INTROSPECTION

"Thank you, Peter," Catherine said, squeezing her old friend's hand warmly before she got out of the car. "I appreciate it that you took the time to come and drive me home on such a short notice."

"That's what friends are for," Peter Alcott replied with an affectionate smile. "Are you sure that you don't want me to inform Jacob for you? You could do with some rest before you go Below."

"And a shower and a change of clothes," she added, rolling her eyes resignedly. "Thank you, Peter, but no. I have to do this myself. And I need to see Amy as soon as possible, especially after what you've told me."

"I don't think it's anything serious, Cathy. It is completely normal and understandable that children react with irritability or withdrawal when they have to be apart from their parents for longer than what they have been prepared for."

"I'd better hurry to see what I can do," she said, placing a quick kiss on Peter's cheek.

On her way down to the basement Catherine was warmed by the thought of her and Vincent being regarded as Amy's parents. Of course, both of them knew that they were, in a way, but it felt good to hear somebody else say the words.

Amy had just been put down for her nap when Catherine arrived at the nursery. She stood looking down on the sleeping child for a long while, tears forming in her eyes as she thought of all that had happened within the last couple of days.

"We love you, little one," she breathed as she bent over the crib to feather a kiss between the slanted brows. Studying the familiar features, the downy nose and the cleft upper lip, she felt suffused by a jolt of longing for Vincent -- so intense that, involuntarily, she stepped back a little, lest she disturb the child's sleep by her raw emotions. The time before she would be able to see him again seemed to stretch endlessly before her, and knowing Vincent as she did, she had every reason to assume that he would brood over all that had happened between them, thus presenting an easy prey for doubts and regrets and all kinds of painfully noble intentions. Yet, deep in her heart she trusted him to have faith in their love and in their future together. What they had was too deep and too true to be denied ever again.

"Catherine!" Father's voice startled her from her musing. She turned toward him, putting one finger on her mouth and pointing at the sleeping child. He nodded and indicated for her to follow him.

On their way to the study Catherine was bombarded with a million questions, and she willingly answered every one of them as best she could.

"Catherine, we can never thank you enough that you prevented Vincent from confronting Paracelsus. God knows what he would have done to him. For all his strength and wisdom, Vincent is quite guileless in the face of spite and malice. John Pater is a master of cunning and evil, and I shudder at the thought of the means he holds in his hands to destroy everything we have created down here." Father preceded her down the narrow metal staircase and offered her a seat in front of his desk.

"If this man is as evil as you say, I wonder why he returned Amy to us after he'd gone to such length to abduct her," Catherine said, stretching out her tired legs.

"And I wonder why he took her in the first place," Father replied, busying himself with preparing tea. "I have ideas, but nothing really palpable."

"Maybe he has lost interest in her, in Vincent, and in this world in general," she offered, remembering Vincent's dream.

"If I were to believe such a thing, I would have to assume that I was just succumbing to wishful thinking," Father said with a wry smile, handing her a steaming cup.

"Have you been able to find out more about the mysterious Fairy yet?" Catherine inquired, carefully sipping the hot liquid.

He shook his head. "There is a woman living with John. Her name is Tamara, and she is a master of disguise. So perhaps it was she who came for the child. As to whether Paracelsus may have lost interest in the child, or may have found that she didn't fit his plans for some reason, all I can say is that he'd never have gone to all the trouble of returning her to us. He would simply have got rid of her another way."

Catherine flinched at his words, and he apologized instantly. "I am very sorry, Catherine. I was just thinking aloud, and sadly this is what I have come to expect from the man John Pater has become."

"Paracelsus may be such a man," Catherine mused, "but perhaps that woman did not have the heart to see the child harmed."

"How like you to always assume the best in others," Father said with a melancholy smile. "However, let us be glad and grateful that we have Amy back."

When Catherine just nodded in agreement, he added, "And you. I shudder to think of the dangers the three of you had to face of late. That Vincent and you were so close to being in the maze when it caved in..." He fell silent, and she knew that he was worrying about his son and praying for his safe return.

"I would like to go back to the nursery now," Catherine said quietly, placing one hand on his arm in empathy. "Amy should be awake soon."

Patting her hand gently, he replied, "But make sure you get some sleep after seeing the child. Doctor's orders."

"I will," she promised.

*

Usually it was the purifying power of darkness and solitude that Vincent sought when he came here to the banks of the nameless river to think and work through a problem. But this time everything in him yearned for the comforting warmth and light of a fire. Stoking the embers, he watched a cloud of tiny sparks burst upward and fall back down into their bed of fiery ashes. Like stars, he thought, a wistful smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. His thoughts wandered back to the Cave of Stars where Catherine and he had loved, and his heart constricted with longing to have her here with him, to just lift his head and see her beloved face, to extend a hand and feel her warm presence.

He sensed that she was tired but well and that she must be home by now. His need to be with her again had made him all but run the first distance from the Cave of Stars to the camp by the river. Initially he had intended to stop only briefly for a bath and a meal and then try to manage another day's distance before nightfall. But the familiar stillness of the place had drawn him in, had made him aware of his need for introspection, had shown him that there were things he must solve within himself before facing again the woman who was the other half of his soul and who had become his lover at last.

He had never been more painfully aware of his physical differences that set him apart from other men than at the moment he'd stepped out of the water after his bath in the river, an hour ago, and reached for the towel to quickly dry himself. He recalled looking down at his taloned hands as he had toweled his shivering body. These hands had touched Catherine's delicate skin, this massive, hirsute body had covered her slender one. Remembering these moments made him wish more than ever before that he was a normal man.

Now, sitting here by the fire and listening to the sounds of the running river, he cast those futile thoughts aside. They would take him nowhere. That was not what he needed to contemplate in the quietude of this solitary place. What he needed to come to terms with was the question how they would continue from here, from where their love had taken them.

To Vincent, women had always been something enigmatic, a riddle that he didn't quite dare to solve. The women in his life had been sisters or friends, teachers or students. He knew many of them to be somebody's lover, mother, and wife, but those aspects he had always left out of his consideration, thinking they could never be for him. Until Catherine. She had entered his life being a mother, loving a child as unusual as himself, probably abandoned by people unable or unwilling to face what fate had thrown their way. Maybe it was that very fact that had given him dreams, that had made him audacious enough to fall in love, if secretly and without any hope that his feelings could ever be returned. Then she had become his friend, and that was more than he had ever thought possible. Now she was his lover, and the enormity of the thought sent ripples of excitement and happiness through him. And pride, he admitted shyly to himself. Yet the question remained how they would progress, how they would manage to be there for one another when the circumstances of their lives worked persistently against their need to be together, to be one.

Of course, some secret part of his mind had always pondered being a lover one day, also knowing that loving a woman meant so much more than just a sharing of dreams, a joining of bodies, a fulfilling of mutual needs. The shy fantasies of his childhood and youth had made him picture himself as a knight in shining armor who rescued the maiden of his dreams from dragons or anything else that might do her harm. Unfortunately that was where fairytales usually ended, and Vincent hadn't dared to imagine what may come beyond their pledges of eternal love. There had been no way for him to learn anything about living happily ever after. The more heated fantasies of his later youth and adolescence could in no way be regarded as an answer to that question.

So what was Catherine to expect from him? Stolen moments of passion in some secret hideaway? He shuddered at the thought of what the people in his community might think about him and Catherine sharing a bed. He knew all of them to be kind and caring souls, but he had never confronted them with a challenge like this. There was never any necessity for them to think beyond the facets of his personality that were familiar to them. It was one thing to regard him as a protector or a teacher or even a friend to whom they turned for advice, but it was something else to accept that he loved a woman not only emotionally and spiritually, but physically as well. He had always known, though, that he was accepted for what he did rather than for who he was. But now, for Catherine's sake, this was no longer enough. She deserved to be respected and loved for the warm-hearted and wonderful person that she was, and not despite the fact that she was the lover of somebody like him.

Heaving a desperate sigh, Vincent buried his face in his hands. What had he done? He was quite certain that Catherine had not contemplated any of this before she had allowed him to make love to her that night he still couldn't remember. She had undoubtedly just followed her heart and their mutual desire. As much as the thought warmed his heart, he still wondered if he would have acted differently in the Cave of Stars if he had not known about that night, that unremembered first time. Had he been acting irresponsibly by taking what she offered, by giving what she craved? Would he have been able to resist her, to deny his feelings, if he had considered all those various aspects and their implications first? A question impossible to answer, now that he had tasted the sweetness and beauty of Catherine's love.

Knowing her heart so well, he also knew that she would never conceal her feelings for him, but proudly admit to them, committing herself to him totally and unconditionally. But at what cost?

Slowly he raised his head and stared across the dying fire into the darkness beyond. He knew, because she had shown him, that it lay within his power to make her happy at least as long as she was in his arms. But how long would that be enough? Life encompassed so much more. How could he ever hope to give her a happy life, when she would have to hide in the shadows with him while she deserved a world full of sunshine? He knew her fear of the dark; had seen her struggle against the hardships of his world, and he marveled at her courage and determination. But where would a constant battle like that lead her?

What if he were to give her a child? Another child like Amy? Would she feel compelled to live with him and their children Below for the rest of her life? Wouldn't that be like caging a bird whose home was the boundless sky? Vincent's heart twisted painfully in his chest as he asked himself how much of a difference it would actually make that the cage was holding its mate.

The fire was gone and darkness had reclaimed its rightful territory, enveloping him with its shroud of impenetrable blackness, and Vincent's soul was finally overcome by a weary emptiness that he might have mistaken for peace, if not for the voice in his heart that kept calling Catherine's name, leaving him aching and incomplete. Finally it dawned on him that the answers to his countless questions could never be found here alone in the dark. He must return to Catherine, and together they would face whatever may come their way.

A tenuous ray of hope stole its way into Vincent's dreams as he allowed himself to fall asleep at last.

*

"'I brought you the moon, Little Bear,' said Big Bear. 'The bright yellow moon and all the twinkly stars.' Little Bear didn't say anything, for he had gone to sleep, warm and safe in Big Bear's arms."

One glance at the little girl nestled in the crook of her arm told Catherine that there was no such luck where Amy was concerned. The child had been clinging to her throughout the entire weekend, desperate not to let her out of sight. She had even thrown quite a tantrum, something she didn't normally do, when Catherine had prepared to return to her apartment on Saturday afternoon in order to shower and change her clothes. So they had spent the night sleeping side by side in Vincent's huge bed, because Amy had refused vehemently to be put into her crib in the nursery. Fortunately Catherine had been tired enough to get a good night's sleep, despite the child's restive kicking and fidgeting at her side.

Now, on Sunday evening, Catherine had volunteered to put the little ones down for the night. Martha's eyelids were beginning to droop already, and Timmy's head sagged repeatedly as the story progressed. Only Amy was wide awake, never taking her eyes from Catherine's face.

"Big Bear carried Little Bear back into the Bear Cave," Catherine read on, "fast asleep, and he settled down with Little Bear on one arm and the Bear Book on the other, cozy in the Bear Chair by the fire." Pausing in order to show the appropriate picture to the children, Catherine saw that Martha had secretly nodded off, while Timmy was inching closer, placing his head on her knee. Shutting the book and setting it aside, Catherine lifted Amy from her lap, putting her to her feet. When Amy started to protest, she silenced her by a stern shake of her head. "Don't you see that I have to help these two into their beds?" she whispered.

Amy waited patiently until that task was accomplished, but when it was her turn, her features crumpled and she began to cry. But Catherine was adamant. She had to go Above and straighten out a couple of things, before returning to work on Monday morning.

"I promise to be back tomorrow evening," she said, extending her arms to hug the child to her. But Amy pulled back, tears spilling from her eyes.

"No, you won't," she cried. "You won't come back. Like Vincent."

A jolt of panic rushed through Catherine. Amy hadn't mentioned Vincent's name during the whole weekend, and Catherine was glad to let it go at that, knowing there wasn't much she could tell her anyway. And now she realized that the child had only been steeling herself against the devastating possibility that Vincent might not return. How well she could understand Amy's feelings! She had harbored the secret hope that Vincent would be back before she had to return Above, but obviously that was not to be. She had struggled all the time to fight back her anxieties concerning Vincent's safety. She knew that he would sense them, helpless to do anything to alleviate her fears. But now the child's words had torn open all of it, and she felt herself teetering on the verge of tears.

"He will come back, darling," she said firmly. "He will." But Amy just shook her head vigorously, withdrawing to a corner of the room and refusing to be touched.

A soft voice came from the entrance. "I will take care of that," Mary said quietly. "You go on, Catherine. She will calm down eventually."

"Thank you, Mary," Catherine said without taking her eyes from Amy whose jaw was set stubbornly while her eyes were shimmering with uncertainty. At that moment she looked so much like Vincent that Catherine's heart constricted with longing to hold them, both of them, in her arms again.

"Be well, Amy," she whispered helplessly and then turned to leave, hoping that Mary was right and Amy would be able to sleep peacefully after all. Amy's sobs followed her down the corridor, and finally she didn't make any effort to hold back her own tears any longer. "Be well, Vincent," she prayed silently as her footsteps echoed along the winding passages of the tunnels.

*

The hours at the office dragged on endlessly. For what must be the thousandth time Catherine found herself staring out the window, unable to concentrate on the work before her. She could feel Joe's concerned glances in her direction, but he didn't ask questions, for which she was deeply grateful. Despite the incessant intrusion of images and thoughts that revolved around Vincent, Catherine did manage to get some work done after all, and when she finally left the office, she felt a vast sense of relief.

The possibility that in the meantime he might have returned and was waiting for her at the entrance in her basement, sent her heart racing. She wondered how it would be to face him again, to look into his eyes and glimpse all that they had shared in their sensitive depth.

After showering and throwing together a quick meal, she dressed hastily and left the apartment, eager to get Below. When she descended the ladder, the realization that Vincent wasn't there, that he wouldn't come, clamped like a fist around her heart, and she gasped under the force of her disappointment. Drawing in a deep breath to steady herself, she squared her shoulders and ducked into the opening which led to the tunnels beyond.

While Catherine was walking along the dimly lit passageways, pictures of Vincent filled her mind, of the vulnerable expression on his face as he had looked down on her after their lovemaking; of him standing in the daylight, gloriously naked, his chest heaving and his eyes so fragile that she had hardly been able to contain her need to pull him close again, holding him, loving him, protecting him to her last breath.

Catherine's steps faltered under the onslaught of emotions those memories evoked in her, and she briefly had to lean against the rough, cold wall, fighting to calm her wildly beating heart.

Suddenly an unbearable apprehension overtook her. What if he regretted the step they had taken? What if all the time he'd had for reflecting and brooding had led him to the conviction that it was wrong for him to love her that way? What if he thought he must never touch her again?

"Oh, Vincent," she sighed desperately, flinching at the sound of her own voice as it reverberated through the corridor, and she thought involuntarily that she could never have embraced this world of empty silence and unbroken grayness, if not for Vincent's presence in it. The thought shamed her and she became painfully aware of how much it would hurt him. This was his world, the only place he could live in, a safe place for many, a place that taught people the true value of light and warmth. Maybe that was why they had so much of it in their hearts, she mused.

The sputtering flame of a torch ensconced in the stony wall above her head brought her back to the here and now, reminding her of how tired she was. She longed for the soft glow of the amber light in Vincent's chamber. To her, his chamber was the heart of his world as he was the heart of his community, a heart that suffused the vast system of tunnels and caverns and their inhabitants with strength and life, no matter how hard the darkness pressed in on their souls or how heavy the rock that separated them from the world Above, weighed on their minds.

Pushing herself from the wall, Catherine resumed her way home.

*

Rebecca was sitting on a rug in the middle of the nursery, helping the children build a tower with colorful, wooden blocks when Catherine arrived. She didn't have to ask, since the expression on Rebecca's face was eloquent enough to tell her that Vincent had not yet returned. Joining the others on the floor, she grabbed a yellow cube and put it on top of the unfinished tower. Her thoughts were with Vincent and the question whether Amy's remark that he wouldn't return might have been some kind of premonition, when a young voice protested vehemently against her intrusion on their game.

"Not here," Timmy repeated when she looked at him, startled. "This one belongs on top, but not yet," he explained, brandishing the block in question before her eyes.

"I'm sorry," she managed, realizing that the rules of the game were entirely beyond her grasp. Suddenly a small, furry hand stole into hers, and she squeezed it gently.

"Will you read to us?" Amy requested, leaning her head against Catherine's shoulder.

"Of course," she replied, moved beyond words by the child's tender action, and with a glance at Rebecca she asked, "Is it time yet?"

"That depends on the length of the story," the young woman responded, smiling.

"The Velveteen Rabbit," Martha suggested enthusiastically, ignoring Timmy's immediate protest.

"Yes, please, the Velveteen Wabbit," Amy piped in, jumping to her feet in order to get the book, while Catherine tried to console the sulking little boy.

"May I join you?" Father's voice came from the entrance, and she nodded, indicating for him to take a seat. As the story unfolded, several of the older children dropped in to listen as well, and every time Catherine looked up from the book she was touched by the solemn attention and expectancy she found on the faces of her young audience. One time her eyes strayed to Father, and his faraway look told her that his thoughts where somewhere else, or rather with someone else she suspected. She found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the story herself when every word reminded her so much of Vincent, of the way his voice had sounded when he had read this same story to the children, of what he had told her about the disillusionment it had once caused him when he was a child. But she managed to finish the story and helped to put three unresisting, sleepy little children to bed. When she bent over Amy to tuck her in, the girl's arms snaked around her neck, pulling her close while she nuzzled her furry little nose against Catherine's cheek.

"I love you, too, Sweetheart," Catherine whispered and kissed the frown on the child's forehead.

"Will you come tomorrow?" Amy asked.

"I will," she promised, pressing a final kiss on the child's cheek, before she straightened and turned towards Rebecca. "I could sit with the little ones for a while," she offered, but the young woman declined.

"You'll have to work tomorrow. You'd better get some sleep," she said.

"Rebecca is right," Father interceded. "But I would like to talk to you if you have a minute."

Catherine thought that he must have noted the apprehension that flickered across her soul at his words, for he hastened to reassure her. "It's only about something Kipper told me this afternoon," he explained. "The boy actually managed to find out the name of the woman who was said to have had a..." He hesitated briefly before actually saying the word Kipper had used, "...cat-child." Gallantly offering Catherine his arm, he suggested, "We better go to my chamber and talk about it over a nice cup of tea."

*

"The woman's name is Olivia Foster," Father began as they sat in his chamber. "At least that is what Ted's grandmother told the boys in the end. Anyway, when Sammy heard the name, he remembered that there had been a boy in his class, a certain Jeremy Foster, who had left school around the time when you found Amy near the park. Jeremy had told his friends and his teachers that he and his family would move to Chicago. So, assuming the story is at all true, we may be talking about Amy's family here."

"They probably left New York to make a new life someplace else," Catherine mused, "and they left the baby behind. I must say that everything seems to fit quite nicely."

"I have to admit that I wish the story were true," Father confessed quietly. "That would mean that Amy is safe, that no one will come to look for her."

Catherine nodded her agreement. "I just wish I could talk to that woman," she said, stirring her tea for what must be the tenth time.

"Please, don't even think about it," Father implored her. "We should leave everything as it is."

"But what about Vincent?" Catherine demanded. "Do you really think that he raped that woman? And if you don't think so, as you once said, would you want him to believe it for the rest of his life?"

"No, of course not," Father replied, " but maybe there is some other way to convince him..."

A swift footfall from outside the chamber interrupted what he had wanted to say, and Pascal burst into the chamber. "Zach just received a message from Vincent," the pipe master panted. "He has reached the pipe levels and should be here in a few hours."

Catherine released a gasp of relief and before she could even think of what she was doing she found herself impulsively hugging a suddenly very self-conscious Pascal.

"I'd better return to the pipe chamber," he stuttered, "before I miss anything." On leaving the chamber, he collided with William who, too, was on his way to break the good news to them. During the next twenty minutes, half a dozen people assembled in the study to wait with Catherine and Father for Vincent's return. As much as Catherine would have preferred to be alone with him when they first met again after all that had happened, she realized that this was a rather selfish wish. It touched her to see how deeply Vincent's family cared about him and how much all of them had missed him.

They passed the time discussing the cave-in in the maze and whether they should reopen that passage or not.

"We should have sealed those tunnels long ago," William said firmly, glaring at Winslow who shook his head in disagreement.

"Know a way to clear those tunnels quickly," Mouse offered eagerly.

"No doubt about that," Winslow replied wryly. "The question is if anybody would survive it."

There was not the slightest sound that could have betrayed Vincent's arrival, and yet Catherine turned toward the entrance exactly at the moment he appeared on top of the stairs, his heaving shoulders betraying that he must have run at least the last part of the way. His tangled hair was a soft halo around his head as he froze and looked down at her, his eyes gleaming preternaturally in the amber light of the torches and candles as they bored into hers. She thought fleetingly that there couldn't possibly be a more beautiful sight than Vincent standing there motionless, the expression on his face one of silent longing and eloquent intensity.

Catherine felt her eyes brimming with tears as she pressed one hand over her mouth in order to stifle a sob of relief. She couldn't help but wish fervently that Vincent's return might go unnoticed for just another second, lest she have to share him with the others in that first fragile moment of their reunion.

Excited voices from behind and around her told her that their short moment of privacy had passed, yet Vincent's eyes remained with her while he descended the staircase and strode across the room to accept the enthusiastic welcome his family was offering. Then, between hugs and shoulder-clapping, his attention was gradually drawn into casual conversation, and while he patiently answered countless questions his gaze kept returning to hers, talking only to her, and telling her all that she needed to know. At last he was standing before her, and the weight of countless pairs of eyes watching them lay heavily on her mind. He opened his arms, and the next thing she knew was that he was holding her, wordlessly and all too briefly, yet with a tenderness and intimacy that made her swallow hard when she found herself being released again. The cheerful chatter went on and on as everyone took their seats, continuing their interrogation and discussion.

Vincent had come to sit opposite Catherine at the large octagonal table in Father's study, and she became painfully aware of how much she was missing the physical closeness they had shared during their journey. Not just the closeness of intimacy in particular, but also the casual closeness of sharing a meal or a simple task or a quiet talk by the fire.

For Vincent's sake, Catherine tried to concentrate on the conversation and participate as best she could, and the way he subtly involved her by asking her questions about Amy or about her own return, touched her deeply.

From what Vincent told about the difficulties he had met on the route he had taken, Catherine was certain that it must have been a rather dangerous one. She noted the concern in Father's voice as he asked, "For heaven's sake, Vincent, couldn't you have chosen the path over the Ebony Caverns?"

"That would have taken me at least two additional days," Vincent explained patiently, "and I'm afraid my supplies wouldn't have lasted that much longer."

Because you had to feed me, Catherine thought ruefully, and she could tell from the look Vincent gave her that he was aware of what she had just been thinking.

"In what condition did you find the bridge across the Great Chasm?" Winslow inquired while Vincent was sipping the tea Mary had brought for him.

"All facts considered, I found it to be remarkably safe," Vincent replied. "We should send a repair team down there, though, to replace the older planks on the western end of the bridge. We may have to use it a lot more now that we can no longer pass through the maze."

After a while Catherine's attention began to drift and instead of listening she found herself simply watching Vincent's every move and gesture. The creases on his forehead had deepened with fatigue, and his eyes appeared even more deep-set than usual. The pallor beneath the golden stubble on his face spoke about the exertions he had put himself through. Yet, his voice sounded firm and certain, as were his gestures, and she wished that she could hold those strong, gentle hands, stroke their backs, and press intimate kisses on their palms. She wanted to thank those hands, thank him for guiding her safely through the darkness and perils of the underground world, for holding her when she needed it most, for loving and cherishing her when she thought she least deserved it.

"Catherine?" The questioning tone in Vincent's voice intruded on her reverie, and when she realized that she must have missed what he had just said to her she felt a blush rise on her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she muttered with an apologetic smile. "I guess I was a little distracted."

"I said that you look tired," he repeated softly, "and so I asked if you would like me to walk you back to your basement."

"Vincent, you must be terribly tired yourself," she replied, touched by his solicitude, "especially after such a long and trying walk. I can't..."

"Because it was such a long walk," he interrupted her gently, "this short distance won't make too much of a difference." He held her gaze with his, a silent plea in his eyes, and she felt her heart grow wide with happiness and pride that she was loved by someone as wonderful as he.

"Let's go then," she suggested quietly.

Following Vincent up the stairs and into the corridor outside, she noticed that she was automatically focusing her attention on his heels, just like he had taught her. A little farther down the tunnel he stopped and turned around.

"What makes you smile?" he asked, tilting his head to look at her inquiringly.

She lifted one hand, touching it to his face in a soft caress. "I was just thinking that I find it hard to let go of the habits that I acquired during our trip," she answered truthfully.

His lips parted slightly, as if he were about to speak, but he just stared at her wordlessly, and she could only guess at the direction his thoughts had taken.

Voices from the adjoining tunnel dispelled the intensity of the moment, and, taking her hand in his, he turned to resume walking.

Fortunately these tunnels were spacious enough to walk side by side, which had been impossible during the most part of their journey outside the inhabited area, and Catherine thought that walking beside him had never been more beautiful than now that every brush of his shoulder against hers, every small glance, and even the silence between them spoke of what they had shared, of the certainty that they had become one in ways which transcended even their dreams.

When they arrived at the small ante-chamber beneath the basement, Catherine hesitated to leave. For all the closeness they were experiencing, she sensed a strange distance about Vincent, something she couldn't quite grasp. She looked up into his face, wishing she could sense more clearly what was going on inside him. For long uncounted moments there was no other sound than their breathing, and then a rustle of clothes as he extended his arms to pull her to him with a soft moan. "You must go," he whispered, and she was shaken by the despair she could hear in his voice.

Tightening her arms around him, she murmured, "I don't want to go."

"I know," he breathed, cupping the back of her head with one large hand and cradling it against his chest. She inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of him that she had missed so much.

"Please don't," he cautioned with a small gasp. "I have not bathed in days and I feel..."

"...dusty and sweaty?" she finished for him in remembrance of a moment not too long ago when they had exchanged almost exactly the same words.

He loosened his embrace and she leaned back just enough to glance up into his searching eyes. The gaze that passed between them was vibrant with barely restrained desire, and she released a low moan as his head came down and their lips met in a hungry kiss. At that moment he held back nothing, and the feel of him, the taste of him made her heart swell as if it wanted to burst and dissolve into his.

They were both panting for air when his mouth finally released hers, and from the way he straightened and briefly closed his eyes she could tell that his control was slowly returning.

"Catherine," he sighed, "we must talk."

A cold gust of apprehension swept over her and her voice was trembling when she said, "You've had much time for thinking down there, haven't you?"

"Yes," he affirmed softly.

"So you are having doubts," she remarked, watching his face closely for any sign that might give her some clue as to what she had to expect.

"Not doubts," he amended quickly, "rather concerns. Catherine, I could never doubt that what happened between us was true..." He hesitated briefly before adding, "...and right."

Catherine felt tears of relief well up in her eyes. "I'm glad," she whispered voicelessly. He relinquished his tight hold on her and just took her hands instead. There was no need to hear him say the words that were in his heart. She could see them all there in his eyes.

"We both need to rest," she said finally, unable to ignore the fatigue that showed in his features any longer. "I just wish..." she began, and they both smiled wistfully, remembering the nights they had spent side by side, warming each other.

"I know," he whispered softly. "So do I."

She nodded solemnly. "Those concerns you mentioned earlier..." she prompted.

"We better discuss that another time," he suggested, slowly releasing her hands.

"Another time," she agreed with one last look of longing before she turned to climb up the ladder.

TOUCHING THE RAINBOW