do as a young child, and Vincent hugged him tightly, providing as much calming comfort as he could. Only after the boy seemed to have regained control of his emotions did he choose to say more on the subject which so deeply affected them both.
"She has remembered more than you probably realize," Vincent stated softly. "But it is difficult for her. She has flashes of memory without context, and in trying to understand what she remembers, she thinks the worst - usually of herself."
He sighed, not wanting to burden his son with so much. But Jacob latched onto his statement with both concern and curiosity.
"What does she remember?" he asked. "And why would she blame herself for any of it?"
"She remembers pieces. Shards of her past. But they are sharp enough to hurt her, to pierce her soul with fractured moments pulled from the greater narrative of her life."
Jacob looked stricken and helpless.
"I don't understand. Is it… hurting her to remember? The lady at the nursing home warned me to be careful…"
"You have done nothing wrong," Vincent rushed to assure his son. "But she has a lifetime of memories buried beneath another lifetime of trying so hard not to remember. Things come back to her in odd ways, and she was not in the best frame of mind even before the physical trauma leading to her coma, in those months she was gone from us."
Jake frowned. "I want her to remember. But I don't want it to hurt her."
"I feel the same," Vincent assured his son. "For now, we must offer her our patience. And our love. Or as much of it as she is willing to accept."
TBC