Sunshine ~ Chapter Ten
By Rosemarie Hauer

"You must sleep now," he ordered in a hushed whisper. Their gazes met and she noted deep circles of fatigue around his eyes. He had been through so much these last few days.

"You're right," she said, savoring the warm glow his closeness caused in the pit of her stomach.

As they lay back together, she took his hand and brushed her cheek across its hairy back. "I'm glad you came to me instead of going below."

"Your lectures are...more bearable," he teased gently, making her laugh.

Then he gathered her to him, tucking her head into the curve between his neck and shoulder, and as she snuggled up to him more tightly, she felt his body respond to the warmth of hers. A rush of tenderness washed over her and she placed a tiny kiss onto his throat.

He nuzzled the top of her head. "Sleep now," he repeated softly, and she felt with regret that he was withdrawing from her to return to his bed on the couch. He rose and his reluctance to leave warmed her.

Finally he turned and moved towards the panel door that separated the bedroom from the living room.

"Vincent," she called in spite of herself.

He stopped to look back at her and her breath caught in her throat as she met the longing in his gaze. She knew, however, that she mustn't call him back. He was still too fragile, too uncertain of himself to be pushed towards decisions of any kind.

"Sleep well," she whispered throatily.

He inclined his head and smiled, and Catherine didn't doubt for a second that he was aware of every single one of her thoughts.

"And you, Catherine," he rasped, and the sound of his voice carrying her name followed her into her sleep.

On awakening Vincent knew he couldn't have slept very long. Fragments of a receding dream played around the edges of his consciousness. He tried to grasp them, but they evaporated before his searching mind.
  
Soundlessly he got up and walked over to the terrace door. It was still dark outside, the predawn sky only slightly brighter than the Manhattan skyline. The view was familiar to him.

This was the hour when the approaching morning would drive him from the rooftops back to the tunnels. But not today. Slowly, cautiously he turned to survey the room. He could hardly believe he was actually here. This place was different from everything he was used to, yet he didn't feel suffocated or trapped as he usually felt in a topsider's home.

Releasing a quiet sigh, Vincent padded over to the paneled door and cast a glance at Catherine's sleeping form. Leaning against the doorpost, he took in the way her hair spilled over the collar of her pajama top. She lay on her side, breathing calmly in her sleep. He wondered what it was about her that had touched something deep within him from the moment he had set eyes on her for the first time. It was as if he had always known her, as if he had been waiting all his life to remember her, to be reminded by her who he truly was.

She stirred in her sleep and he knew he should retreat and leave her alone, but he couldn't tear himself away. His body craved the warmth of hers as his soul yearned for her recognition and he wished he would understand why she made him forget what he had sworn never to forget: That he wasn't entirely human. That he had no right...

"Vincent?" Her voice startled him out of his musing. She was sitting up in bed, looking at him drowsily. His heart constricted with tenderness at the sight of her. Slowly she pushed back the covers and rose to cross the distance between them. He straightened and watched as she walked toward him, her gaze locked to his in the semi-darkness of the room. She stopped in front of him, looking up at him from under tousled bangs, and he couldn't help himself, he just had to touch her. His hand came up as if of its own volition and his fingertips skimmed reverently across the silky skin of her cheek. Finally he tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear before he let his hand fall away.

"You're up early," she stated. "What was it that woke you? A dream?"

Her words triggered a faint memory and he closed his eyes to capture it. He saw himself walking down a flight of stony steps towards a woman in a white gown. She lifted her hand and he yearned to take it, but he knew he must not. Her image dissolved and he found himself staring at the spot where she had been just a moment ago. A voice inside him told him to turn around, and when he did he stood facing a source of white light streaming in through a window in a dark ancient stonewall.

He recognized the scene. He had been there before. The light was beckoning to him, calling him...

"Vincent, are you all right?"

His eyes snapped open and he nodded his head. "It was just a dream..."

"Come sit with me," she said, nudging him gently towards the couch.

"Those dreams," he murmured, sitting down beside her. "I wish I could understand them better. Learn from them."

"Tell me about those dreams, Vincent," she asked softly.

He looked up to the ceiling and then down at his hands. "Those dreams," he began again. "They started after...you came into my life."

He could feel her apprehension while she waited for him to continue.

"Some dreams were of different lives at different times and places. In some of them you were there, too, but we were never...lovers."

"What were we?" she asked, unable to suppress a tremor in her voice.

"In the dream in which we came closest to being lovers I was a spiritual teacher, a keeper of the holy truth, so to speak. I was supposed to lead a life in celibacy and I did. But then one day a young woman came to the temple. I became her teacher and she and I studied the scriptures together. Gradually we fell in love, a hopeless love since acting upon our feelings would have meant death for both of us. And yet one day we were accused of...having become intimate and..."

With a sob he fell silent and she wiped a tear from his lashes as he leaned against her. She was crying, too, as she continued, "They separated us and killed us."

For a moment he was at a loss for words. It astonished him how matter-of-factly she spoke of these things, as if she could actually remember them. Carefully collecting his thoughts, he began to speak again. "When I died, I saw your face before me, and my biggest regret was that we...hadn't even fulfilled what I knew to be our destiny. Dying would have had meaning, had it been the price for something true. But as it was, it was only the result of somebody's shallow lies."

He paused before continuing, "I looked up into the eyes of your image before me, knowing it would be an incredibly long time before you and I were to meet again. And yet I was given the confidence that eventually we would be together again..."

"Because it was meant to be," she finished for him. After a long, contemplative pause she whispered, "I too had a dream like that,Vincent. It wasn't as rich and detailed as yours, but rather a series of images."

"Tell me."

She took a deep breath and began. "I walked up a long, straight, staircase. The steps were paved with raw, flat stones. On top of those stairs was an altar and behind it a Gothic window through which light was slanting into the room. You were there, Vincent, standing on top of the stairs, gazing down on me with luminous eyes. I don't know how I knew it was you, but I did, although you didn't look as you look now."

"Recognition isn't so much a matter of the eyes, but of spirit and soul," Vincent interjected.

"And those always remain the same," she added thoughtfully. "I continued my ascent without taking my eyes off your face. You started to descend and slowly came toward me, extending your hand...but before I could grasp it, I awoke."

Vincent's hear skipped a beat and he stared at her in awe. Memories were flowing easily now. "That sounds like a description of the temple in my dream. We often met there to study the holy books that were kept inside the altar. I was waiting there for you - impatiently. I remember the joy at hearing the approach of your footsteps. I often walked down those stairs to meet you halfway. I wasn't allowed to touch you, not even to take your hand, and I never did. I wonder why you dreamed of me extending my hand. I would never have tempted you like that."

"Dreams are metaphors," she replied. "In our dreams we are able to look deeper. I'm sure I dreamed of what you longed for...of what we both longed for."

"You are probably right," he said quietly. "Those drawings on the rock walls I showed you on our way to the crystal cavern...when I saw them for the first time, they seemed eerily familiar to me. The man who did them...he must have felt as hopeless as I did...in that life."

The vulnerability in her eyes tore at him and he reached out to cradle her against his chest. "I don't want to lose you ever again."

She started stroking his head and the tiny kisses she was placing along his jaw line sent shivers through him.

"In that other life," he murmured, "I was completely human and yet I wasn't able to fulfill my destiny. How shall I succeed this time...when I am...like this?"

"You did succeed already," she said calmly. "You and I are lovers, and no one is going to kill us for that."

"I wish I could be so certain about that," he murmured, bitterness tingeing his voice.

"Don't be silly," she admonished, snuggling up against his chest more tightly. "We've come a long way to be together again, and we will be around for a long time to make the best of it."

He smiled at her. "The Crown and the Heart," he said.

She raised her head and gave him a puzzled stare. "What?"

"The symbols of our dreams are from the Kabalistic Tree of Life," he replied as if that would explain it all.

He saw recognition dawning in her eyes and she knelt up beside him.

"The stairs are the path that the High Priestess takes from Heart to Spirit." He was still smiling at her "I taught you well," he rasped, "that you are still able to remember it after all these centuries."

"Vincent," she asked with a frown, "do you believe in reincarnation?"

"What else could our shared dream mean?" he asked back.

She took one of his hands between hers and looked deeply into his eyes.

"It means," she said slowly, "that you don't have any reason to doubt your humanity. You are like everyone else. Your true self goes through different lives, acquiring different bodies and identities. This time your body is more unusual than it was at other times, but that doesn't mean you are different. You are what you always have been: You."

Vincent didn't know what to say. He was certain she was right. He'd felt it ever since the dreams began.

"You do believe me, don't you?" she asked, her eyes wide with concern.

He cupped his palm around her cheek and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. "It's what I've been thinking about ever since I discovered the wall paintings, Catherine. I realized that I'm not nearly as unique as I thought I was. I started to feel a connection to every human being that had ever walked the earth. Suddenly my struggle to control the darker side within me wasn't so hopeless anymore. My fear of plummeting into a fathomless abyss receded and I started to trust in my humanity. Until...."

"Until you were overcome by rage again," she stated.

Vincent swallowed hard. Slowly he straightened, but he couldn't bring himself to meet Catherine's eyes. "My newfound belief was badly shaken after...killing again...like that." He studied his hands for a long, silent moment. "Joshua helped me to understand that not even rage like I have known it is outside the human range of behavior."

Catherine cupped Vincent's chin and brought up his gaze to meet hers.

"I already suspected that he must have been through a very difficult time. It's all there in his eyes."

Vincent grasped her wrist and dislodged her hand from his face, tucking it against his heart. "Yes, but it didn't break him. He came out of it a stronger person, because he doesn't turn away from his shadows. He went through the pain, he still does, admitting and acknowledging everything he is. That's probably the only way to free the light within you."

Memories of the white light beckoning to him, pulling him out of his body, flashed through his mind and he buried his face in his palms. Instantly he felt her arms around his shoulders and her breath close to his ear. "What is it, Vincent?"

"The pain is so overwhelming," he whispered hoarsely. "Death is not meant to be remembered."

"You mean the death in your dream?" she asked.

He nodded mutely.

"But death wasn't really an end, was it?" she whispered.

He drew a deep breath and straightened. "No, but every death means losing yet another precious possibility."

Her palm was warm against his cheek as she guided his face to hers.

"What kind of a possibility, Vincent?"

"To bring love to fruition," he replied hoarsely, his voice all but deserting him.

"Do you think there's anything in this life that is holding you back?" she pursued gently.

He lowered his gaze to his hands to avoid her eyes. "I'm not sure," he confessed quietly.

Catherine remained silent for so long that he raised his head to gauge her expression. She gave him a tender smile.

Vincent's heart raced as he struggled to recapture any of the answers he had stored in his mind. There were a hundred reasons for him to remain alone; to avoid real closeness, but none of them would come to him now. None of them appeared to be valid anymore.

Catherine's touch startled him from his musings. She stroked his hands and leaned her head against his shoulder. "The way to love anything is to realize it might be lost," she quoted pensively, causing his heart to constrict in his chest.

"Never again," he rasped. "I don't ever want to lose you again."

"There are no guarantees," she whispered. "There is only now."

Wordlessly he pulled her to him, savoring the warmth of her body against his. He lowered her onto the bed and moved over her, locking his gaze to hers. She felt incredibly soft beneath him and suddenly he found it hard to breathe. In her eyes he saw a wealth of emotions and it moved him deeply to realize they were all for him.

When she reached up to pull down his head he followed willingly, unresistingly, until their mouths found each other in a breathless kiss. She parted her lips under his and he gasped as he felt the heat of her tongue. She was all softness, begging to be touched, and he complied, astonished how quickly his shyness vanished at her moans of pleasure. She was touching him, too. Her hands seemed to be everywhere, making his skin tingle with excitement. He was aroused beyond reason, fighting hard to maintain some semblance of control, but when she started unbuttoning her pajama top, he was lost. There was a sweet urgency in both of them as they undressed each other, yet he took his time studying her as he skimmed his palms over her flushed skin. She was beautiful and being this close to her filled him with pride. She wanted him, needed him, loved him every bit as desperately as he loved her.

Slowly he ran his hand up the inside of her leg, and she parted her thighs, wrapping them around his hips. Once more he sought her eyes. Their gazes locked and held as he slowly joined with her. The heat of her body quickly drove all caution from his mind, and when she started to move his resolve to stay in control crumbled. She carried him away and he followed without looking back.

A wave of pure joy surged through him, a pleasure so intense that he forgot to breathe. Her joy, he realized in a flash of sudden clarity, and the knowledge that he was with her, inside her, one with her, coiled up in his belly and broke free in a soul-shattering climax. Her moan of release carried his name and blended with his own cry of ecstasy as he sank down beside her, pulling her close. She burrowed into his arms and he held her tight against his loudly beating heart as he fought to regain his breath.

She was murmuring something and he turned his head to bring his ear closer to her mouth. "Did you see the rainbow?" came her whispered question.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he replied, "You've always known it was there."

She nodded against his chest. "Always."

His heart went wide with the realization that she was the light that brought out the colors of his soul, colors he wouldn't have acknowledged if not for her faith in them, in him. "Forgive me for doubting," he murmured huskily as he brushed a kiss across her forehead.

There was no reply, and her slow and even breathing told him she had fallen asleep. He pulled up a blanket and tucked it around her body as he curled against her protectively.

Vincent dreamed. He was a child again, running across a meadow, chasing the colors of flowers and butterflies as he danced with the wind that ruffled the long, golden tresses of his hair. Vincent held his breathe as the child in his dream stopped and turned. His little face with the fuzzy nose and the cleft upper lip broke into a delighted smile and Vincent's heart turned over in his chest at the beauty of the boy's blissful expression.

"I'm here," the child shouted. "I'm coming, mom." He started to run again and threw himself into the arms of a woman who lifted him up, laughing happily as she spun him around.

Catherine...With a start Vincent sat up in bed, his eyes wide with the enormity of what he had seen. The child in his dream hadn't been him, he had been Catherine's. Catherine's son. Catherine's son who had a face like his...

"Vincent?" Her voice was slightly blurred from sleep as she sat up beside him, rubbing his back soothingly. "Did you have a bad dream?"

Vincent felt laughter bubbling up inside him, the same blissful happiness he had experienced with the child. "No," he gasped softly. "No Catherine, it was the most beautiful dream in the world."

"Will you tell me about it?" she asked, confusion and amusement warring in her eyes.

"I will," he promised as he lay down again. The way she instantly snuggled up to him, seeking his warmth, filled him with awe and pride.

He placed his palm over her soft, flat belly in a tender caress. "Sleep now," he added in a hushed voice. "It will be morning soon." A tremor went through him as she pressed a kiss to the base of his throat and he realized that for the first time in his life he would awaken to sunlight.