"Ha--caught you, Radcliffe!"

"Yipes! Joe, you almost gave me a heart attack. Since when have you taken to lurking outside Ladies' Rooms? You'll never get to be mayor that way."

"I'm not lurking, Cathy," Joe replied sternly. "I'm keeping an eye on one of my employees who's come down with the latest office bug and is too stubborn to admit it."

"Joe, I'm not really that sick--I've been taking lots of vitamin C and it's really working. I admit my stomach's a little rocky now and then, but I feel OK most of the time, honestly. If you send me home it'll probably get worse; work takes my mind off it."

"I'm so glad the DA's office can be of service, M'am."

"Joe, sarcasm doesn't become you," Catherine announced loftily as she began edging surreptitiously toward the office.

Joe's tone turned ominous. "If Manuel had gone home when I told him to, he wouldn't have infected half the staff. No more Mister Nice Boss, Chandler. Out." He pointed to the door with a flourish worthy of the villain in a Victorian melodrama.

"But, Joe..."

"OUT! If it'll make you feel better, take some work home with you."

"I don't have anything left I can do at home," Catherine admitted. "I've already read all the new case files."

"I thought you had reformed, Radcliffe." Joe was getting that big brother look in his eye again. "You've almost gotten down to the work of a normal human being lately. I was hoping it meant you'd decided to have a personal life or something."

"Everybody's social life has slow weeks," Catherine said evasively. "All right, you win, I'll go home."

"Feeling uncomfortable?" Joe asked pointedly.

"It's just that it's getting stuffy in here," Catherine retorted, fixing him with what she hoped was a withering look. Trying not to look quite like she was fleeing the scene of battle, she collected her belongings with as much dignity as she could muster and left the office aware of Joe's speculative stare following her out.

Riding down the elevator she leaned thankfully against the wall and closed her eyes. Catherine wondered why she couldn't have a boss who didn't give a hoot about his employees. Of course then he wouldn't be Joe. She didn't really want him any other way, even if his curiosity about her personal life forced her into verbal gymnastics all too often.

She opened her eyes and focused them on her left hand. The silver ring of Celtic knotwork was beautifully ambiguous. Most people who didn't know her assumed it was a wedding ring--which it was, to her. Those who knew her, if they thought about it at all, tended to think it might be a "partner ring," or a family heirloom, or even an attractive professional woman's way of discouraging unwanted suitors. What Joe thought she had no idea. She had caught him surreptitiously eyeing it more than once but he had been uncharacteristically silent. Perhaps he sensed that any question would open altogether too formidable a can of worms. Perhaps he thought if she wanted him to know about it she'd tell him--and was hurt because she hadn't.

Catherine shut the door of the house behind her, drinking in the sense of peace it always gave. Maybe staying home wouldn't be such a bad idea after all--even though it had seemed rather empty all week without Vincent's presence. She wouldn't have been so eager to take all that work home lately, no matter how short-staffed this flu had left the DA's office, if Vincent hadn't been needed in the far reaches of the Tunnels for major repair work. For a moment she considered visiting Below, but dismissed the idea. Joe might possibly be right, and she couldn't risk infecting anyone in the Tunnels, especially the children. Even a simple flu was such a drain on their resources ... she couldn't take such a chance just because she wanted company.

Putting her coat away in the closet and starting upstairs, Catherine decided to face the chaos her home office had become. Keeping all the parts of her life in balance sometimes seemed like juggling an extremely varied assortment of objects while standing on a tightrope. Balanced on one foot. She smiled ruefully when she thought of how often her attempt to keep up with her old friends turned out to be the ball that dropped. With a righteous sense of resolution, she plunked herself down in front of the paper mountain and set to work.

Almost two hours later, she leaned back, sighed mightily, and surveyed her accomplishments. A disorderly pile of unpaid bills and unanswered letters had been transformed into a neat stack of stamped envelopes. The wastebasket overflowed with junk mail detritus and the books Devin had asked to borrow were carefully packaged and ready to mail. Catching sight of the desk calendar brought to light by her recent excavation, Catherine felt a pang of concern. Had she missed lunch with Jenny again? Please, God, let it be next week, she prayed as she realized the date showing was almost two weeks ago. Chandler, you've got to get organized, she admonished herself. Suddenly her hand stopped in the act of turning the page. For a long moment the world around her seemed as still as her body had become. Slowly she laid the calendar back on the desk. As if a spring had been released, she leaped up, rushed down the stairs and out the door, throwing on her coat as she ran.

An hour later she was sitting on her bed, staring at the objects in her hands. It couldn't be true, it wasn't possible...was it? The turmoil of conflicting emotions within her threatened to swamp any attempt at rational thought. With a prodigious effort of will she tried to impose some measure of calm. Taking a deep breath, she reached for the phone.

"Hi. Yes, it's me, Cathy. No, I'm fine. Well, maybe I do sound a little strange, but I have good reason--I think. What I really need this minute is to talk to a friend. Are you busy right now? ... no, I'd rather come over there if it's all right. Thanks--I'll be right there!"

***

"Vincent OK? Dust in face?"

"No, Mouse, I'm fine."

"Why're you shaking your head then? You do look a little funny," Jamie asked curiously.

"Looks to me like he's getting a message from radio CATH," Cullen grinned wickedly as they hoisted the last piece of lumber to shore up the crumbling passage. "You didn't drop the beam or anything this time so it must be suitable for the whole family."

"Your metaphors are certainly original, Cullen," Vincent replied, attempting to ignore the teasing tone. Cullen's sense of humor sometimes took an unfortunate turn where he and Catherine were concerned.

"There's nothing wrong, is there, Vincent?"

Vincent reached out to rest his hand on Jamie's shoulder. "No.." he replied uncertainly. "I'm not sure what it is. She's feeling some strong emotion, but it's very complicated...different from anything I've sensed before."

"Well," Cullen yawned as he picked up his tools, "you'll be seeing her in another day and you can ask her yourself. We should finish this by tomorrow afternoon, and I'll be glad to see the end of it. What a job."

"Good job," Mouse insisted proudly. "Last forever!"

"Well, a long time, anyway," Jamie amended. "You've been a big help, Cullen."

"Maybe, Jamie my girl, but I'm made for finer things. Cathy found a great old chest in the basement of the Chandler-Wells residence. With a little repair work and a lot of elbow grease it'll be perfect for Mary's room. She needs more storage space."

As they moved wearily back to their camp, Vincent smiled inwardly. It pleased him that his relationship with Catherine often seemed to bring almost as much happiness to his friends and family as it did to himself. He recognized that even Cullen's relentless teasing was just another way of sharing their joy. The depth of that joy astonished him--every time he thought they had reached the limits of it, new vistas opened up.

The house had seemed a gift from the Fates as much as from Catherine's surrogate grandmother. Within its sheltering walls they had been able to build the kind of life he never dared imagine he could have. How often in their early days together they had talked with such pain about their dream ... now life was like that dream--only better. For so long they had agonized over the demands their different worlds made upon them, and in the end they created their own special place in between; a place that served not only as a refuge for themselves but as a bridge for those they loved and those who needed them; a bridge between Above and Below.

Indeed, the "Chandler-Wells residence" seemed to have acquired a symbolic importance to many of the Tunnel family. Eric had taken to calling it the Rainbow Bridge, and Samantha had dubbed it the Last Homely Tunnel, much to Catherine's delight. Father had been reluctant to spend much time there at first, partly from his longstanding distrust of the world Above, partly from a fear of intruding upon them. Gradually seduced by the irresistable collection of books and music that Catherine constantly added to, he could now be found almost as often in their library as in his own chambers.

Vincent knew that Catherine still regretted that she could not show him her whole world. In lieu of that she seemed determined to collect every nature or travel program available on video. He smiled as he remembered her eagerness to have him view the latest acquisition. Curled up with her on the sofa, enthralled by the rather astonishing mating ritual of the banana slug, he solemnly informed his wife that he now knew more about the habits of obscure flora and fauna than most people would ever want to. Catherine retaliated by tickling him, and somehow-perhaps it was the influence of those banana slugs--they never did see the end of the program. Vincent reluctantly set the memory aside for savoring after the rest were asleep. No sense encouraging Cullen.

True to Cullen's prediction, the construction crew completed its work early the next afternoon. Jamie, Cullen and Mouse detoured to the bathing pools to wash off the dust. Vincent briefly considered joining them, until he realized it was Saturday and Catherine would probably be home. After more than a week's absence, she would surely prefer to see him sooner and grimy than later and clean. Besides, the bathing facilities at the Chandler-Wells residence would likely provide a degree of personalized attention not available Below ... Vincent began to run.

Reaching the house, he raced up the hidden stairway to the second floor, sensing Catherine's location. As he emerged into their bedroom, Catherine threw herself into his arms before the panel opened all the way. "Oh Vincent, I'm so glad ... you're home ... I missed you so much ... " Her words were punctuated with kisses that Vincent returned avidly, holding her as if he had been gone a month instead of a week.

Eventually they paused to breathe and drink in the sight of each other. Catherine looked more beautiful than ever, even through the thick coating of Tunnel-dust that now clung to her. "Catherine, I'm sorry--I should have cleaned up before I came home, but I couldn't wait." He tried with little success to brush the dust from her face. "I've become spoiled, my love. Having you with me every day makes a week apart seem so long."

"I'm glad you decided not to wait. I've been so anxious for you to come back ..."

Vincent was confused by the indefinable look on her face. He could detect no distress in her, quite the opposite--but there were layers and depths to her emotions unlike any he had sensed before. "Catherine--is anything wrong?"

"Of course not, love, you'd know if there were." Her tone was light, even; a deceptively smooth surface over deep currents. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up ... and me."

Sharing a shower with Catherine usually meant that getting clean was of secondary importance. This time, however, she was content to concentrate on bathing him, with a gentle thoroughness that made it seem like she was seeing his body for the first time. Falling under the spell of her odd mood, Vincent let her dry him and comb his tangled hair, after he had done the same for her. Only afterwards did she lead him back to the bedroom.

Catherine made love not with the hungry passion Vincent expected after their separation, but with a slow, aching tenderness that left him too moved to speak. For a long time afterwards he lay holding her, thanking every god he knew of for such a gift. It was Catherine who broke the silence at last. Raising her head from the hollow of his shoulder, she studied his face for a long time before touching her lips to his.

"Vincent ... " She traced the line of fur from his nose to his upswept brow with a touch light as a breeze. "Can we go downstairs for a little while? There's something I want to show you."

At that point, Vincent could not have refused her if she had suggested walking to China. Besides, he sensed in her a rising excitement and anticipation that told him the explanation for her strange mood might be at hand. He put on the dark green robe Catherine had given him for his birthday--could it really be three years ago now? The happiest years of his life. As he walked down the stairs with Catherine's hand in his, he realized that in a little over two months, it would be the sixth anniversary of their meeting, and the third of their wedding.

Just over three years since they had become lovers, almost three since Catherine had bought this house that had become their refuge. Vincent smiled to himself. He and Catherine should visit Narcissa again soon. Surely she would read magical significance into all those threes coming together. To him, though, every moment he spent with Catherine was more magic than any man deserved.

Leading him to the library, Catherine motioned Vincent to sit on the sofa, while she retrieved a book from the shelves and sat down beside him. "I bought this from Mr. Smythe yesterday."

Taking the beautiful old volume in his hands, Vincent smiled fondly at his wife. "Mr. Smythe certainly must bless the day you first walked into his shop, Catherine." He looked with pleasure at the well-laden shelves surrounding them. He and Catherine had begun with a substantial collection between them, and it had grown even larger in the past three years. Catherine must surely be the bookseller's best customer.

Turning his attention to her latest acquisition, Vincent turned the pages with appreciation. It was a jewel of a book, made in the days when the binding was as much a work of art as the contents. Despite their age, the illustrations seemed as fresh as the day some fortunate child first turned over these pages in the the early years of the century.

"Catherine, it's beautiful--a true work of art, as well as a classic story. Why did you choose it? Was it a particular favorite of yours as a child?"

"Yes, but that's not the main reason I got it." Catherine gently traced the complex pattern of the binding as Vincent held the book. "I wanted to read it to Jacob someday."

Vincent stared at Catherine, as confused by the tone of her voice as by her words. "I'm sure Father would appreciate this as a thing of beauty, but it seems an--unusual choice for something to read to him."

Catherine dropped her eyes to Vincent's lap as she gently took the book from him, twining her fingers around his. "I don't mean Father," she said softly, a catch in her voice. "I mean Jacob Charles."

Vincent was more confused than ever; he was sure neither he nor Catherine knew anyone of that name ...

"Or it could be Caroline Mary."

As Catherine raised her eyes to meet his, the emotions he knew she had been keeping in check were suddenly freed. Vincent felt as if he had been tossed into raging rapids, unable to sort out the powerful tangle of feelings he read in Catherine; unable to make sense of her words.

Catherine raised his hands to her lips, kissing each one in turn without taking her eyes from his. She took a deep breath.

"Vincent--I'm pregnant."

For a long moment, Vincent sat immobile, stunned. "Catherine ... " His voice sounded strange even to himself. "Are you sure? When we agreed to take no steps to prevent this I ... I really did not believe it was possible. My biochemistry is so different ... Father told me it was impossible, Peter ..."

"Peter believes it now," she said gently. "As soon as I realized I was late I ran to the drugstore like a madwoman. I got two pregnancy tests--different brands--and they both said yes. Then I went to see Peter, and he confirmed it. I've been having morning sickness for a week. There's no doubt."

Of all the conflicting emotions that assailed Vincent, fear was uppermost, followed closely by guilt. Paracelsus' horrible lies still haunted him, even though the rational part of him knew them as lies. His great unspoken fear was that the truth might be worse. The dark unknown that was his origin suddenly became populated with demons, each showing him a scene more hideous than the last, and all ending in pain and death for the woman he loved more than his own life.

"Vincent ... Vincent!" Catherine's voice brought him back to reality, but the fear was still mirrored on his face.

"Oh, dear love, don't do this to yourself!" Catherine pleaded. "It will be all right, I promise you. I have the two best doctors anyone could wish, and I want this so much. Dear Vincent--let yourself be happy. Let yourself believe in just one more miracle."

The love and conviction in her voice overwhelmed the demons, for the moment at least. With an inarticulate sob, Vincent took Catherine in his arms, clinging to her like a drowning man to a rock. "Catherine, Catherine ... a child of ours would bring me more joy than I could ever tell you. I wanted it too, more than I could admit, even to myself. But I am so afraid for you ..."

Catherine held him as tightly as she could, stroking his hair as she reassured him. "Everyone thought this was impossible ... I can't believe in a Providence that would give us such a gift if it were fated to bring anything but joy. Oh, dear heart ... let yourself believe that you deserve to be happy."

Vincent was never able to remember what he said after that. He only remembered that they laughed and cried by turns, and kissed, and held each other a long time.

"Vincent?"

He could feel Catherine's joy and love through the bond, so strong it was almost tangible. If she asked him for the moon at that moment, he would have found a way to get it for her. "What it it, love?"

She got to her feet and tugged on his hands so he would follow. "I've been keeping this inside for too long. Now that I've told you, I want to shout it from the rooftops--but I'll settle for pounding the pipes. Shall we go tell Father he'd better get used to being called Grandfather?"

Some time later, Catherine found herself experiencing a distinct feeling of déja vu as Father's reaction paralleled Vincent's. Shock gave way to fear and finally a wary sort of happiness.

"Catherine, I should have expected this," Father finally conceded. "This was the only impossibility you had yet to make real."

"I guess this means you'll have to revise your definition of 'impossible,' " Catherine smiled. "There are more things in heaven and earth, Father ..."

"Marriage to my son," Father laughed, "has certainly increased your repertoire of Shakespeare quotations."

"Only one of many gifts it's brought me," Catherine replied as she looked fondly at her still-dazed husband.

Her equally dazed father-in-law gathered the shreds of his professional persona around him and attempted to sound businesslike. "Well, I'm sure that Peter and I shall have much to discuss. Were you able to determine how far along you are?"

"I'm pretty sure it happened at Winterfest," Catherine replied with a reminiscent smile. "Well, not at Winterfest, of course; someone would have noticed. Afterwards." She ignored the strangled sounds coming from Vincent's direction.

Father maintained his aplomb with difficulty. "That means the child is due in ... September. Catherine, I hope you intend to be tested. Having your first baby at thirty-five ... "

"Father ... I need to think about that. Some of those tests are risky, and I won't take any unecessary chances. Peter and I are ... negotiating."

If Father had learned nothing else in the past six years, he learned when to retreat gracefully, if not permanently. "Well ... do you wish to make this common knowledge as yet? I know many of our community have prayed for this day for a long time."

"Even though it was impossible?" Catherine asked innocently.

"Apparently my opinion is not as revered Below as I would wish. In this case, I am glad to have been proved wrong."

"Catherine is eager to tell everyone," Vincent offered. "On the way down I had to restrain her from tapping out the news herself. I finally convinced her it would break Pascal's heart."

Catherine pushed back her chair. "There are a few people Vincent and I want to tell personally, then Pascal can put it on the pipes. I'm beginning to appreciate how the Princess of Wales must have felt the first time she got pregnant."

The definition of "a few people" kept expanding as the prospective parents sought out their special friends Below. Catherine insisted on telling Mary first--partly because of the unstated but pervasive feeling in the community that she was "Mother" to Jacob's "Father"; partly because she would be involved in this birth as much as Jacob or Peter. Although she was loath to admit it to Vincent, Catherine was not totally fearless at the prospect of childbirth. Vincent would assume she feared bearing his child; Catherine knew she could never convince him that her trepidation would be neither more nor less if this baby's father were the most ordinary man imaginable. It was just that this experience was as new to her as it was to her husband. Knowing that someone like Mary was around gave Catherine considerable peace of mind. Not that she didn't have complete faith in Father and Peter as doctors--but past a certain point, their knowledge was necessarily only observational.

They found Jamie and Mouse together, an event becoming increasingly common, to Catherine's delight. Vincent made no secret of his amusement at the way that marriage seemed to have turned Catherine into an inveterate, if subtle, matchmaker. Underneath the amusement, it pleased him more than he would admit that she found her own married state so congenial she could hardly wait to usher all their friends into similar conditions of domestic bliss.

They were especially touched by Cullen's reaction. For all the years Vincent and Catherine had been together, Cullen's pleasure at their happiness had been expressed obliquely, overlaid by the protective coloration of dry wit and relentless teasing. Expecting more of the same, they were touched when he led them to a corner of his workshop and showed them some exceptionally fine pieces of oak.

"That's for the cradle," he said with a catch in his voice. "I've been hoping for years this day would come."

Lena was ecstatic, and confided that she hoped to have similar news herself before too long. She and Julio had decided that it was about time four-year-old Cathy had a little brother or sister. With a reminiscent smile, she gave Vincent her highest recommendation as a childbirth assistant.

William tried to ply Catherine with food, reminded her she was eating for two, and pointed out that "fancy Topsider food" wasn't adequate for a woman in her condition. Accepting half a dozen muffins and a basket of fruit was the only way Catherine could extricate herself. Judging by the grins directed their way as they continued on through the Tunnels, it became obvious to Catherine and Vincent that if they didn't get to Pascal soon there'd be hardly anyone left to tell. Laughing and eating muffins, they headed toward the pipe chamber.

Much later, when they finally escaped to the quiet privacy of their bedchamber, Catherine flopped onto the bed with a groan of mock exhaustion.

"Good grief! I wasn't expecting such a major social event. I can't believe how fast news travels around here. Who needs communications satellites when you've got pipes?"

Laughing, Vincent lay down beside her. "It did turn into quite a community celebration," he admitted.

"I'll say! I thought at any minute somebody was going to suggest we open up the Great Hall. And where on earth did William get champagne, of all things?"

"I didn't dare ask. I was afraid it might have something to do with Mouse." Vincent propped himself up on one elbow to smile at Catherine. "It's too bad you couldn't drink any."

"Not good for Junior." She smiled back, playing with the golden hair where it fell over his cheek. "It's a pretty good feeling," she told him softly "to know so many people are so happy for us."

"It certainly is," he agreed, kissing her forehead.

"Mm. And we still have to tell Uncle Devin. And Jenny." Catherine laughed. "Although, knowing Jenny, there's probably a message on my recorder right now telling me about this dream she had..."

She broke off as Vincent began kissing her again, and not on the forehead. As his lips moved from her cheek down the side of her neck, Catherine tilted her head back with a sigh, burying her hands in his hair. Just as she was about to move them to the fastenings of his vest, Vincent stiffened--not in the right place--and drew away from her.

"Vincent, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Catherine, I forgot..." He gestured vaguely in the direction of her midsection. "I don't want to hurt you ..."

For a moment, Catherine was totally confused. Surely he had gotten over those fears years ago! Then the truth suddenly came to her and she sat up with a start.

"Vincent, are you worried about making love because I'm pregnant?" When he nodded, she dropped her head for a moment and took a deep breath. Much as Catherine loved her hyper-protective husband, there were times when she was hard put to decide whether she should laugh or give him a swift kick.

"Vincent, we made love this afternoon, didn't we?"

"Did you think I could possibly have forgotten?" he replied softly.

"I should hope not, or I'm definitely losing my touch." Catherine leaned toward Vincent to look him directly in the eye. "I'm only a few hours more pregnant now than I was then."

"I didn't know you were pregnant then," he answered reasonably.

"Argghh. Vincent, it didn't hurt me then, it's not going to hurt me now or many months from now, although we'll have to start getting creative about positions by then."

Vincent's thoughts about the implications of such creativity were all too plain on his face. He was weakening. "Catherine, are you sure? I wouldn't want to risk ... "

"Dear heart, just because I've never been pregnant before doesn't mean I don't know anything about it. I have friends who've had babies. And besides, I've done quite a bit of reading on the subject."

"When?" Vincent was surprised. "I thought you only found out yesterday you were pregnant."

"Actually, the reading was a couple of years ago,"

Catherine replied quietly, unable to look at him when she saw the quick comprehension in hiseyes.

When they first became lovers, Vincent had insisted the possibility of a child, however remote, was too great a risk. It had taken almost a year for him to relent, and she was sure he only did so because he, like Father and Peter, didn't really believe it could happen. And because he eventually realized the depth of her pain and longing, no matter how carefully she thought she had hidden it from him. Catherine had been elated when he first agreed they would no longer take any steps to prevent her conceiving; she expected to become pregnant right away, as though the strength of her desire alone could make it happen. As the months and years went by, however, the books she had pored over so hopefully gathered dust in a remote corner, and she almost began to accept that this was one dream that would never come true.

Wordlessly, Vincent drew her close and held her tightly as she buried her head against his neck. After a long moment, he spoke again. "Catherine ... your longing is over. You are making the last of my dreams come true." At his words, the sorrows of the past dissipated like a mist, and the future held all her attention.

Pushing herself away to look at Vincent once more, Catherine returned to the subject at hand. "The dream does not include spending months with you afraid to touch me. Keeping my hands off of you was hard enough when I could only fantasize what making love with you would be like. After three years of knowing how good it is, I couldn't stand it. I'll dig out the books again and you can read them too."

"Do they have pictures," he asked innocently, "in case our creativity is lacking?"

Catherine began to laugh in astonished delight. "Will you listen to us? For years we never said the word 'sex' in each other's presence. If there'd been a National Euphemism Award we'd have won it three years running. Now we're talking about creative positions and naughty pictures without a blush."

"Well, Catherine, we have been lovers for over three years, after all, and married almost as long. That has a way of changing things."

"It certainly does," Catherine agreed with a fond smile. "I like it a lot. How about you?"

"I like it very much."

With a sudden movement, Catherine flipped over to lie on top of her husband. "And ..." Swiftly untying his vest, she slipped her hands underneath Vincent's shirt as she punctuated her words with kisses. "There'll be no more ... of this ... unneccesary reluctance ... to make love ... to your ... perfectly healthy pregnant wife."

Since Catherine was also rubbing her body sensuously over Vincent's as she kissed him, it was perhaps understandable that his reply was largely unintelligible. Taking it as agreement, she proceeded accordingly.

Much later, Catherine lay in a state of peaceful relaxation while Vincent slept his well-earned sleep beside her. She smiled to herself as she stroked the furry arm that lay protectively across her stomach. Given the excitement of this day, not to mention the recent exercise, she was surprised to find herself still conscious. Something had been tugging at the back of her mind since yesterday--perhaps that was keeping her awake. She allowed her thoughts to drift, hoping the elusive memory would surface.

***

Almost six months ago, with New York at the humid height of its summer discomfort, anyone who could had escaped the city for the beaches or the country. Catherine's escape was vertical rather than lateral, into the cool depths of the lower Tunnels. Vincent was leading one of his regular expeditions to the crystal cavern, and Catherine liked to accompany him on these trips whenever her schedule allowed. The ethereal beauty of the place always moved her, especially since it was the source of the precious crystal that hung around her neck.

Catherine was glad that Jenny had been able to come this time. After two years of hearing about its wonders, Catherine was afraid her friend had begun to suspect it was as mythical as King Solomon's Mines. As Vincent made the way ahead, on the alert for loose rocks or other dangers, the two women brought up the rear, watchful for any straggling children.

"Wow, this is amazing," Jenny exclaimed. "I had no idea these tunnels went so deep! I feel like we're going to stumble across Pellucidar any minute."

"There are tunnels a lot deeper than where we're going," Catherine replied. "But those are too dangerous to take the children. Some of the deep places not even Mouse has been to. Only Vincent."

Jenny was too intuitive, and too good a friend, to miss the undercurrent of pain in Catherine's voice. "Cathy, I know that was a terrible time for you, when Vincent almost lost himself down there. I only wish I'd known then what was going on with you, so I could've helped. But that was over three years ago. You brought him home."

Catherine slipped an arm around Jenny's shoulder to give a quick hug. "Thanks for reminding me. It's hard not to think of it when we go on this expedition."

"Why? You didn't find him anywhere near here, did you?"

"No ... you see when Vincent was so ... sick, when he wasn't himself, Mary asked him to take some of the children to see the cavern. His reaction then, and Father's, made her and others realize how seriously ill Vincent was."

"I get it. And knowing Vincent, I suppose he felt awful about disappointing the children." Jenny had known Vincent long enough by now to realize that would bother him most of all.

"He hated having them see his weakness, his lack of control." Catherine's eyes never the left her husband's graceful back as he walked before them. "Ever since then, he's made a point of taking groups of the children to the crystal cavern when they get old enough." Catherine turned to Jenny and smiled. "It's become something of a coming-of-age ritual."

"Well," Jenny grinned, "my bat mitzvah was a helluva long time ago, but I'm glad I got to come anyway. Does Vincent usually have you bring up the rear, or is this just husbandly thoughtfulness so we can talk girl talk?"

"Mostly the latter," Catherine admitted, "but he's always careful there's someone else along to make sure nobody wanders off. These passages are too deep to be used often, so there's always the possibility of something hazardous that hasn't been found in a regular patrol. Usually one of the older children comes, someone who's been on the trip before. It makes them feel so important and grown up."

"Vincent is so terrific with kids," Jenny began, regretting the words too late to recall them. Glancing sidewise at Catherine's face, she winced at the pain her friend could not quite hide.

Oh, Cath," she said hopelessly, "I'm sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. I just didn't think ..."

"Jenny, there's no reason for you to be sorry." Her voice was controlled--too controlled. "It's absolutely true. He's wonderful with children. He'd make a perfect father. It seems so unfair we can't ... oh, damn!" Catherine took a deep breath. "I can't give in to this, he'll feel it."

"It's all my fault," Jenny said miserably. "You haven't said anything about it in so long, I forgot for a moment how much it hurts you."

"Jenny, Jenny, stop blaming yourself! The world is full of things that remind me of children. Most of the time I succeed pretty well in ignoring the pain, or suppressing it. If I didn't, Vincent would feel terrible. He'll blame himself for anything given half a chance."

"Entropy?" Jenny tried to lighten the mood. "The greenhouse effect?"

"Pretty much," Catherine agreed with the hint of a smile. "I don't mind it for myself that much. There's no guarantee I would have had children even if I'd never heard of Vincent, although I always wanted them someday. After all, I was pretty close to thirty and still single when I met him."

"Yeah. You might have been crazy enough to marry a jerk like Tom Gunther." Jenny's opinion of Catherine's former boyfriend had never been high. "I can't imagine him letting kids mess up his schedule."

"How true." Catherine shook her head in wonder. "Could that really have been me? Most of the time it seems my life before Vincent happened to somebody else. Someone I barely recognize now."

Sensing that Jenny still felt guilty, Catherine took her arm as they walked along. "God, Jenny, what right have I to complain? I have Vincent, and he's a greater gift than anyone could hope to deserve. I have a whole loving community and family Below, and friends like you and Joe and Peter Above. I should be ashamed of myself for not being content."

"It's not yourself that's the issue, though is it? It wouldn't hurt so much if it were."

"Oh Jenny," Catherine sighed. "Sometimes I forget just how well you know me. No, it hurts because I want it so badly for Vincent. I've been able to give him all the other things he convinced himself he could never have ... my love, marriage, a life together. Maybe I began to believe I could make anything happen. I've read enough of the classics to know what happens when you let that hubris get out of hand."

"Oh, bull!" Jenny sputtered. At Catherine's startled look, Jenny continued. "The older I get, the less sympathy I have for that attitude. Do you have any idea how many versions of the Great American Tragedy end up on my desk in the course of a year? If I want tragedy, I'll read the newspaper. In a world like this, making up more seems sadistic at worst and adolescent selfindulgence at best."

"Wow!" Catherine exclaimed. "Have I hit a nerve?"

"Just one of my pet peeves," Jenny admitted somewhat sheepishly. "Maybe it's my family history, but I've always had more respect for people who dream about better things, especially if they work to make them come true. Pain and angst and all that are too easy. Any idiot can destroy; creation is the real challenge."

Catherine regarded Jenny with astonishment. "I never realized you felt that strongly ..."

"Cath, it's one of the reasons I admire the people Below so much, especially Father and the others who really built this place. And it's one of the reasons I admire you."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. I know the first year with Vincent was rough, everybody telling you all the time how impossible it was, till you hit bottom and escaped to Nancy's. But you came out the other side and never looked back. You dusted yourself off and started making good things happen."

Catherine was lost in memories for a moment. "You make it sound a lot simpler than it was. Our second year was no bed of roses, either."

"I don't mean to imply it was. From what you've told me, I know it was a hard road." Jenny smiled. "With no road maps. You were on your own, but you got things figured out. You were determined that you and Vincent were going to be happy, dammit, and you made it real."

"Dear Jenny, what would I do without you? You have such a unique way of looking at things."

"Well, you can take your hubris and shove it," Jenny announced firmly. "I'll take eucatastrophe any day."

"What kind of catastrophe?" Catherine asked, puzzled. "That sounds familiar but I can't place it."

"Tolkien, in his essay 'On Fairy-Stories.' A classic. The sudden joyous turn that denies universal defeat; the Consolation of the Happy Ending; 'Joy beyond the walls of the world, poignant as grief.'" Jenny spoke earnestly. "Cathy, your life with Vincent has had its share of eucatastrophes. Don't give up hope of one more."

"I'll never give up hope. Not with friends like you to keep me on the right track." Suddenly Jenny's attention was on a narrow passage which branched off to the right. "What is it?"

Catherine asked, suddenly alert.

Jenny's face screwed up in puzzlement. "I could have sworn I saw somebody angle off into that tunnel, but it couldn't be. We would have heard if someone had been that close behind us."

For the first time since their conversation had become so intense, Catherine looked around to judge where they were. She had been on this trip often enough that the route was somewhat familiar. When she figured out their location, Catherine began to have a pretty good idea who the elusive figure might have been. "Jenny, it was probably Narcissa. She's one of the few people who frequent this part of the Tunnels."

"Narcissa? Wasn't she at Winterfest? That strange old black woman who makes you feel like she could turn you into a toad anytime she wants?"

Catherine laughed. "That's the kind of description Father would use."

Jenny did not laugh. "Maybe, but Father wouldn't mean it. I do." She was thoughtful a moment. "Why didn't she say hello? Doesn't she like us Topsiders?"

"It has nothing to do with you," Catherine assured Jenny. "She just likes her solitude. Some years she doesn't even come to Winterfest, although she's been doing that pretty regularly lately. I think she has a soft spot for Vincent and likes to make sure I'm treating him right."

"Well, I hope she shows up again this year," Jenny spoke quietly to Catherine, as if the elusive Narcissa weren't a long way off by now. "I'd sure like to talk to her more. She looks like she's forgotten more than most of us will ever know."

Jenny shook herself. "Well, enough of this serious stuff. We need a new subject." With a wicked grin, she turned to Catherine. "Have you ever noticed how sexy Vincent looks from this angle?"

Giggling like they were back in college, the two spoke no more of serious things for the rest of the journey.

***

Smiling at the memory, Catherine was brought back to the present as Vincent stirred in his sleep. She watched him anxiously for a moment, concerned that his movement might signal the beginning of a troubling dream. His nightmares came less frequently now than when they first began sharing a bed, but they always had a vividness that made them seem terribly real to him. Catherine doubted these visions would ever leave Vincent completely; they were too closely allied to that preternatural empathy of his which found its purest expression in their bond.

Catherine relaxed as Vincent simply snuggled more closely against her and quieted. Only one small candle near the door was still burning, but it gave enough illumination to highlight his golden fur as it followed the contours of the muscles beneath. How beautiful he was, how magical. Sometimes she could hardly believe he was real, and really hers. What had she ever done to deserve such good fortune?

At first, Catherine had chastised herself for wanting a child of their own so much. After all, Vincent and Father were as perfect an illustration as anyone could wish that ties of love were no less strong then those of biology. Stronger, sometimes, she thought, thinking of Devin. Catherine had considered adoption more than once. The world being what it was, it was all too inevitable more babies would be brought to the Tunnels in need of rearing. But the community as a whole did such a good job of that, and Catherine worried that selecting one or two children for special attention from her and Vincent would hurt the others.

Part of her desire stemmed from loving Vincent so much, and wanting to give him everything she could. She knew that giving him a child of his own would make him unbelievably happy, more than even he realized. Once the fear was gone, he would revel in fatherhood ... and he would be so good at it.

There was yet another reason, one which she had always kept to herself. She had come to love Vincent's people and his world almost as much as she loved him. As she moved through her often frustrating days above, the tide of cruelty and unhappiness she waded through often threatened to engulf her. Knowing the Tunnels were safe below her feet, that another and better way of being existed, often gave her the strength to carry on.

Vincent was more than a much-loved and useful member of that unique community; he was its symbolic heart in a way she only dimly understood. He was also its protector, like the King's Champion of old. More than once he had been all that stood between the community and its destruction--by Paracelsus, by Lin and Henry's pursuers, by so many others. Catherine fully intended that she and Vincent would live a good long time, but even his exceptional strength would not last forever. Who would protect this place when he no longer could?

One of Vincent's greatest fears, she knew, was that he would father a child like himself. It was Catherine's greatest hope. More than once she had resented the way everyone took Vincent's protection for granted, knowing the pain it caused him to unleash his killing power--no matter how just the cause or how necessary the act. Nonetheless, she was forced to admit how important his protection was, and how much he considered it his duty despite the undeniable emotional cost. If he had a son like himself-- possessing that power, but one who had no doubts about the circumstances of his birth, no deep-seated fears of abandonment, who could be guided to adulthood forewarned of the demons he might have to face ... then the King's Champion would have a worthy successor, and need carry that burden alone no longer.

Now hope and possibility was becoming reality with every breath she took, every beat of her heart, as the child grew within her. Unlike most of those Below, Father had been a bit ... restrained? ... in his enthusiasm. More than once she had seen him looking at her with a worried frown; Peter had had the same look when he had confirmed the pregnancy. Catherine wondered if they knew how transparent they both were. After years of suggesting to her, as gently as possible, the unlikelihood of her conceiving a child with Vincent, the unlikely was now staring them in the face. Now their happiness for her was tempered by the fear that she would lose a child whose father's biochemistry was so different from her own. That was, of course, a very realistic fear, given what they knew. Somehow, Catherine couldn't share that fear, sensible that it was. But then, she knew some things they didn't ...

***

Winterfest was Catherine's favorite day of the whole year. Even though this was her fifth one, it was as magical as the first--no, moreso, because she had so many wonderful memories associated with it now. Leaning against the stair railing, she watched Vincent lead Samantha around the floor in a waltz. He looked so handsome in his holiday finery it was almost more than she could do to keep from dragging him off to continue their celebration in private. How grown-up Samantha looked now! Catherine hugged herself in complete contentment. It felt wonderful to be so much a part of this community that she noticed these things. Many of the children she knew from her earliest times Below were adolescents now, getting ever closer to adulthood. More and more she could understand Vincent's pride at their blossoming. Lost in her thoughts, Catherine didn't at first notice the figure that approached her slowly up the stairs, using the railing to guide her steps.

"Narcissa!" Catherine hastened to help the old woman. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were there."

"Come, come child, I'm not as helpless as all that," she cackled. "Just stiffer than I was in my younger days. Ah!" Narcissa lowered herself to sit on the top step with a grateful

sigh. "The way up from the deep places gets longer every year."

"Maybe you should move closer to the central chambers," Catherine suggested, worried. "Everyone would be happy to have you."

"Even Father?" Narcissa asked.

"Even Father," Catherine insisted. "Besides, it would be good for him ... keep his adrenalin going. There's not as much excitement around here as there used to be. Thank God!"

Narcissa patted Catherine's knee. "No, child, I need the deep places, the quiet places. They are my power."

"We all worry about you, alone down there." Catherine put her hand over Narcissa's. "What if something happened to you?"

"Someday it will, child, and I will become part of the stone and the darkness. But not for a long while yet." She smiled at Catherine. "I have too much yet to do, too many to watch over."

Catherine shivered, but not in fear. Father might make light of Narcissa, call her a deluded old woman, but Catherine sensed depths in Narcissa that sometimes awed her, made her think of stories of goddesses who disguised themselves as mortals to move among them, testing them, meting out whatever boon or doom they earned. Everyone knew Vincent's role as protector of the Tunnels, but Catherine often wondered about Narcissa's. She had visions of magical wards surrounding the world Below, conjured by this strange and disturbing crone. Years ago, Catherine would have scoffed at magic, but her recent life had made her reluctant to dismiss any possibility out of hand.

"Our Vincent is very happy tonight, is he not?"

Narcissa's question brought Catherine's wandering attention back to the scene below. "It looks that way." Catherine smiled at the woman beside her. "I do my best."

"And from what I hear, child, that is very good indeed." Catherine wondered how someone who lived in such isolation as Narcissa did could know so much about the life of the Tunnels, but was reluctant to ask. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear the answer. Catherine turned back to watch Vincent. "He deserves all the happiness I can give him. More."

"Well, child, I must be on my way." Narcissa began to rummage in the bag she carried. "But first, I have a gift for you and Vincent."

Catherine was touched. "Narcissa, that's very sweet of you. Let me get Vincent, and ..."

"No, no, child, I have been away from my own places long enough." She drew a small pottery flask from the bag, carefully sealed with cork and wax, and handed it to Catherine. "Here. Both of you must drink this tonight before you go to bed. It will bring you good fortune, and make wishes come true."

Catherine accepted with a dubious look at Narcissa, whose face wore a strange smile. She sounded like something right out of a fairy tale at times. Catherine often wondered if she did it on purpose, just to get Father's goat. Playing along, she accepted the old woman's gift with gravity. "Thank you Narcissa, from both of us. I'm glad you care so much about us."

The old woman nodded. "You must promise to drink it tonight, at the turn of the year." Narcissa cackled again. "You musn't let anything make you forget."

Catherine ducked her head down as she felt a blush rise into her cheeks. Surely Narcissa couldn't know how she and Vincent always spent the night of Winterfest--could she? Unwilling to look Narcissa in the eye, Catherine nodded. "I promise. Thank you for remembering us."

She watched Narcissa's shoulder shake with mirth as the old woman moved down the steps. Thinking of Vincent made Catherine realize she'd been letting him dance with other women far too long. Tucking Narcissa's gift into a safe corner, Catherine entered the dance floor to retrieve her husband.

"I think this was the second-best Winterfest ever," Catherine announced to Vincent as they reached the entrance to the chambers she always thought of as The Resort. What else would you call a room with a deliciously large four-poster bed and its own bathing pool right next door?

Vincent laughed at her emphatic tone. "You say that every year."

"Well, it's true. They keep getting better all the time."

"But not good enough to become first best?" Vincent asked her softly as he pushed the tapestry aside to allow Catherine to enter the room and light the candle near the door.

"Vincent, every Winterfest with you has been glorious," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him. "But how could any equal the first one we spent in this room? That was the beginning of the best time of my life." Catherine looked deep into his shadowed eyes. "Every time we make love is wonderful," she told him with a catch in her voice. "But the rest wouldn't have happened if that first night here hadn't proved it was possible for us. That's why I'll always treasure that memory as special."

Vincent buried his hands in Catherine's hair, looking at the face between those hands as if he could never get enough of the sight. "Such a brave journey into the unknown that was for you. How did you ever find the courage?"

"Some risks are worth taking, Vincent," Catherine reminded him as their lips met in a deep, lingering kiss.

After several more, Vincent pulled back a little and smiled. "Perhaps we should light the rest of the candles," he suggested. "I love the sight of you as well as the feel of you."

The tone of his voice sent delicious shivers of anticipation running through Catherine's nerves. "Good idea. Then why don't we relax in the pool for awhile? It's the longest night of the year, after all." Her voice was silk. "Let's make it last."

After the candles were lit, they undressed each other slowly, savoring every touch and glimpse as each was revealed to the other. They tied up each other's hair in leather thongs to keep it free of the water, then passed through a second doorway to the pool beyond. Taking bathing supplies from a small cabinet near the entrance, they set them near the edge of the steaming water. Vincent noticed that Catherine added an unfamiliar pottery vessel to the collection.

"Catherine," he asked, "what is that? You've already given me my Winterfest present."

"That," Catherine replied, slipping into the water beside him, "is a present to both of us from Narcissa. She made me promise we'd drink it tonight before we got too... uh, distracted. Since we usually get distracted pretty quickly, I thought we'd better do it in short order."

"Are you sure it's quite ... safe?" Vincent asked dubiously as he slit the wax seal with his claw and sniffed the cork.

"Oh, Vincent," Catherine laughed, "you sound like Father. You know Narcissa would never give us anything dangerous. She said this would bring us good luck and make our wishes come true." Catherine leaned over for a sniff of her own. "It could be a magic potion, but it smells more like an herb cordial to me."

Catherine grinned lasciviously at her husband and wrapped her arms and legs around him in the water. "Maybe it's an aphrodisiac."

"Catherine," Vincent asked huskily as he held her close against him, "are you familiar with the expression, 'coals to Newcastle?' "

Laughing, Catherine kissed him soundly before she slipped from his arms to pour the cordial into two small cups she had abstracted from the festivities in the Great Hall. "Come on, I promised. Let's drink a toast to the new year, or the return of the sun, or something appropriate."

Vincent accepted the cup Catherine offered him, his face suddenly serious. His eyes locked on hers, he raised the cup. "To one who has been a light to all the shadowed places of my life, and a torch to lead my soul out of darkness. I would make your every wish come true if I could."

Catherine's eyes filled with tears at the naked emotion in his voice. She was afraid her own would fail her as she raised her cup to him in turn. "To one who not only gave me back my life, but a reason to live it. I only hope I can make you as happy as you deserve."

The liquid slipped down their throats with a sinuous warmth. It tasted of summer herbs and autumn spices; of spring freshness and winter cold. It was like life distilled; relaxing and invigorating all at once. Its warmth seemed to flow to every cell of their bodies, leaving all the senses at their highest peak. With a look of surprised delight Vincent carefully set the cup down by the side of the pool. "A generous gift indeed," he said shakily.

Catherine laid her cup beside his. "A good beginning."

Without a word, they moved into each other's arms at the same time. As they kissed, the taste of the cordial mingled in their heightened senses with the familiar taste of each other. Catherine leaned her head against the side of the pool as Vincent's mouth left hers to trail kisses down her neck and throat. When his tongue found her breasts, the pleasure was almost too intense to bear. With a wordless cry she wrapped her legs around him, needing to be so close they ceased to be separate beings.

***

She never remembered later how many times they made love that night; it seemed like one fluid dance from pool to bed, one seamless ebb and flow of pleasure and love, giving and receiving. After she came down to earth, Catherine had wondered if Narcissa's gift hadn't been an aphrodisiac after all. Lying here now next to Vincent, their child growing inside her--a child conceived at Winterfest, she was sure--Catherine thought she had her answer at last.

The next morning, Catherine discovered that she had been the object of a conspiracy. She awoke alone, and much later than she normally would have when Below. Reading the note from Vincent on the pillow beside her, she shook her head in dismay at the unnatural quiet. This excessive coddling would have to be nipped in the bud. Throwing off the covers decisively, she jumped out of bed to begin her anti-fussing campaign, only to sit back down with a thump as a wave of dizziness came over her. This might be a bit more of a challenge than it first appeared.

When she entered Father's study Vincent leaped up to take her hand as she came down the stairs. Catherine decided a discussion of coddling could wait. Sitting down at the table with her two favorite men, she eyed the food warily as Father offered her some breakfast. "How about just some tea for now?" she suggested. "My stomach has a way of taking irrational dislikes to all sorts of things these days."

Father poured her a steaming cup. "This is a very delicate herb tea, my dear," he assured her. "And some dry toast should be all right, if you eat just a little at a time."

"Maybe," Catherine agreed somewhat dubiously. "I will admit that most of the stuff that passes for food around the office made me nauseous even before I was pregnant. In the last week being within ten feet of it sent me rushing for the nearest bathroom."

"Remember, Catherine, it usually goes away by the fourteenth week," Father reassured her.

"Usually?" Vincent asked in a concerned voice. "How long could it last?"

"Well," Father replied vaguely, "some women never experience it, some have it longer ... "

"What is the longest?" Vincent demanded.

"Well, it has been known to last as long as ... nine months," Father mumbled. Unfortunately, Vincent's hearing was too acute to miss anything. His face took on a stricken look.

Catherine took his hand, trying not to laugh. "Vincent, dear, I hope you're not going to expect the worst all the time, or the next seven and a half months are going to be very trying." She turned to Father. "And that goes for you too!"

Father spoke earnestly. "Catherine, I have no desire to alarm you, and certainly not Vincent--not that he needs any encouragement to worry about you. But you must admit there is reason for ... vigilance, at least. Vincent's biochemistry is unique; we have no way of knowing how that will affect your pregnancy."

"You were sure Vincent's biochemistry was so unique we'd never be able to conceive a child together in the first place. Doesn't the fact that we have tell you something?" Catherine reached across the table to touch the older man's hand. "Father, few women have as much attention and care during a pregnancy as I will, and I'm very grateful. Just don't let worry spoil the joy of it. Everything will be all right, I promise."

Vincent touched Catherine's cheek gently. "You sound so positive--I wish I could believe you."

Catherine captured his hand in her own and kissed his palm. "Vincent, have I ever failed to keep a promise to you?"

"No," he whispered. "Never."

Catherine answered his slow smile with one of her own. She knew his doubts would return, but for now the fears had receded, leaving the happiness uppermost.

Father's indulgent contemplation of the parents of his future grandchild was interrupted as Mouse burst in with his usual disregard of etiquette.

"Mouse! In heaven's name, what--"

"Father, Narcissa's coming! Saw her in lower Tunnels-headed this way."

"Are you sure, Mouse?" At the young man's emphatic nod, Father's brow furrowed in perplexity. "How extraordinary. Narcissa so seldom comes near the central chambers anymore, and now less than six weeks after Winterfest. Mouse, did there seem anything wrong? Did she appear ill?"

"Nope. Humming to herself. Looked happy."

"Perhaps she heard the news on the pipes last night and came to congratulate us," Vincent offered.

"Perhaps," Father agreed, "although she spends most of her time below the level of the pipes."

A smile as enigmatic as Mona Lisa's spread over Catherine's face. "I'm sure she knows--even without the pipes."

"Now, Catherine," Father began to bluster, "you shouldn't encourage her delusions of--"

Laughing, Catherine rose and tugged Vincent's hand. "Come on, let's walk down to meet her. If nothing else, it'll keep Father's blood pressure from the danger zone."

They met the old woman by the Mirror Pool. Vincent greeted her first in his usual affectionate way. Then she turned to Catherine. For a moment, the women stood looking at each other in a silence so charged it was almost tangible. Then Narcissa asked softly, "Something you have long wished for has come to pass, has it not?"

Catherine stepped forward into Narcissa's arms with an inarticulate cry and hugged her fiercely. "Oh Narcissa," she cried, her voice breaking, "I am so happy! No one ever had such a gift."

"Not a gift, child," the old woman replied softly as she stroked Catherine's hair. "Something you have earned. Something that was meant to be."

After a moment, the two broke the embrace and Narcissa looked Catherine over with a critical eye. "You look well, child." Narcissa spread her gnarled hand over Catherine's abdomen. Her almost-sightless eyes seemed to look inward. Then she began to laugh. "My, my, I do my work well! Better than I think, sometimes."

Catherine put her hand on Narcissa's arm. "What is it? What do you see?" she asked anxiously.

Narcissa picked up her basket and shook her head, still chuckling. "You'll know in good time, children. You musn't let the Old Man worry you. He has his ways of knowing, and I have mine. He worries about what could happen, what might happen, what will never happen."

Narcissa turned to Vincent. "You were always my special one. Such a loving child, but so much pain held inside. Her love heals you more every day." Vincent looked at Catherine. "A child's love will heal you too. Enjoy this time, Vincent, it is like no other."

The old woman resumed her walk toward the central chambers. "Come along. We shall have a little visit. I have some things Catherine can use to help her."

Catherine pitied her poor husband. He didn't seem to know quite what to make of this unexpected and cryptic encounter. Catherine tucked her arm in his and urged him to follow. Perhaps someday she'd tell him what she knew. Perhaps.

Vincent was just pouring Catherine's tea as he heard her steps coming down from the bedroom. The attractive and businesslike Assistant District Attorney who entered the kitchen was in marked contrast to the considerably less kempt woman who had chased him out of the bathroom earlier to have morning sickness in privacy.

"How do you feel, Catherine?" He asked with concern as he handed her the tea. "You should have let me help you."

Catherine kissed her husband on the cheek as she gratefully accepted the cup. "Vincent, you've seen me bruised, bleeding, filthy, beaten up, shot, and more than half drowned--but there's a limit. I am not at my best while retching, and it's better for my image to do it in private. Besides, I've had so much practice I've gotten it down to an exact science."

Vincent looked pained. "I wish you didn't have to go through this..."

Catherine sat down at the kitchen table and patted the chair beside her. "It's all part of the job, Vincent. If I could put up with up getting beaten up, shot, etc. for the DA's office, I can certainly put up with a little nausea as part of this Mom thing." Vincent still looked morose. "Actually, I think it's harder on Dad."

Vincent's eyes widened at her last word. "Dad?" he repeated wonderingly. "It sounds so strange."

Catherine smiled. "You'll get used to it fast enough, love. Actually," she said thoughtfully, "Father fits you better, but that could get awfully confusing Below."

"You don't think Father would accept Grandfather after all these years?"

Catherine gingerly attempted a piece of toast. "I don't know--we'd have to have retraining sessions for everyone or something." She looked up at Vincent. "You really don't have to wait until I leave to eat breakfast."

Vincent sipped his tea. "Catherine, I have no wish to risk making you ill. I can wait."

Checking her watch, Catherine rose. "That tea that Narcissa gave me really helps; it's only bad first thing in the morning now. Thank God I can take the stuff to work." Vincent handed her a thermos. "It's kept Joe from tracking me every time I go anywhere near the Ladies' Room."

Vincent followed Catherine as she moved to the front hall, and helped her on with her coat. "But the respite is over," she sighed. Today was the day she told Joe she needed a leave of absence. In another six weeks or so, her condition was going to become pretty obvious, and she wanted to give her beleaguered boss plenty of time to find a replacement. Catherine knew he wouldn't be at all happy at her leaving, and wanted to make it as easy on him as possible.

"Catherine--this will be difficult for you," Vincent said unhappily. "If only--"

"Vincent--don't worry. We've talked about this so much, I practically have my speech memorized, with half a dozen variations."

"Catherine, if you wish to tell him everything, if that would make it easier, I'm willing to take the risk."

Catherine took Vincent's hands in hers. "Darling, Joe's suspected for a long time I have a hidden side to my life. My guess is that anything he's thought of is probably much more lurid than reality."

"Then tell him the truth, Catherine," Vincent suggested. "He is a good man, and he cares for you. I'm sure he would keep our secret. We should have let you tell Jenny much earlier than we did."

"Vincent, it wouldn't be fair to Joe to give him such divided loyalties."

"My love, you have been in that position for years," Vincent reminded her.

"Mine aren't really very divided any more," Catherine countered. "Besides, if it became absolutely impossible for me-ethically, emotionally, however--I could quit in a minute. There are lots of other ways I could use my training to help people. Joe doesn't have that freedom."

Vincent released her hands to pull her close. "Would it really be so easy to leave?" Vincent asked, unbelieving.

"It wouldn't be easy," Catherine admitted. "Joe and I make a good team. I like working with him, and I know--on good days, anyway--that I make a difference. But I don't have to prove myself anymore." Catherine rubbed her cheek against Vincent's chest. "Joe didn't have the kind of advantages I did. He came up the hard way. I'm not sure if he really has political ambitions--I don't think he knows for sure--but I don't want to limit his options by saddling him with the burden of our secret."

"Then you'll tell him what we decided?" Vincent asked.

"Mm-hm. Only as much as I have to." She pulled back to look at her husband's face. "A kiss for luck?"

Vincent complied eagerly. Sighing, Catherine picked up briefcase and thermos, steeling herself to face a difficult day.

She smiled. "Now, how about a nice husbandly goodbye kiss?"

Laughing, Vincent took her face in his hands and kissed her thoroughly. "What are you thinking?" he asked curiously.

"I was just thinking how many people do something like that out of habit, without thinking about it. I can't imagine us ever taking this for granted."

"No," Vincent agreed softly. "Not after what we've gone through to earn this, how many obstacles we had to overcome."

"How hard we work every day to preserve it," Catherine added.

"How close we came to losing it." His voice was rough with remembered pain.

Catherine's eyes were moist. "Vincent, I love you so much." She laid her cheek for a moment against his chest. "I can face anything as long as I have you to come home to."

"I'll be waiting," he promised, as he moved away from the door. Catherine gave him a last loving look as she slipped through and closed it behind her.

Catherine fidgeted. Her attempts to bury herself in work to avoid thinking about her upcoming appointment with Joe were singularly unsuccessful. Every time she had convinced herself an hour had passed, her watch would insist it had only been fifteen minutes. She drank so much of Narcissa's tea she was afraid she'd float into Joe's office when the time finally came, but it seemed her fluttering stomach couldn't be blamed on pregnancy this time. At last the hour arrived. Taking deep breaths and willing herself to relax, she walked up to Joe's office door, squared her shoulders, and knocked.

"Well, Radcliffe," he greeted her. "You actually made an appointment to see me. This must be serious." His tone was light, but the undertone of uncertainty was all too obvious.

Catherine sat down carefully and screwed up her courage to look him in the eye. "I wanted to make sure we weren't interrupted. It is pretty important."

"Cathy, is something wrong?" Joe asked worriedly.

She smiled. "Oh no, something is very right. It's just that ..." Here goes, Chandler. "I need to take a year's leave of absence, starting at the beginning of April. I wanted to give you as much time as possible to find a good replacement."

Joe looked as if whatever he had expected her to say, that wasn't it. "Cathy, you're not sick, are you? I knew it, that wasn't just flu you had! Look, don't try to keep it from--"

"Joe, Joe, calm down," Catherine reassured him. "I'm not sick, I promise you. It's not that. Let's just call it ... personal reasons."

Joe got up abruptly and began pulling darts out of his board with a vengeance. "Look if it's the job, we can work something out. I told you you don't have to prove anything to anybody. If all that domestic violence work is getting to you we can find you something else. Or ... " He turned suddenly to face her, darts clutched in his hand. "Cathy, you're not in trouble, are you?"

For a moment Catherine was taken aback at the time-honored euphemism. Technically speaking ... but that wasn't what Joe meant.

Misreading her temporary silence, Joe's face became concerned. "Cathy that's it, isn't it? Kiddo, I wish you'd trust me. I told you years ago, we could get you out of it-- whatever it is." He looked hurt. "Cath, I know I'm your boss, and you must think I've got no business butting into your private life, but it's only because I care about you."

Catherine put her head in her hands and sighed. Oh, damn.

She raised her head again and looked Joe's face. She couldn't put him through this any more.

"Joe, please, sit down and put the darts on the desk before you hurt yourself. I'll tell you why I need to leave."

Joe did as she asked and looked at her expectantly.

Catherine couldn't help but smile as she said the words. "Joe, I'm pregnant."

As long as she lived, Catherine would always treasure the look on his face at that moment. At first he seemed to believe he couldn't possibly have heard her correctly; when it sank in, astonishment was quickly followed by total confusion at how to respond.

"Pregnant? But Cathy you're not ... I mean I didn't think... I mean, if you got married how come you never ... but if you're not it doesn't ... oh, shit." His face was a startling shade of pink, and articulate speech seemed to have deserted him.

Catherine took pity on him. "Joe, it's awfully hard to explain. I'll tell you as much as I can, but I can't tell you everything."

Not trusting himself to speak, Joe waved a hand to encourage her to continue.

Catherine absently began twisting the silver ring on her left hand as she spoke. "In every way that counts, I've been married for almost three years. Just not in any way the State of New York would absolutely recognize as legal."

"Cathy, I don't understand--why not?"

"Because legally, my husband doesn't exist ... and he has to stay that way."

"Look, if he's in some sort of trouble--"

"Joe, do you remember the accounts of my assault six years ago? God knows the papers had a field day with it, although they could only speculate."

"Yeah, but the police reports--" Joe suddenly clamped his mouth shut.

Catherine smiled at him. "It hardly surprises me that you looked up the reports, boss. It would have surprised me more if you hadn't. There were a lot of gaps, weren't there?"

"You never said where you were for those ten days."

"Those animals just dumped me in the park like a piece of garbage; it didn't matter to them whether I lived or died. Vincent found me there and took care of me. He saved my life."

"Vincent?"

"My husband. The father of this child. The man I've loved more than my life for five years."

"My God, Cathy, I've never heard you talk about anybody like that before. How could you keep this a secret for so long? And why?"

"Vincent brought me to his home," Catherine continued. "His father is a doctor, and the two of them treated me and took care of me until I was ready to face the world." Catherine appeared to change the subject suddenly. "Joe, you've been part of this system long enough to know how often we don't win. How often we make things worse when we try to help. How often people don't get enough help, or fall between the cracks and get none at all."

"Cathy, we do the best we can. I know the bureaucracy sometimes seems like it's only there to get in the way, but we try." He seemed confused at this unexpected direction.

"Vincent and his father are part of a community of people who have their own way of helping each other, outside that bureaucracy. It works, but they don't always follow the letter of the law, our law, anyway. They've given new lives to people that our system ignored. I don't want that system to crush them."

"So what has all this got to do with Vincent?" Joe asked. "Why does he have to be such a mystery?"

"Vincent was abandoned on the day he was born," Catherine replied softly. "He was brought to these people and raised by them; he's lived with them all his life. He was educated by them, and he spends his life helping them. He teaches the children, he fixes and builds things, he --"

"OK, Cathy, he sounds like a paragon. But I still don't understand why he has to be such a big secret. Nobody's going to care at this late date that he played hooky from the public schools. Is he so dead set against 'the system' that he won't be a part of it even to marry you? Especially now? I know you think I'm old-fashioned sometimes, but after all--"

"No, Joe, you've got it all wrong! Oh damn, I'm just not explaining this as well as I thought." Suddenly unable to sit still, Catherine rose from the chair and walked to the window. She stared unseeing at the city for a moment, trying to collect her thoughts.

"Vincent doesn't set himself apart from our world out of some arrogant fanaticism. It breaks his heart that I have to keep our love a secret." She turned to Joe. "It would be dangerous for Vincent if his existence became known. At worst, it could mean his death. At best, his life would be made a living hell. You see, Vincent's ... different."

"What do you mean, different?" Joe demanded. "How different can a guy--" He stopped suddenly, then continued in a changed voice. "You mean different as in, well, 'special'?"

Never was that euphemism more apt, Catherine thought. "Yes, Joe. He's very special."

"You said he was an abandoned baby. Was he ... well ... deformed in some way?"

Catherine returned to the chair and sat down heavily. "I never quite know how to answer that," Catherine sighed. "Some people would say so. Some have called him a monster. I don't want to make myself out to be some saint, loving this poor, hideous creature because I can see the beautiful soul underneath. I think he's the most beautiful man I've ever seen, outside and inside--and I'm not the only one who does."

Joe was still a little stunned at Catherine's revelation. Would there ever come a time when she couldn't surprise him? "If he's that afraid of showing his face, it sounds like you expect the first group would be in the majority."

Catherine nodded. "Most people are afraid of anyone different," she said unhappily. "They'd rather destroy than try to understand. Vincent's not a small man, Joe. He could be very intimidating to someone like that--someone who might shoot first and ask questions later." Her face darkened with anger. "Even if he didn't get killed, the world is full of leeches like those tabloid reporters who'd treat him like a freak. Vincent is such a sensitive person--sometimes I think that would be worse than death to him."

Joe was appalled to see her eyes fill with moisture. He grabbed a box of tissues and hurried to put an arm around her shoulders as he sat on the arm of her chair. Catherine accepted his fistful of tissues gratefully, smiling through her tears.

After a moment, she continued. "Not only would people like that make Vincent's life miserable, they wouldn't rest until they found out where he came from. If that happened, a lot of good people would lose the only safety they've ever known, their refuge."

"Cathy, why were you so afraid to tell me all this? I could have helped you."

Catherine shook her head emphatically. "Joe, the less you know, the better. You're supposed to uphold the letter of law. Vincent and his people don't always do that, although they're some of the most ethical people I know. I won't put you in a position like that."

"Cath, it doesn't matter ... "

"Yes it does," Catherine insisted. "Joe, I've told you as much as I'm going to. Now you know that I'm happy, and loved, and you can stop worrying about my lonely workaholic future."

"God, was I that obvious?" He asked sheepishly.

Catherine's raised eyebrows were answer enough.

"Well," he said, walking back to his desk, "about this leave."

"You can understand why I can't take a regular pregnancy leave, and why I need to be out of here no later than the beginning of April. Things are going to start getting obvious before too long, and I don't want the office gossip mill to find out about this."

"Cathy," Joe asked with concern, "you can't keep this a secret from everybody--it's not like you can leave town, if things are like that for Vincent."

"Believe me, Joe, most people will think that's just what I've done. I'll be spending most of my time with Vincent's people, or in our house."

"You know, Cath, celebrities have babies without being married all the time, it's hardly news anymore. You don't have to shut yourself up if you're worried what people will think."

It's not that, Joe," Catherine replied seriously. "You see, since we don't know what caused Vincent to be they way he is-- well, the baby could look like his father. If that's the case, he'll need to be protected too. The fewer people that know about this, the fewer people to wonder why there's no baby in evidence later."

"Geez, Cathy, I never thought." Joe looked at her with undisguised admiration. "You've got a hell of a lot of guts, you know that?"

"Joe, I warned you, don't act like I'm Mother Teresa or something." She smiled. "I wish you could meet Vincent, then you'd realize I'm the lucky one. But it's better if you don't, so just trust me, OK?"

"OK," he capitulated, laughing. "If he can put a look like that on your face, he must be something. Kid, you'll get your leave. If Moreno gives me any trouble I'll remind him he still owes you one from the time he used you to get at Elliot Burch."

Catherine moved to the door and opened it. Just before slipping out she turned to her boss with a grin. "Thanks, Uncle Joe."

Catherine laughed to herself in delight. She could hardly wait to tell Vincent about Joe's expression at that parting shot.

"Peter, we've been through all this before. I see no reason to change my mind." Catherine folded her arms decisively and gave him a look that would discourage further argument in the most contentious criminal. Peter Alcott, however, didn't give up quite so easily.

"Catherine, we're dealing with an unknown situation here, that neither my training nor Jacob's could have prepared us for. The more information we have to go on the better."

"Peter, I won't risk this child. Amniocentesis can cause a miscarriage, you know that's true. I won't take that chance."

"Catherine, the likelihood of a spontaneous abortion because of this test is so small ..."

"I don't care how small it is." Catherine leaned forward and gripped the edge of Peter's desk. "We're talking about Vincent's child. A child no one believed we could even conceive. Well, by some miracle, we've done that--but I doubt we'll get a second chance. Any risk is unacceptable."

Peter Alcott sighed. "Catherine, it's because this is Vincent's child that I'm concerned. We have no idea what effect his genes might have. This pregnancy and birth could be very dangerous for you; we need to be prepared."

Catherine rose and began to pace in frustration. "If Vincent is such an unknown quantity, what good would the test results be? You wouldn't know how to interpret them anyway."

Peter shifted uncomfortably. "We don't know that ... "

"Besides," Catherine interrupted, "what's the point? It would only tell me things there's no point in knowing. Do you seriously think I'd consider aborting this child even you did discover a problem? Do you think we'd love this child any less if it had Down's syndrome, for instance? Knowing Vincent, he'd only love it more." Her voice softened at the thought.

Seeing the look on her face, Peter capitulated. "All right, Catherine, you win. But what about a simple blood test that cannot possibly harm the fetus?"

"What kind of test? What does it do?" Catherine asked suspiciously.

"It will help determine your due date, for one thing," he replied. "Although you insist this child was conceived at Winterfest, you seem further along than that to me, based on your size and weight gain."

"Thanks a lot," Catherine told him sarcastically.

"Catherine, we all know you can't possibly have this child in a hospital, in case it resembles Vincent. I want to estimate your date as accurately as possible so we can be prepared." He rose and walked toward Catherine, taking her hand. "I promise you, there's no danger in this test."

"Is that all the test does?" Catherine asked suspiciously? "Tell you how far along I am?"

"Well", Peter admitted, "an elevated level of the protein could be caused by other things--placental bleeding, for example, or ..."

"Or what?" Catherine got the impression he didn't want to go further.

"It could also suggest neural tube defects in the fetus."

"I don't like the sound of that, Peter." Catherine shivered. "What does that mean?"

"Defects in the development of the brain and nervous system," Peter explained uncomfortably. "Spina bifida is probably the best known."

Catherine was silent a moment, considering. "All right, Peter, do the test." She touched his arm. "I'm not trying to make your life more difficult, or Father's. I understand that you're only concerned for me and the baby. But I'm having this baby, no matter what. If I can tell you something that will help you without risking it, I will. But that's as far as I'm willing to go."

Peter raised his hands in capitulation. "I'll take what I can get, my dear." He pretended to scowl at her. "You're a very difficult patient, do you know that?"

Catherine smiled sweetly at him. "Just think of it as a payback for all those bad jokes about seeing me naked."

A week later Catherine was wading her way through sales brochures for law databases. She didn't want her legal skills to rust during her leave, and decided doing research and consulting for various legal aid and public interest law organizations would be just the ticket--not only could she make a real contribution, but it would be interesting and different from what she'd done before. Although she expected to spend much more time Below now that she wasn't working, she was afraid Vincent would never be able to concentrate on the children's classes with her around. Several of them had already made their amusement at their favorite teacher's recent air of distraction all too clear.

The ring of the doorbell startled her. Looking through the peephole, she was surprised to see Peter Alcott on the stoop. Catherine moved quickly to let him in. The weather was having trouble making up its mind between winter and spring; right now winter seemed to be winning.

"Peter, I'm amazed," Catherine joked as she took his coat. "Aren't you afraid this will ruin your medical reputation? People might get the idea you make house calls."

"You should be concerned about your own reputation, my dear," he replied. "Having such a handsome and distinguished man as myself visit you will no doubt cause the neighbors to assume the worst."

The tone of his voice jarred with the bantering words. Catherine was suddenly suspicious, and a little afraid. "Peter, something's wrong, isn't it? Tell me."

"Now, Catherine," he reassured her, "there's no reason to assume anything's wrong. Your test results came in, and the FAP is elevated ... "

"Oh, God," Catherine whispered, "you don't think ... "

"Catherine!" Peter said sharply. "What I think, what I've thought all along, is that you conceived earlier than you said. There's absolutely no reason to assume anything more serious."

"How can you tell for sure?" Catherine asked worriedly. "What do we do now?"

"Can you come to the office with me? I'd like to do an ultrasound--you have no objections to that, do you?"

"No," Catherine admitted. "You mean we can do it right now?"

"I'd like to set your mind at rest as soon as possible," he replied. "I'd also like to keep Vincent from having a fit, since he has such a tendency to assume the worst. I was hoping he wouldn't be with you. We can have this all settled before you have a chance to tell him about it."

"Let me send a message Below," Catherine asked. "I planned to meet him there when he's through teaching. I want him to know I might be late, and tell him not to worry."

While Peter waited, Catherine went down into the basement to tap out a message on the pipes. She was sure Vincent had felt her momentary fear, and didn't want him abandon his duties Below to come to her. Concentrating on staying calm herself, she prayed that Peter was right, and there really was no cause for concern.

Only Vincent's overdeveloped sense of responsibility kept him from going to Catherine when he felt that moment of fear and doubt, fleeting though it was. Her message failed to reassure him, but he realized there was nothing he could do until she came to him. When he finally felt her presence in the Tunnels, it was all he could do not to rush away to meet her. Perversely, the class had lasted longer than usual, and he could not bear to cut short the children's enthusiastic questions. He detected no fear in her now, but it was hard to concentrate on the bond and pay attention to the children at the same time. He hoped Catherine was not blocking her emotions again to spare him pain.

He arrived at Father's study only minutes after Catherine did, hardly noticing that Father and Mary were also there. Seeing Catherine with Peter Alcott, Vincent felt the fears he had pushed into the depths of his mind rise again with paralyzing suddenness. Lost in his familiar terror, he was astonished when Catherine ran to him, laughing, and threw her arms around his neck before proceeding to kiss him soundly.

"Oh, Vincent," she cried in delight, "you clever, wonderful man!"

Expecting bad news, he was unprepared for this reaction. Catherine had no qualms about expressing her affection for him in front of others, but usually in a much more restrained fashion. He looked at her beaming face in utter confusion, and then looked at Peter. "I don't understand," he said helplessly. "I was afraid ..."

"I think it would be an excellent idea if we all sat down now," Peter suggested. They proceeded to do so. Catherine was in no mood to be separated from her husband even by the width of a chair arm, and settled herself firmly on Vincent's lap.

"Will someone please explain what is going on?" Father demanded with impatience. Peter looked at Catherine, who turned to Vincent with a loving look.

"Dear heart," she announced happily, "we are not going to have a baby. We are going to have babies. Twins."

Vincent stared at Catherine's grinning face in stunned silence. The two of them were an island of stillness in the midst of sudden pandemonium, as everyone else began talking at once. The hubbub died down when the others realized Vincent and Catherine were paying them no attention whatsoever.

"Oh, Vincent," Catherine was saying happily, "not only will our children have two parents who adore them, they'll have each other ... and I get two babies for the price of one--so to speak." Laughing, she hugged Vincent.

"Catherine ... " Vincent could not for the life of him think of anything else to say. After three months, he had barely managed to assimilate the idea of becoming a father after thirty-seven years of believing it impossible. He had thought his remarkable wife had run out of major surprises, but apparently his assumption was a bit premature.

"Catherine," Father said in a very different tone of voice, "this is a serious matter. Has Peter explained that a multiple pregnancy is, by definition, high-risk? There's a greatly increased chance of premature labor--"

"I told her," Peter asserted firmly. "Also, I pointed out she was under increased risk for hypertention, anemia,infection ..."

"Dear God," Father exclaimed, "the possible complications of delivery, and postpartum bleeding ..."

"Stop it! Will you listen to yourselves--and look at what you're doing to poor Vincent!"

Everyone, even the increasingly terrified Vincent, stared at Mary. Father and Peter huffed in embarrassment and were silent before her implacable gaze. This was not the Mary they were used to.

"Not only have I delivered more babies than Father," she announced, "I've also had them, which is more than either of you can say. You make it sound much worse than it is. There are plenty of women who have twins without any great problem, especially when they know they're carrying them this early in the pregancy."

"Now, Mary," Father insisted, "you can't deny there are more possibilities of ... "

"Possibilities only," Mary interrupted firmly. "Catherine is an extremely healthy and strong young woman, and her pregnancy has gone quite well so far. Don't frighten her and Vincent by talking like doctors instead of people."

"Mary," Catherine congratulated the older woman, "I couldn't have put it better myself! In fact, I don't think I could have put it as well." She turned to Vincent and stroked his cheek in reassurance. "Please don't be afraid, dearest," she begged him.

"I promise everything will be all right."

"Well," Father began placatingly, "it is true that forewarned is forearmed. We'll have to watch your progress very closely. But one thing is clear--you cannot have these children Below; the danger of complications is too great."

"No!" Catherine wailed. "You're all my family, I want to have my babies down here."

Peter, Father and Mary answered Catherine all at once, and battle was joined again.

***

"Wow," Jenny exclaimed, "what happened then? What did you finally decide?" She and Catherine were sitting comfortably around Catherine's kitchen table a week later, demolishing an enormous lunch. Actually, Catherine was demolishing most of it, in between giving Jenny a lively account of the events following her startling announcement.

"I had to give in on that," Catherine sighed. "They're right, I can't take the risk in case there are problems. I don't think there will be, but if I absolutely had to be rushed to a hospital ... Vincent would never forgive himself if anything happened to me."

"So Father and Peter finally got you to agree with them on something."

"Well, not quite," Catherine corrected her. "Vincent asked me to do it. He worries so about me, Jenny. I couldn't bear to give him anything more to worry about." Catherine gave herself a third helping of bulgur pilaf.

"God," Jenny said enviously, "I'm tempted to get pregnant just for the experience of being able to eat like that just once. I can't believe how much you're putting away these days."

"Hey," Catherine reminded her, "I'm not just eating for two, you know, I'm eating for three."

"So, come on," Jenny prompted, "what are you planning to do? You can't possibly risk having the babies in a hospital, can you? Not unless your life was in danger."

"No," Catherine said with conviction. "Not without knowing whether the babies will take after Vincent. There's no way to keep our secret if that happened. I'm having the baby at home, with all the high-tech equipment money can buy standing around just in case. Thank God I've got plenty--of money, I mean."

"And all you spend it on is books, CDs, videotapes, and anything you can get for Vincent's folks without triggering the pride reflex."

Catherine smiled. "Funny you should mention that. Guess where all the medical equipment's going after I'm through with it?"

"Let me guess," Jenny played along. "Tunnel General?"

"Well, I can't keep it here," she countered. "It doesn't go with the decor. Besides, the room we're setting up as a delivery room is supposed to be the nursery eventually. We won't need it for awhile, since I plan to stay Below most of the time after the babies are born, and we'll keep them in our bedroom at first when we stay up here. Want some ice cream?" Catherine tossed over her shoulder on her way to the refrigerator.

"Have mercy," Jenny moaned. "I'll have to eat celery sticks for the rest of the week at this rate."

"No problem," Catherine reassured her, "it's really only ice milk. I'm behaving myself."

"Actually, you've been a saint ever since you convinced Vincent to risk having kids," Jenny said in admiration.

"I've almost forgotten what alcohol and caffeine taste like," Catherine sighed. "I'm sure some of my colleagues thought I'd joined some strict religious sect. It paid off, though. It helped me convince Father I've never been in better shape than I am now. Between my sterling diet habits and all the exercise I get--"

"I didn't think sex counted as aerobic exercise," Jenny interrupted.

"Jenny!" Catherine threw a roll at her friend's head. "If you ever say anything like that in front of Vincent, I'll pitch you into the Abyss. I was referring to things like walking and stair climbing and stuff like that."

"Right," Jenny grinned.

Catherine tried to glare at her, but couldn't keep a straight face. "Our latest argument is how much time I'm supposed to spend in bed," Catherine continued.

"Oh?" Jenny asked archly.

"You have a one-track mind," Catherine laughed. "Bed rest is supposed to reduce the risk of premature labor, and I think there's also something about improving blood supply to the fetus, or something. I have to read up on it."

"I can just see you," Jenny said, "quoting medical books at Father. How's his blood pressure?"

"Rising, I'm sure," Catherine admitted. "Sometimes he forgets his daughter-in-law is a lawyer who's done her share of grilling expert witnesses. Father wanted me to plop myself into bed immediately, from what I could gather, and stay there for the next four months. Peter suggested four hours a day plus lots of sleep, and Mary said there's no actual proof it works. I don't think Father realizes how much of his medical library she's been through."

"I'm amazed at Mary," Jenny said. "I never thought she'd say boo to the proverbial goose."

"Everybody's amazed at Mary," Catherine agreed. "I think there's something about Vincent and me that brings out the unexpected in people. But wait till I tell you about the Great Stair Controversy."

"Do go on," Jenny encouraged, fascinated.

"Well, Father didn't think I should come Below at all until the babies are born, because of all the stairs I have to climb. I really hated the idea of that," Catherine said emphatically. "So many people down there care so much about us--Mouse, Jamie, William, Cullen, Samantha--our love has always been something special to them. So many people were so happy for us when they first found out Vincent and I were having a baby; it would break my heart not to share it with them as much as I could. But I didn't want to do anything to endanger these little ones." Catherine patted her stomach protectively.

"So how did it come out?" Jenny demanded.

"Father was pointing out in his most authoritative manner that I was going to have to give in on this one, since there was no way to get Below and back without climbing more than was good for me, and I was getting more and more morose."

"Cath, I can't stand the suspense," Jenny almost shouted. "how did you finally convince him?"

"I didn't," Catherine smiled. "Vincent suddenly stood up right in the middle of Father's lecture, picked me up and carried me up the stairs and out of Father's study. When Father tracked us down in our chamber, I was still giggling and Vincent was looking insufferably smug."

Jenny laughed uproariously. "Oh, I wish I'd been there to see it! I wish you had it on videotape."

"Me too," Catherine agreed, joining her laughter. "I'd like to replay it--it was wonderful. Father's face was a sight to behold."

Catherine was appalled to discover she had fallen asleep yet again. This bed rest thing had a tendency to turn into naps all too often. Such behavior was not calculated to show Father how little this pregnancy was affecting her. Of course, the truth was she felt much more tired than she ever expected to. Nancy hadn't been like this; she looked like she could have had her babies in the proverbial field and gone right back to harvesting. Of course, Nancy'd had the sense to have her kids one at a time.

Still an overachiever, Chandler, she kidded herself. A soft rustle in the corner caused her to turn her head. Vincent sat in a chair, a book open but ignored on his lap. Clearly watching her had been more interesting to him than the written word. Catherine smiled. Feeling like a laudanum addict was a small price to pay to put a look like that on her husband's face. "Hello, love," she greeted him. "How long have you been there? How long have I been asleep?"

He moved to sit on the bed beside her. "Almost two hours, to answer both questions. How do you feel?" He gently stroked the sleep-tousled hair away from her face.

"I feel disgustingly self-indulgent," she answered. "The old Cathy Chandler would have put up with this much better. Catherine Chandler-Wells, crusading ADA, longtime Helper, is used to a more active life."

Vincent bent to kiss her soundly. "Catherine Chandler-Wells must realize," he told her, "that her friends and family are enjoying the opportunity to take care of her, all the more because they will probably not get another chance. Think of how happy you're making Father."

"That's what bothers me. If it were up to him, I'd be in bed all day, and I was hoping to show him I didn't need it at all." She pouted. "This compromise was only because I absolutely refused to consider drugs if premature labor threatened."

"Are you sure ..." Vincent began.

"Absolutely," Catherine cut him off firmly. "Your reaction to drugs is too unpredictable--what if that's something the babies inherit? Too big a chance to take, so here I lie. If only I wouldn't fall asleep so much!"

"My love, I think letting yourself be taken care of is the hardest part of all this for you."

Catherine sighed. "You're right. I thought I had reformed; ever since we've been married I've tried not to overdo it at work, but old habits are dying harder than I thought. It's all your fault, you know."

Vincent caressed her swollen belly lovingly. "Catherine, you can't claim this is all my fault."

"Not that! You can bet I'm taking my share of the credit for Junior & Junior." Catherine attempted to scowl convincingly at her husband. "I mean six years ago, when you started me on the road from Ms. Fashion Law to what I am now."

Vincent raised his eyebrows at her. "And what might that be?"

The scowl dissolved into a beatific smile. "The happiest woman on earth," Catherine admitted as she wound her arms around Vincent's neck.

Some time later, a combination of hunger and the desire to show Father she wasn't a total slug drove Catherine out of their chamber on Vincent's arm. Intending only to cut through Father's study on their way to the kitchen, they were surprised to find him there talking with Peter Alcott.

"Well, how's my most challenging patient?" the latter asked with unconcealed amusement.

"Absolutely fine," Catherine replied loftily, "as if you didn't know. With all the poking and prodding I get all the time from you two, I can't sneeze without you knowing about before I do."

"How's the bed rest working out?" Father questioned.

Catherine wondered how often he might have peeked in and caught her sleeping. She decided to brazen it out. "Driving me crazy with boredom, actually, but I'm trying to be cooperative." Vincent didn't say a word, she noted. Wise of him--three years of marriage had taught him the virtue of silence in appropriate situations.

"We didn't expect to see you today, Peter," Vincent offered. "Does your visit have something to do with Catherine?"

"Only indirectly," he replied. "Why don't you join us and I'll tell you what it's all about."

Vincent insisted they all wait until he brought food for Catherine. While they waited for his return, Catherine talked about inconsequential things with her her two doctors. Despite the overtly casual air, she felt like something in a petri dish. Whenever she was in the same room with either one of them these days, Catherine was sure sure they were watching her like hawks for the least suggestion of complications. She sighed. Only a little past the halfway point. Catherine hoped she could get through the rest of this pregnancy without throwing things. Knowing them, they'd only tut-tut knowingly and blame it on her hormones.

Only after Vincent returned with enough food for several mothers-to-be and assured himself there was nothing else his wife could possibly want did Peter begin his explanation. "I said this was indirectly related to your condition, Catherine," he began. "This is something that has been imminent for some time, but your pregnancy has convinced me that now is the time to bring our plans to fruition."

"What do you mean?" Catherine asked--as well as she could with her mouth full. "What plans?"

Father took over. "For some time Peter and I have been concerned that those Below have only us to depend on for medical help. Mary is the best nurse and midwife I've ever known, and most of the community are well trained in first aid and other basic techniques. But it has caused us concern that we have access to no doctors younger than us."

"In Jacob's case," Peter continued, "he can only contribute his considerable skills. I'm the only one with connections Above, the only one who can legally obtain medical equipment and drugs, for instance. If anything happened to me, the situation Below could become very serious."

Father took up the explanation again. "Many of our people could go Above to use medical facilities if it became absolutely necessary, and it weren't an emergency. But that only applies to those who had some prior existence Above. There are others ... "

"Such as I?" Vincent interrupted unhappily.

"Not only you, Vincent," Father continued. "There are those like Pascal, who were born down here--or those like Mouse, who have been here almost all their lives. Can you imagine what would happen to Mouse if he had to go to a hospital up top?"

Catherine shuddered. Any encounter with the vast and impersonal social service bureaucracy would be unpleasant and dangerous for those who had been Below for all or most of their lives. Aside from the possibility of difficult questions, people who had no legal existence had little protection against the enforced care of the monolithic agencies that so often did more harm than good. Catherine feared that her legal skills wouldn't be enough to keep Mouse out of the permanent clutches of well-meaning bureaucrats bent on keeping him "for his own good"--and destroying him in the process. As for Vincent--

"What can you do?" Catherine asked sharply. As Vincent reached for her hand, she knew that her fear for him had been all too obvious.

"I had hoped," Father sighed, "that one of our children who went back to the world Above might choose a medical career, and be available to help us. So far that hasn't happened, although Eric has been considering it. Even if he does follow through, it would be many years before he were in a position to be of use to us."

"For some time," Peter said, "I've been keeping my eyes open for a possible Helper who was a physician. There is a woman--a resident at St. Vincent's, appropriately enough--who I believe would be perfect. I think now is the time."

"Why now?" Catherine asked suspiciously. "This has something to do with me, doesn't it? I don't want you to take any risks on my account."

"I don't believe there is any risk," Peter insisted. "I have every confidence that Dr. Robinson will make an enthusiastic and trustworthy Helper. Jacob has merely been procrastinating."

"Procrastinating!" Father exclaimed indignantly. "I was merely being cautious. It is difficult to predict who will make a good Helper."

"Especially for you, Jacob," Peter retorted. "As I recall, you didn't think Catherine was Helper material at first, let alone--"

"Let alone a potential daughter-in-law," Vincent broke in, "and mother of your future grandchildren." He turned to Peter to give Father a chance to recover his aplomb. "Are you sure of this woman, Peter? Your judgment has never failed us before."

"Very sure," Peter insisted, "and I'm confident the Council will agree."

"You still haven't explained how this relates to me," Catherine reminded him.

"Cathy, I admit your pregnancy has been going well so far, although it's early days yet. Your mother had an easy pregnancy and delivery with you, and I'm hoping you take after her in that. Mary is right, many women deliver twins without any problem ...but we have to be prepared for any eventuality." He leaned forward to speak directly to Catherine. "If everthing goes well, and you can have a natural vaginal delivery, no one will be more pleased than I. I delivered you thirty-five years ago, and I consider it a great privilege to be able to do the same for your children."

Catherine looked at Peter with new eyes. She had been so focused on his professional concern for her she had almost forgotten what a dear friend he was. "Peter, I'm glad you're going to be there for me. I'm sure Mom and Dad are happy about it too."

Peter continued in a suspiciously husky voice. "With twins, there's a better-than-usual chance that an emergency Caesarian will be needed. Jacob or I are capable of doing that if necessary, but I'm concerned that neither of us is an expert in anesthesia. Twins are very vulnerable to oxygen deprivation, and with the possibility of unusual drug reactions--I would feel a lot more comfortable with an expert anesthesiologist around. Even if you have a normal delivery, another physician will make me feel better." Peter smiled. "I'm not sure we can count on Jacob's equilibrium when his first grandchildren are being born."

"Are you impugning my professional objectivity?" Father asked in mock indignation. He turned to Catherine. "Peter's protegé did a residency as an anesthesiologist for a year before switching to emergency medicine. I am forced to admit, her background is ideal for our needs."

"Not only is she an excellent physician," Peter asserted, "but a very likable woman. I think she and Catherine will get along splendidly."

"Well," Father agreed, "you can put your recommendation before the Council tonight. If it's accepted, we shall all look forward to meeting her."

Almost a week later, Catherine found herself back in Father's study, no more able to sit still than most of the Council and other members of the community who had gathered to meet the new Helper. Peter's advocacy had been eloquent and convincing, and none could deny how important another doctor would be to everyone in the Tunnels. Catherine was more nervous than most, since it seemed she was going to be the still mysterious Dr. Robinson's first patient. Everyone else involved in her pregnancy and delivery was an old friend, and she definitely had mixed feelings about letting a stranger into that select group at this late date. If it weren't for Vincent ...

An excited murmur rippled through the group as Pascal entered the room to report that Peter and his friend would be there in a matter of moments. Catherine clutched Vincent's hand tightly and tried not to look as nervous as she felt. Vincent lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it reassuringly--but Catherine had her suspicions that he was as nervous as she.

Just then, Peter Alcott stepped through the door. A second later, he was followed by a tall black woman with the longest, most graceful neck Catherine had ever seen and a head as exquisitely shaped as a Benin bronze. She was dressed in attractive but casual clothes--not unlike the sort of thing ADA Catherine Chandler was wont to wear during everyday time spent in the Tunnels--although Catherine Chandler never looked like a Vogue model in them, she thought ruefully. Even less now. A twinge of distress attacked Catherine as she gazed ruefully at her fast-expanding front.

Peter was busily making introductions--to Father, who looked rather bowled over by the impressive Dr. Robinson, and Mary, who had admitted to Catherine she was looking forward to working with a doctor whose knowledge of female innards was not just theoretical. As they moved through the room, the new Helper was introduced to the Council and all the other members of the community who had managed to squeeze into Father's chambers. Even Jamie looked impressed by the new arrival, and Catherine knew Jamie was not easily impressed.

Catherine had deliberately chosen a remote corner to give herself a chance to look over this stranger as much as possible before the inevitable meeting. Vincent always hung back when someone new was introduced, anyway. He usually gave new residents several days to get used to the Tunnels before showing himself. New Helpers were different. In some ways, their reaction to him was the final test before their full acceptance. Even though Helpers were well prepared before finally being introduced to the Tunnels, no one could be completely prepared for Vincent.

Finally they reached the corner where Vincent and Catherine waited. As Dr. Robinson turned away from her greeting to Sarah, only a slight widening of her dark eyes betrayed surprise. Without the slightest hesitation she extended her hand. "And you," she said evenly, have got to be Vincent. May I say that Peter's rather ambiguous hints didn't do you justice?"

Vincent relaxed as he took her hand in turn. "If you'll allow me to say the same about you," he smiled.

"The legacy of many generations of Masai and Somali genes," she admitted. She turned a little.

"I know you're Catherine Chandler," she said warmly. "I've been eager to meet you. I've heard so many good things about your work with battered women and abused children. I see all too much of that in the emergency room, you know, and your name has come up many times. I think we have quite a few professional contacts in common."

Catherine shook her hand warmly, all nervousness gone. "It never occurred to me that we would," she admitted, "although it makes sense. I'm afraid I've been thinking of you mainly in obstetrical terms."

"I'm hardly an expert," the black woman laughed, "although I've delivered a few babies in my time, including once on a Boeing 747. That's not an experience I care to repeat, so I hope you're not planning on any plane trips."

"Not a chance," Catherine laughed. "Vincent would be a nervous wreck."

"Since you're my first patient in this new job, I hope we'll have time for a good long talk soon. It doesn't look like it'll be tonight, does it?"

"Not considering how early my bedtime is these days," Catherine agreed. "You're going to be a nine-day wonder, anyway, Dr. Robinson."

"Oh, good grief, call me Helen, please." She smiled at both Catherine and Vincent. "Why do I have the feeling that my life is going to be a lot more interesting from now on?"

A few days later, on a glorious May afternoon that made Catherine remember why she loved New York, she opened the door of the house to admit Helen Robinson.

"What a wonderful house!" Helen exclaimed in unfeigned delight. "Peter told me there was an interesting story behind it--did you inherit the place?"

As they settled in the light-filled living room with tall glasses of iced tea, Catherine explained about her late grandmother's old friend Edna, who had offered to sell her the house when she decided to leave New York to live with her son's family. The opportunity had come at the perfect time, only a month after Catherine and Vincent had become lovers, when Catherine was becoming increasingly concerned about the danger Vincent faced whenever he came to see her. The house would have been a godsend even without its special features.

"Did Edna know about you and Vincent?" Helen asked.

"No, although I know she suspected I was involved with somebody not quite acceptable in my former social circle,"Catherine smiled ruefully. "I often wonder just who she thinks it is--I've been afraid to ask. Next time she comes to New York for a visit, I'm going to ask if she can meet Vincent. I trust her to keep a secret, and I think she'd be delighted. Her own family always considered her quite the rebel. When she married an actor, of all things, it was considered quite shocking. Of course, that was over fifty years ago."

"Peter said this house was pretty special--I take it he meant something more than Tunnel access. From what I gather, Manhattan is full of Tunnel entrances." Helen shook her head in wonder. "I still haven't quite gotten used to the idea of a whole different world beneath my feet."

"That's how I felt six years ago, and look at me now," Catherine grinned. "Actually, this house has a juicy secret passage that goes along one side from basement to roof. It seems Edna's stuffy family had a long history of smuggling, illegal booze during Prohibition, you name it."

Helen laughed uproariously. "That's fantastic! What hypocrites!"

"That's much more polite than what Edna called them," Catherine assured her. "Whatever its shady history, it's perfect for Vincent and me. It means a lot to me," Catherine continued in a suspiciously husky voice, "to give Vincent as close to a normal home life as possible. It's something he convinced himself he'd never have."

"You've really worked miracles," Helen said admiringly. "He's pretty special, isn't he?"

"In more ways than one," Catherine agreed. She looked at Helen, considering, before she continued. "I was impressed with your reaction when you met him," Catherine continued. "It's not exactly typical, as you can imagine."

"Blame it on my heritage," Ellen told her. "He looks like something my ancestors might have worshipped. And the scientist in me finds him utterly fascinating." Noticing a strange look on Catherine's face, she became concerned. "Catherine, does it bother you to talk about Vincent this way? Peter told me about Hughes--I don't want to stir up unpleasant memories."

Catherine shook her head. "I'm sorry, just a flash of how he looked in that cage--it still gets to me sometimes. I know it's important to talk about it, especially with the babies and all. Frankly, I'm glad to have someone to talk to that can be more objective--it's hard to talk to Father or even Peter about it, let alone Vincent."