The Right to Be Here

By Cindy Rae
Three twenty-nine a.m. The white numbered display on Catherine's
bedside clock told him the time.
Vincent reached carefully over her sleeping form and pressed the
button which would keep it from buzzing, and awakening his sleeping
love. The alarm was set for him, not for her. She still had hours, yet.
At least a couple of them.

He laid next to her a moment longer, listening to the clock numbers

flip over. Three thirty. She breathed softly, a lock of her hair draped
delicately across her cheek.
She was gorgeous, sleeping, and had managed to pull a sleep shirt
over her naked form after they'd made love. She looked comfortable.
He wasnt sure if he was.
It was a thing he was still unaccustomed to, being her lover. It was a
thing that stunned him with its poignancy, and uplifted him with its
joy.
After a lifetime of thinking of himself as well, nothing, when it came
to intimate relationships, he was now Catherine's love, in the
emotional, spiritual and physical sense. His appetite for her charms
had only increased since they'd begun their physical exploration of
each other, a little more than a month ago.
She was beautiful, generous, and patient, as a lover. Qualities he was
discovering in himself, as well. His abdomen was relaxed, his groin,
empty. He was sated, and a little tired, and increasingly annoyed.
Irritated. Sad. Something. Some combination of all of that, with
something else thrown in besides. Something he could not quite
name.
He hated to get up. Hated the notion of leaving the bed, of getting
dressed, and travelling through the park well ahead of the dawn. But
this was the time they'd agreed upon. It was the time of night he
could travel most safely. Earlier, and hed risk running into the
barflies as the last call crowd spilled into the street, and,
sometimes, the park. Later, and the shift change in places like the
hospital, and late night janitorial crews would empty a cadre of
workers into the street.
He heard the clock softly change again, and he knew leaving was a
thing he had to face.
As he rose carefully, she stirred, feeling his weight shift off what was
now his side of the bed. Her hand "searched," a little, as it moved
over the mattress.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered, stroking her honey blonde hair and
planting a kiss at her temple. "You have two more hours."
"Mm," she "mm'd," pulling the sheet up over her shoulder. This was
becoming "routine" between them, if anything could be called that.
It was a routine with which he was growing increasingly
uncomfortable.
He tucked the sheet around her, and picked up his jeans off the floor
where he'd dropped them. He carefully tugged them on while
standing at the foot of her bed, not wanting to leave her until he had
to.
The metal button on the fly of his jeans was loose. Catherine had
tugged at the fastening insistently, earlier. The memory of it made
him smile a little, in spite of the bleak direction of his thoughts. That
she could be impatient for him. Well.
He was not quite over being amazed by that fact, yet.
Thermal shirt, work shirt, vest... he gathered them from the floor as
she turned slightly, her hand moving to seek his form, again. She
was caught between wanting to rouse, and desperately needing her
sleep. She still had the pressures of her job. Now she had him, as
well.
She moaned a little, knowing he was gone, that it was time.
He couldn't resist kissing her lightly again, before he left her. He
brushed the errant lock of hair on her cheek back with one hand,
while he held the buckle of his belt so it wouldnt jangle, with the
other.
He picked up his boots and socks, preparing to finish dressing in her
living room.
"I love you. So much, he said softly.
He looked at her one more time, and the sight of her lying partially
uncovered in the chill of the morning spurred him to set his things
aside a moment, and cover her. If he were not there, the bed would

soon grow cooler without the warmth of his body heat. Carefully, he
pulled the blanket up to her shoulders. She looked vulnerable. Tired.
His.
She snuggled down into the bed linens, utterly exhausted from all
that had happened before bedtime. Everything up to and including a
bout of deliciously tender lovemaking.
He willed her to calm, to return to her dreams. Waking her would not
forestall what was about to happen, and she would have a long day,
tomorrow. Today. Whichever.
He passed through the louvered doors to her living room, eyeing the
stack of papers on her dining room table. They were sorted into piles.
Several of them.
They were growing or shrinking, depending on a host of different
things. He was starting to understand the "stacks" she brought home
from work. Depositions in one pile. Cases awaiting some bit of
evidence or lab work. Something she didn't have her hands on yet,
but needed to acquire, in another. A third for cases imminently
pending trial. Shed stuff all of them in her briefcase before she left,
then return with them, or with others, tonight.
In yet another pile, things from her life in the world Above that
needed tending, periodically. A stack of bills. A program for the new
concert season. Order forms for theater tickets. Bank statements
and junk mail, and a postcard from Jenny Aaronson, on vacation in
Aruba. The flotsam of an active life.
All the stacks kept her busy, in a different ways. She needed her
sleep.
Vincent sat on her sofa and tugged on his socks, still hating the
thought of leaving her. Hating it almost as much as the sensation of
tugging on his boots for the second time that day.
He'd thought their crossing of this particular bridge would leave him
happy, and it had. Immeasurably so. Yet here he sat, lacing up
footwear, leaving her side like a thief in the night.
Like he had no right to be there.

Like they were doing something shameful, or wrong.

He shouldered into his shirts and vest, being careful not to make
noise.
He looked longingly back toward the doors to the bedroom. He'd
tried leaving through the bedroom doors to her balcony, once. But
the March air was cold, and it had swept into the room like a curse,
chilling her. It was better he leave through the living room, so she
could sleep a little longer.
He saw his cloak draped over the back of a chair, not remembering if
it was he who'd set it there, or not. The heavy wool and leather kept
him warm. The hood kept him anonymous. It was a necessary
accessory, and he'd never resented it, before. But now, even his
cloak made him feel peevish. It felt like a mobile prison, of sorts.
The cape, like the leaving, was starting to feel like a disguise, or a
ruse. Like a lie they both had to protect, for him to be there. And the
lie felt like something he had to have to remain a part of her life,
especially now.
As if being Vincent was simply never going to be good enough.
He tried to shake off his mood. A mood he was in, increasingly, each
time three thirty in the morning came around.
He wanted to wake up with her in the morning. Badly. In a hard,
deep place. To have breakfast, and start the day like a "normal"
couple. To sleep with her through the long night, and hold her in the
greying dawn. To make love with her again, perhaps, or just to bring
her coffee. Stay just until she had to go to work, or better, through a
long, lazy morning, filled with the newspapers, and music, and time in
her shower.
They'd had such a day. They'd had two.
After the first time, the conversation with Jacob, afterwards, had been
legendary.
"I swear I'm not trying to interfere, and I know the utter foolhardy
position of trying to stand between you and Catherine." There had
actually been tears in Jacob's eyes. "But do you know how worried

I've been? How worried we've all been? After what happened
between you and the street gang? The scientists? Mary has been
beside herself, and trying not to show it, for my sake."
Anger he could have dealt with. Had this been an argument, some
unreasonable diatribe, Vincent knew he could have put up a fight.
But the haggard lines in Jacob's face were apparent, as were the deep
shadows under Mary's eyes. She was trying to look brave, for his
sake, but she'd clearly been crying.
"It was not a plan. It was a ... moment, Father," Vincent had told him.
"There was no way to get word."
There hadn't been. Catherine had been wrapped around him like a
blanket, and he her. It had been a Sunday, Saul's sandwich shop
closed entirely, and Maria's newsstand had closed at two. Time had
simply... disappeared on them, the way it does, with lovers.
He'd not wanted to let her go Below to make the explanation that
Vincent doesn't want to leave my apartment because we've been
making love half the night and all day. In truth, he'd not wanted to
let her go, at all.
The sweet truth that he was now more than hed ever been, more
than hed ever thought he could become It almost felt like a secret
he needed to protect. He was both exhilarated and cautious at the
same time.
So he'd waited, and faced Jacob on his own. Not for a quarrel, but for
a plea.
"We will try to be more considerate," was all Vincent could tell him.
The second time went much like the first. Vincent was still
uncomfortable discussing his sexuality with Jacob, and more than a
little resentful that such a thing was necessary. He was a grown man,
and Catherine a grown woman. He did not feel the need or desire to
justify himself to anyone. Not for this, at least. So he hadn't.
But a day spent in her apartment had its down side, too.
After dawn, he was essentially trapped in what was a very small
space, for him. Her bathtub was miniscule compared to his bathing

chamber. He had no clothes there other than the ones he had worn
to see her in, thanks to the spontaneous nature of their situation.
It was all new. And it was amazingly exciting. But who and what he
was, and the problems that caused, still presented themselves with
annoying persistence.
Like now.
He realized why he was growing to resent the cape. It was the last
thing he had to put on before he left her. Adjusting the heavy fabric
around his shoulders, he knew the next step could no longer be
avoided.
Feeling like an unfaithful spouse leaving the side of his mistress,
Vincent quietly turned the latch on the terrace doors and stepped out
into the New York night.
The cold air hit his face like a slap as he exited the balcony, cape
pulled tightly around him. He inhaled the sharp, hard air, bringing it
into his lungs as he expelled the warmth of Catherines apartment.
He felt his empty testes lift, a little, as the pleasant feeling of
satiation was replaced by the less pleasant one of a frosty New York
end-of-winter night making itself known.
It was a little after four a.m. The garbage trucks, newspaper carriers,
and earliest of the early joggers would be out and moving in less than
an hour. Not to mention those hardy souls who worked the night
shift.
The park would be barren enough. Life Above of the wee hours was
safer. But every minute that brought him closer to six a.m. changed
that. Not for nothing was New York known as the "city that doesn't
sleep."
He was in the park, not far away from her terrace, when he
uncharacteristically turned around and climbed back up. He stood on
the balcony a moment, then crossed over to the bedroom doors.
I do not want to leave. I do not want to leave her, his mind kept
repeating as he looked through the sheers at her sleeping form. This
was so hard. And it was getting harder. In the bond, he felt her stir a

little, as if she sensed his presence. Then she slipped back into a
sheltering sleep.
He remembered the image and sensation of her with her legs
wrapped around his waist. His sigh was soul deep. Her hand moved
up, and rested on his empty pillow. Was she searching for him, still?
Or just trying to get more comfortable?
He had a feeling he knew which answer was the correct one. He liked
how that made him feel even less.
He didnt need to see the display on the clock on her nightstand to
know this was foolhardy. He had to leave. He had to. In spite of the
chilly weather, the nights had been growing shorter since December.
That wasnt a conspiracy to keep them apart. That was how orbital
mechanics worked. The equinox was near. That problem would only
get worse until June? June.
The dawn that was far away still smelled that much closer. He tried
not to resent the sun as much as he resented everything else, right
now.
Defeated, he made his way back home a second time.
He carried the image of her palm resting on an empty pillow inside
his mind. And inside his heart.
---He dejectedly made his way down the tunnel hallways, feeling beaten
even before there had been a fight. The circular walls felt close, the
smells of home felt unwelcome? That was new. And dangerous.
He could not afford to begin hating his home.
But he wanted the unique aroma of her home in his nose. He wanted
her scent on his clothes. It was there, right now. Right now, since
she'd been entwined around him before they'd actually adjourned to
her wide bed, to make love.
But the scent would fade. It had been fading since he stepped out
onto her balcony.

He knew the world Below was permeating the folds of his cloak, and
of his clothes, "erasing her" as he walked. The closer he drew to his
chambers, the farther away from her he became.
Disgusted, he lobbed the cape onto the chair as he entered his
rooms, and tossed his heavy gloves after it.
It felt like he spent half of his night dressing and undressing, lately.
He unbuckled his vest (again), and shouldered his way clear of his
shirts (again), both top and thermal. He let his belt simply drop to
the floor, uncaring.
Bare-chested to the room, he realized the brazier hadn't been lit. Of
course. He'd not been in the room all night. He felt the cool tunnel
air on his skin.
He stacked the brazier with more wood than was called for, wanting a
high fire.
As he bent to light the kindling, he heard the metallic clanking of the
button on the fly of his jeans as it hit the floor. Already hanging by a
few threads, it had chosen that moment to give up the ghost.
Catherine had tugged at it hard, this evening, as she'd helped him (or
rather demanded he) undress.
Perfect.
If he'd been allowed to stay in her bed, his pants would still be in one
piece.
He heard the metal rivet of the button roll, but couldn't catch sight as
to where by the time it fell silent. A second one followed it. At
least that one simply dropped by his feet.
It was just that kind of night. Well, morning, technically.
Disgusted with nearly everything, he let the button lay and simply
climbed into his bed, leaning against the bolster pillows. The dry
kindling caught, and the room changed from being too cool to being
too warm. Again, perfect. He knew better than to put that much
wood in the brazier, but hed done it anyway. Now the room would be
uncomfortable. Not that he favored being in here, anyway.

He had to get ahold of these feelings. Had to stop resenting so much,

now that he had so much more than he'd ever dared to hope for.
But it bothered him. It did. All of it.
The heavy fabric of his jeans gapped open a little down his abdomen
as he settled himself further on the bed. The bed used to be a place
of comfort. Now it felt like a place of solitude. Or worse,
conscription.
He sighed and stretched his arms up, bringing one down to recline
across his head. He flexed his hand, clenching and unclenching a fist,
until he let the fingers just hang. Relax. Try to relax. Try. You know
you shouldnt feel this way. It was a mantra hed been repeating for
a while, internally.
He had a right to be with her. He did. He wanted to be there, still.
They were harming no one. They were lovers. Mates? No.
Mates sounded like animals. But the feeling of the word was
right. True mates did not abandon each other in the middle of the
night. He had a right to be with her. He did.
Why, then, did every circumstance of his life insist he didn't?
He was thinking about his feelings, and too self-absorbed with his
own ill-humor to realize she was standing in the doorway. Then he
heard her voice. Her beautiful, blessed voice.
"Vincent? May I come in?"
He looked toward the doorway; "welcome" was inscribed on his
features.
"Catherine? But... but I just left you."
"I know. She seemed hesitant, as she regarded him. I think I
think I felt your unhappiness, as you did." She entered the room,
approving of the picture he made on the wide bed. She'd donned a
fleece shirt and jeans, and pulled a travel alarm out of the pocket of
her coat, setting it on his side table.

Vincent shook his head at her. Of course. Since they'd become

lovers, she'd become more sensitive to him, inside the bond. Not the
depth he commanded, of course, but it was definitely "there."
"Can I stay here? Until my alarm rings?" she asked.
He could have kissed her, as she climbed into the bed, kicking off her
soft boots before she came.
"You'll have only an hour. You have to go back up, to get ready for
work."
"Can I stay here for that hour, until my alarm rings?" she asked,
tugging him down into a reclining position.
He wrapped his arms around her, lying with his chest against her
back, spooning in the great, wide bed. A bed they'd never made love
in.
"You can stay here as long as you like, Catherine," he said, his voice
full of the emotions he'd been carrying.
"Good," she sighed happily.
He pulled a blanket up over her, but she pushed it down, some. The
room really was almost too warm, now. It didnt matter. It would
cool, after a while.
"I love you," he told her.
"I know. I love you, too."
"It makes no sense for you to do this. It makes more sense if I'm the
one who leaves."
"Oh, I don't know, she mused. You're happier than you were, five
minutes ago. So now, so am I. It seems like that makes..." she stifled
a yawn, "sense to me." She wrapped her arms over the top his, and
stroked his forearm.
He was happier. Happier because she was here. Happier because
they'd broken the habit of him being the one who always had to
leave. Happier because he was inhaling her scent, again.
"I'm missing a button," he told her.

"Off your shirt?"

"No."
"Oh."
He felt her smile against the skin of his arm.
"Sorry." She planted a kiss there.
They were both remembering her impatient tug on his denims, earlier
this evening.
Does that have anything to do with why theres a bonfire in the
brazier? she asked.
I dont know. Probably. Im missing two buttons, actually.
Oh. Sorry twice, then. Two kisses. And that explained the view,
when she entered.
"I wouldn't have missed it for anything." He referred to their tryst as
he brushed the sandy hair back from her face. She relaxed against
him.
"Catherine?" He knew he was keeping her awake. He couldn't help
it.
"Mmm?"
"I have a... a right to be there. Don't I?"
He felt her squeeze him a little more, the gentle pressure trying to
convey more than words could. "With all my heart I want you there,
she said in a sure voice. And I want you safe. And I know those two
things sometimes conflict."
"Mm," he agreed.
Her next question surprised him.
"Do I have a right to be here?" she asked.
"Of course you do. How can you even think...?
"Because we never have been. And you have a dozen teenagers
looking up to you as a role model, and that means there are things

we're probably not going to do, here. And ... I know it

still...embarrasses you, some. I wasn't sure you'd be pleased to see
me here."
Not embarrassed. Not of you, of us, ever. I dont know what I am,
yet, Catherine, its all still new, somehow.
I know, she said, nuzzling the skin of his arm.
He pulled her close to him even more firmly, letting his face brush
against the sweetness of her hair. But for the open doorway and the
pairs of jeans still between them, he'd show her just how pleased he
was.
He was going to have to speak to Father. Adamantly.
"Sleep. Now it is Friday. Come Below after work and I'll spend all the
long night showing you how grateful I am that you are here."
He felt her happiness. Felt her smile, again. She turned her face up
to his.
Be sitting up in this bed like you were when I walked in, and Ill take
you up on that, mister, she challenged.
The words made him want to surge against her, and he knew this was
not the time for that. He also knew he would be waiting for her in
exactly that posture, when she returned to him this evening.
You are not going to get much more sleep, if you dont stop being
magnificent, he flattered. We have a right to be here. To be
anywhere. Your home. Mine. Someplace else. Anyplace.
He brushed her scarred cheek with a soft kiss, and whispered into
her ear, Hurry down, when your work is done. All night, and into the
morning. Like before. He nuzzled her neck in a sultry promise.
"All night? Are we bragging?" she teased. Whatever this was, it was
finally settling, between them.
"Come down after work, my beautiful Catherine," he growled in her
ear, "and find out."
And she did.

--fin
Happy Anniversary, Beauty and the Beast.
No matter where you are in your own fairy tale, I wish you love.
Cindy