THE JOURNEY HOME

"While we walk, keep your attention directed at my heels," Vincent had instructed her before they had set out. "It will make walking behind me easier for you. I will warn you of possible dangers overhead. You won't stumble or hit your feet on anything, as long as you are able to maintain your concentration."

Miraculously she had found that to be true. As long as she kept her thoughts to a minimum and her gaze riveted on the backs of Vincent's boots, she was able to trail behind him quite effortlessly. But after some time Catherine couldn't keep her mind from wandering.

From what Vincent had told her, she knew that they wouldn't be able to make it back home within one day. Due to her lesser strength and perseverance they would have to camp once more. Vincent had also warned her that the campsite ahead of them would not be as comfortable as the one they had just left. No water, no wood for a fire. Now she was grateful for the small gas burner Jamie had put in her pack. She would never have thought of something like that. But then, she hadn't known anything about the darkness and the cold that ruled beyond the relatively cozy and comfortable home chambers, either.

Memories of her awakening to complete darkness chased a shiver down her spine and, sure enough, she lost her concentration and slipped on the polished surface of a flat stone embedded in the ground. She would have fallen, if not for Vincent's quick reaction.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, embarrassment tingeing her cheeks. "I will pay closer attention from now on."

"There's no reason to be ashamed of missing your footing," he consoled. "Please let me know if you need to rest."

"I will," she promised and resolutely returned his probing gaze.

"Shall I carry your pack for you?" he asked solicitously.

"You're carrying most of my pack already," she returned with a wry smile.

Traveling underground was indescribably draining, and when they finally reached the place where they would spend the night, Catherine could feel every muscle and bone of her exhausted body. While Vincent helped her to shrug out of her backpack, she scanned the area where they would set up their camp. It was a small cave compared to the vast cavern by the river, but the floor was even and smooth.

Before Vincent set to building their camp, he showed her everything she had to know about this place. The cave had three exits, one of which led to a small rivulet, that trickled rather than ran down the rock wall outside the chamber. "This is no drinking water," Vincent had warned her, "but if we put a bowl below it, we'll have water for washing."

Although the air in the cave was cold, Catherine was grateful for the coolness of the wet cloth with which she washed her face and neck. She felt dirty and would have given much for a bath, even if it were as cold as the one in the river this morning. With a weary sigh she dried her face and hands, picked up her lantern, and returned to Vincent. Her sleeping bag had been rolled out already, and she noted with surprise that he had spread his pallet and blankets right beside it.

"We will have to keep each other warm," he explained shyly, his face hidden behind the heavy curtain of his hair. "Without a fire it will be too cold for you to sleep alone."

Trying hard not to look too pleased, she just nodded her understanding and dropped down on the bedding he had prepared.

"I'm not hungry," she said as he handed her supper. At his admonishing look she added, "All right, I'm going to need my strength," and took the plate from him. After a few bites she found that she was actually quite hungry. Looking up from her meal, she encountered Vincent's fond and amused gaze as he watched her dig into the food. When she had finished her meal, she scrambled to her feet in order to clean her plate and store it away, but he took it from her hands.

"I'll do that," he insisted. "You'd better get ready for bed now."

"Sounds good," she teased playfully, but when he quickly dropped his eyes, she wanted to bite her tongue. She should have known better how difficult it would be for him to sleep so close to her. Squatting down beside him where he knelt and cleaned the dishes, she put a comforting hand on his arm. "I'm not planning to make this any harder for you, Vincent," she promised, and he tilted his head to meet her solemn eyes.

"I know that," he replied quietly, before he returned to the task at hand.

*

Vincent took his time washing up and changing his clothes. He checked and refilled the lanterns meticulously, hoping that Catherine was tired enough to fall asleep before he would be done with his preparations. When at last he walked over to their bed, he sighed with relief at the sight of her relaxed form. She was lying on her back, her breathing deep and regular. Shedding his boots, sweater, and vest, he slid under the blankets. She had not zipped her sleeping bag in order to leave room for him to lie beside her, giving her his body warmth as she would give him hers. He shivered at the thought of touching her, but then he inhaled deeply and inched closer, gingerly nestling against her. As much as he had feared that sleep would desert him, it claimed him rather quickly in fact.

Some time later, he awoke as he felt Catherine turn in his arms, but her slow, even breathing soon lulled him to sleep again.

*

Paracelsus?" Vincent asked hesitantly, when there was nothing but tiny points of light around him and a low voice in his head.

"What do you want?" the voice asked listlessly.

"I came to you to find out what you want from us," Vincent pointed out.

"Get out of here. Go back to your Father. You're wasting my time," came the derisive reply.

"I need to know what you plan," Vincent demanded.

"You are not a part of my plans, dear Vincent," the deep voice informed him detachedly.

"What about the child?"

"Ah, yes, the child. Your child, Vincent, has inherited none of your finer qualities. She is useless. You may keep her. It's a shame that Father's education spoiled you for my purposes. You contained a great deal of promise when you were little. What a waste! Listen closely now, Vincent. I no longer want your precious world, your muddy hole in the ground. You are a bunch of fools. What would I want with you? I will rule the real world. I have something that will get me all the soldiers I need for my army. I will make them happy as I could have made you happy, poor Vincent. Look at you, you are not even man enough to take what you already have. I despise you. Go. Go! Leave me alone."

The voice reverberated through Vincent's drowsy mind, leaving him shaken and disoriented.

"Not even man enough...to take...what you already have...already have...."

The points of light receded when the voice died away, and the returning darkness left him with an urgent hunger for touch. The body against his was warm and soft, and he pressed closer to feel its contours and shapes. With shaking fingers he traced a shoulder, a hip, a leg, all the while inhaling deeply of the fragrance that was so much a part of her.

Catherine.

In one quick motion he rolled out from under the blankets and leapt to his feet. His skin was burning, and he wished he could submerge himself in a pool of clear, cold water. Not only to cool his boiling blood, but to cleanse his shrouded soul as well. Frantically ripping his shirt from his body, he welcomed the chill of the air that met his heated skin. Panting heavily, he found himself leaning against the rough, damp wall of the tunnel outside the cave where Catherine slept.

Slowly, sanity settled about him again, reminding him that his body was not indestructible. His fingers hurt from trying to claw into unyielding stone, and he became aware that he was freezing.

Shaking his head free from the last shreds of the dream, he made his way back to the campsite and slid under the covers beside Catherine once more. He tried to remember the contents of his dream, to think of the words he had heard. He had a vague feeling that they were important. But in the comforting warmth of Catherine's nearness he gradually relaxed, and sleep claimed him again.

*

This time, Catherine did not panic when she awoke and found herself surrounded by total darkness. She shifted just enough to reach for the flashlight she had put on the floor within arm's length before she had gone to sleep. Averting the beam, lest she awaken Vincent, Catherine turned to look at him. To her utter amazement her eyes encountered a massive, bare shoulder peeking out from under the blankets. Lifting the covers just slightly, she stole a glance beneath and would not have been surprised to find him completely naked. What did she know about sleeping habits Below, anyway? Gazing up again, she found herself measured by a pair of solemn eyes that looked at her questioningly.

Instantly her face grew hot with embarrassment, and she would have liked to pull the covers over her head to escape his puzzled stare. "Good morning," was all she could muster, and was relieved when he smiled.

"Good morning, Catherine," he said, his voice still gravelly from sleep. His slightly rumpled look triggered a tender response in her and she reached out to run her fingers through his tangled bangs. He rose on one elbow, and she gasped at the impressive sight of him, even in the dim light of the small lamp.

"What are you thinking?" he asked quietly, when she continued to look up at him wordlessly.

How much I would like to touch you right now, she thought, but what she said was, "Is it time to go yet?"

He lowered his eyes to her hand where it rested beside her head and took it in a gentle clasp, guiding it to his face and then cupping it around his bristled cheek. The soft stubble of his facial hair felt incredibly good under her palm, and she rubbed her hand gently back and forth to increase the sensation.

"We better leave early," he replied. "Then we can travel the last few miles before we reach the Home Tunnels in daylight which filters in through various shafts and crevices. It is a dim light, because it reaches the passageways only indirectly, but it is easier to walk by than the dancing light of the lanterns. If we can be there before dusk, that is."

"Then we should go," she said evenly, gently withdrawing her hand.

When her warm palm left his face, Vincent felt strangely bereft. He knew he should let it go at that, but her silent plea to touch him was still playing around the edges of his soul, filling him with a rush of tenderness that he could not resist. His heart was beating wildly as she looked up at him, all soft and sleep tousled, and with excruciating slowness he leaned forward to press a lingering kiss on her forehead. She reached for him, pulling him down to lie atop her, and made small sounds of protest when he tried to brace his weight on his arms to keep it off her. He felt her fingers on his bare back and remembered fleetingly how he had come to shed his shirt, but her tender explorations quickly drove all thoughts from him. Her fingers where everywhere, grazing his neck, raking gently along his spine, exploring the expanse of his chest, and rubbing his sensitive nipples. She strained to meet his body when he couldn't help but move against her tentatively. Drawn by her desire he sought her lips, taking them in a hungry kiss, and his hands found their way under her sweater, gently kneading her pliant flesh. A stifled moan escaped his throat as her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of his pants, caressing the naked skin of his hips and his aching loins. Her need drove him on, and he slid her shirt and sweater over her head, baring her breasts to his starved eyes. Slowly he sank down to bury his face in the softness of her flesh, and her hands came up to hold him, cradling him against her body, gently stroking his head.

This was something he had dreamed of, yearned for, hungered for all his life; something he had never known. And yet, the familiarity of it reached him in the deepest places of his soul. For some endless minutes he lay very still, unwilling to break this most tender moment between them, but when he became aware of a single tear searing its path down his face and falling on her skin, he turned his head and kissed the moistness away. She moaned softly and he lost himself in nuzzling her satiny skin and nibbling on the tender flesh beneath his lips. She writhed under the gentle assault of his caresses, and he lifted his head slightly to let his eyes stray along her squirming body.

The sight of his large, furred hands spanning her tiny waist, holding her firmly in place, choked him. He winced and bolted to an upright position, sitting back on his heels and splaying his long, taloned fingers over his thighs, unaware that the sharp nails dug through the fabric of his pants into the taut flesh underneath. An anguished groan tore from him, as he threw back his head in shame and despair. He would have leapt to his feet and run from the chamber to hide in the darkness beyond, if not for her arms that stole around his tense body, hugging him tightly.

His ragged panting stirred strands of her hair and they caught in the stubble on his cheeks and chin. He lifted one hand, very slowly, as if afraid that an abrupt movement would startle her, and smoothed the errant tresses back against her head. She leaned into his hesitant touch and began to rub his rigid back with soothing strokes. Finally he relaxed against her, giving himself up to the trust and confidence she had in their love. Together they sank back into the tangle of blankets and sheets, and she kept holding him, stroking him, kissing his head, until his eyelids grew heavy and he surrendered himself to the oblivion of sleep.

He awoke to the clatter of dishes, and the smell of freshly made tea wafted over to him from where Catherine was busy preparing breakfast on the small camping stove. As if sensing that he was awake, she turned and flashed him a smile. "Good morning," she said brightly, taking one of the steaming mugs and carrying it over to him. He sat up, self-consciously pulling the blanket more tightly over his stomach and chest. Still smiling, she handed him his sweater. "I'm sorry,
but I couldn’t find your shirt,” she apologized.

Pulling the heavy garment over his head, he was very much aware of her eyes on him, and gradually the memory of what they had shared, of what he had done, of how he had dared to touch her, evoked a whirl of conflicting emotions in him. Deciding that he'd rather not dwell on those emotions right now, he reached for the mug, taking a sip from the invigorating liquid.

 "I had a strange dream, last night," he began, and when she looked at him inquisitively, he continued, "About Paracelsus. He told me that neither Amy nor I would fit his purpose any longer. That was why he let us go. He told me that now he has plans, and the means, to rule the real world, as he put it."

"The drug," she exclaimed, alarmed.

"But, Catherine," he interjected, "it was only a dream, and quite obviously one that derived from wishful thinking."

With an impatient shake of her head, she put down her mug, scooting closer and looking at him imploringly. "But it all makes perfect sense," she insisted.

Now that he was thinking about it, he had to admit that she was right. But as much as the idea comforted him that Paracelsus should no longer be interested in their world Below, he was deeply concerned about what would happen if John Pater actually tried to infuse the world Above with his poison; not only because he felt compassion for all the possible victims, but also because it was going to draw dangerous attention to the labyrinth of tunnels beneath the city.

"What are you thinking about?" Catherine asked, trailing a fingertip along the creases of his frown.

"That we shall have to walk the last distance of our journey by the light of our lanterns after all," he said evasively.

"Then I guess we better get ready to leave," she suggested, "unless we're going to walk it by the light of tomorrow morning."

He rose to his knees, the remembered image of her bared breasts suddenly floating sweetly, headily before his inner eye, and hugged her to him. "Can you believe how far we have come?" he said, pressing a kiss on her temple. A flicker of the dying flashlight diverted their attention for a moment, and the spell was broken. Vincent went to light a lantern, and they finished dressing and packing their things in silence. He surveyed the camping site one last time, ready to turn and leave, when Catherine grasped his arm, looking up at him solemnly. "Can you believe it?" she said, picking up the thread of their interrupted conversation. First, her action puzzled him, but then he smiled down into her radiant eyes.

"Whenever there is anything in my life which I cannot believe, you succeed in proving it to me," he said in a husked, emotion-filled voice. They gazed at each other in silent communion for a long, sweet moment before they finally broke their camp.

*

With the memories of their shared intimacy on her mind, Catherine found it particularly hard to direct her undivided attention at Vincent's heels. But somehow she managed and was all the more surprised when, after about two hours of walking, the tall figure before her faltered and stumbled against a rough rock jutting from the wall. Her brief flash of amusement was instantly replaced by concern, when she saw his hand instinctively cradling the elbow he had hit on the stone.

"Vincent," she called out, "are you hurt?"

Shaking his head in denial, he retraced a few steps to pick up the treacherous stone that had obviously caused his wrong step. He put the obstacle out of the way by tucking it into a narrow crevice a little further down the corridor. "I should have noticed it in time," he reproached himself.

She hurried to catch up with him and looked him in the eyes. "Are you all right?" she asked.

To her surprise he smiled. "Yes, but I'm afraid I allowed myself to become a little distracted." His shy admission warmed her and, returning his smile, she leaned briefly against him, just to feel the solidity of his body and remember how he had trembled eagerly in her arms only a few hours ago.

"So am I," she confessed, a little short of breath. She was just about to rise up on tiptoes to kiss him, when a dreadful rumble shook the tunnel, and the ground beneath their feet began to quake. Catherine clutched at his sleeves, looking up at him for an explanation. But he just pulled her to the floor, sheltering her with his body.

When the earth grew quiet again and the rumbling noise subsided, he lifted his head and listened intently.

"It has stopped," he stated, helping her to her feet. "Don't be afraid. We were hardly in any danger here. There must have been a cave-in, but it was a good distance away."

"Did it happen somewhere along our way?" she inquired anxiously.

"That is what I will have to find out," he said, shedding his backpack and depositing it on the tunnel floor.

"You are not going to leave me behind while you go to find out, are you?"

When he turned to meet her worried gaze, she could tell from the expression on his face that he would do what he knew was best for her, no matter how little she liked it.

"All right, I'll be waiting right here," she said with a sigh. He was gone in an instant, his large form disappearing around a bend before she had time to blink. She shook her head resignedly, admitting that there were many facets of Vincent's character that she had barely seen yet. Somehow, she thought, sliding to the floor and leaning against the rough wall, that stubborn determination of his was certainly something that served him well in situations of conflict or emergency. Maybe it was just the teacher in him, she mused, but decided at last that he was probably simply a born leader.

No sound at all betrayed his return, and she flinched involuntarily when he suddenly stood before her, concern written all over his face.

"It's the maze," he said, squatting down beside her. "A large part of it must have collapsed. There is no way of passing through it. The catacombs remained unaffected, though."

"Then what are we going to do?" she asked, when a disquieting realization hit her. "We would have been in there, wouldn't we?"

He nodded in confirmation. "If we had left our camp as I had initially suggested. Yes."

"Do you believe in guardian angels?" she whispered with awe. He dropped his head, and she was sure he was hiding a smile. "Ah, yes," she remembered, "you do not believe in names."

He looked up at her then, his eyes solemn and quiet. "I do believe in angels," was all he said before he rose to his feet.

"Then I think we should thank the one who kept us in bed, this morning," she suggested playfully.

He tilted his head to place an affectionate kiss on her cheek. "Thank you," he breathed with a sheepish twinkle in his eyes.

She laughed, delighted by his uninhibited mood, but he was already shouldering his pack again and retrieving hers to help her into it.

"If we hurry just a bit, we should be able to reach the camp by the river before tonight," he said.

Groaning at the prospect of having to walk back all the way they had come, she asked, "There is no other way?"

"Not for you. I'm sorry," he replied, picking up his lantern as he walked off in the direction they had come from. Squaring her shoulders, she followed him.

After all, I am the one who is causing him all this trouble, she thought. Now the least I can do is try my best to keep up with him.

*

It was a long trek, and a demanding one, although Vincent had insisted on carrying her pack after all. When they arrived at the campsite on the river bank, Catherine noted with amazement that it almost felt like coming home. Dazed, she could only sit there and watch as Vincent set up their camp and built a fire. Her feet were sore and the muscles of her legs cramped and stiff, and her back was hurting as if she had been the one carrying two packs.

"Would you like to take a bath now?" Vincent asked from across the fire. Catherine thought that she was actually too tired to do anything but drop to the ground and sleep, and the thought of the cold water did nothing to lift her spirit. Yet, she scrambled to her feet and allowed herself to be led to the bathing site.

"The sore spots will burn quite a bit," Vincent observed, pointing at her feet, "but you have to clean them very thoroughly, lest they get infected. I will help you dry yourself as quickly as possible. Your fatigue has diminished your ability to generate enough body heat to get warm after the bath. You are in serious danger of catching a cold. Now hurry."

She was grateful that he remained by her side, waiting with two large towels and a blanket until she emerged from her brief dip into the chilly water. She felt herself wrapped in the towels and rubbed quite thoroughly. Then she was enveloped in the blanket and carried back to the fire where he sat her on the pallet that served as his bed. He tended to her feet with utmost care, applying some kind of ointment and pulling a fresh pair of his large socks over them. Despite her bone-deep weariness and her countless aches she enjoyed being pampered by Vincent, and she hoped the day would come soon when she could repay his kindness. He helped her dress and saw to it that she ate what he handed her. Then he tucked her in as if she were a child, and her last conscious thought before she fell asleep was that Amy could wish for no better father than him.

*

Watching Catherine sleep, Vincent slowly sipped his tea and pondered their options. He briefly considered the path through the crystal caverns, but Catherine was in no condition for a walk like that. It would take several days to get back to the Home Tunnels that way. He knew he had to choose the way to the sea, which was no easy way either, but a much shorter one. From there she would be able to return above ground. She would not be happy about leaving him. He knew that. But he also knew that he would not risk traveling back up top, especially from where they would emerge.

Catherine stirred and made a whimpering sound, and he bent over her to feel for any sign of a fever. Her forehead was cool, but she shivered in her sleep. Matter-of-factly, he discarded his vest and sweater and unbuckled his belt, before he carefully unzipped the sleeping-bag and slid in beside Catherine, pulling several blankets over them both. As he lay there, holding her, feeling how his warmth flowed into her body and relaxed and strengthened her, he marveled at how happy and content it made him feel being able to give her what she needed. Listening into the darkness, he prayed that it might always be that way. That his love would be an anchor to steady her, and never a weight to pull her down.

She stirred again, snuggling closer into the shelter of his embrace, and he kissed her head, smiling.

*

Some time during the night Vincent woke from restive movements at his side. Assuming that Catherine was experiencing another onslaught of fear in the dark, he felt for the lantern which he had placed within reach on the floor beside him. She was mumbling his name, and her tossing and turning left him fumbling clumsily with the matches before he managed to light the wick. He turned to enfold her in a comforting embrace, stroking her head and shoulders in order to wake her gently.

"Catherine," he called softly. "What is it?"

She pushed herself into a sitting position, looking around her disorientedly. "I guess I was having a dream," she said, releasing a sigh of relief.

"Rather a nightmare, I suppose," he remarked, shifting to brace himself on one elbow .

Her shoulders slumped forward, and she buried her face in her palms. Then, lifting her head, she ran her fingers through her sleep-tangled hair and turned to face him. "We came so close to dying today," she said. "It seems that it hit me harder than I thought."

"Was that what you dreamed about?" he asked, sitting up beside her.

She nodded. "What happened in the maze could happen anywhere down here, anytime."

He shook his head. "That is not quite true, but I know what you mean."

Suddenly her face grew so serious that it filled him with uneasy foreboding. "Don't you think it would be better to tell me more about this nightmare of yours?" he suggested carefully.

"You and I...we were in the maze when it caved in," she began, "and I was going to die. I knew that we would both die in there, Vincent, and you know what I regretted the most?"

He could feel her despair as she looked questioningly at him, and casting down his eyes, he replied shyly, "One of my deepest regrets would have been that I didn't find the courage, and the confidence, to live our love to the fullest, to explore all of its possibilities, and to experience all of its wonders."

She was crying in earnest now. Quiet sobs shook her body, as he enfolded her in his arms, rocking her gently.

"Oh, Vincent," she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying, "that is not what I felt in my dream. What pained me the most was that I have kept the truth from you."

His heart constricted in apprehension. "What truth?" he asked, unaware that his eyes bored into hers.

She met his intent stare unflinchingly, but her hands shook slightly as she encircled his wrists with her fingers. "Vincent, we loved," she said, "and it was the most tender and passionate moment between us. It happened when you were recovering from Paracelsus' drug, and we..."

"No," he gasped, extricating his wrists from her grip, but she held on to his hands, imploring him to listen.

"Vincent, you did not force me. You were gentle and loving, and we needed each other so badly. You can't imagine how wonderful it felt to become one with you at last," she breathed.

"You are right, I cannot imagine it," he retorted, pushing himself to his feet and starting to pace restively, "but that is something I had resigned myself to live with. It's the fact that I cannot remember it that drives me insane." Pivoting, he stopped before her and knelt down, needing to see her eyes. "You said that the moment was tender and passionate, but, Catherine, how do I know..." He ran out of words to express the dreadful doubt that was assailing him.

Her eyes were wide and flickered with uncertainty as she murmured, "Maybe you could just trust me and bring yourself to believe me one more time?"

"Oh, Catherine," he gasped, dropping to the stony floor beside her and burrowing his face against her shoulder. "I do trust you. And I believe you. You would not lie to me deliberately. I understand why you did what you did."

"You do?" she said, and the incredulity in her eyes brought a sad smile from him.

"Yes." He pulled her close again, and she rested her head against his chest. Oh, yes, he understood her all too well, but it hurt. It hurt a lot. Maybe it was just the irony of it all that confused him so profoundly. All his life he had been wondering whether it was at all possible for him to love a woman not only with his heart, but with his strange body as well. Then he had discovered that he had fathered a child without remembering it, the unknown circumstances of the baby's conception deeply undermining his sense of self. And now the woman he loved more than life itself had just told him that he had made tender and passionate love to her. But he had no memory of that either. None.

Catherine's hot breath on his neck distracted his thoughts, causing his pulse to race and his lungs to struggle for air. "I never meant to keep it from you," she explained softly, nestling closer into
his warmth and tightening her arms around him.

Gently but firmly he gripped her shoulders and held her slightly away from him. "I know that you meant to protect me at first," he said, "but later...Catherine, there were moments when it would have helped me very much to know."

Her eyes clouded with sadness and remorse, and instantly his heart went out to her. Pulling her against his chest, he whispered, "Know that I love you, Catherine. Nothing will ever change that. But I need time." He could feel that she was on the verge of tears as she leaned back a little, her eyes searching his pleadingly. His hands were still cupping her shoulders, but he had loosened his tense grip, caressing her with soft strokes of his thumbs. "You are right," he murmured in a low voice. "I cannot imagine what happened when we loved, but my mind is certainly trying to."

That made her smile, and he kissed her forehead, whispering, "You should try to get some more sleep."

Obediently she slipped back under the blankets, looking up at him expectantly. He would have liked to be alone for a while, to think and digest the enormity of Catherine's revelation, but he knew she needed him close; not only for warmth, but for reassurance as well. So he extinguished the lantern and lay down beside her, pulling the covers more securely about them. She snuggled up to him, and he opened his arms, enfolding her protectively and holding her through the remainder of the night, while he lay staring into the darkness, deserted by sleep.

*

The last stage of their journey was every bit as strenuous as Catherine had expected it to be. There were moments when she thought she couldn't go on. Then Vincent would sit down, and she'd place her head in his lap, simply allowing herself to be held by him and suffused by his gentle strength.

Although Vincent had said they would probably arrive at the sea by early afternoon, it was already night when they finally reached a shaft that would lead them upward to the opening where the underground world met a world of fresh air and open sky. Despite their numerous stops, Catherine was feeling so weak that she could hardly manage to climb the metal rungs that had been slain into the rock. But Vincent was climbing right behind her, and she could feel his body brush against her back with every movement, every step. He sheltered and steadied her, lending her his strength when she thought she would not be able to manage just another rung.

The shaft opened into a cave, and when she finally emerged, Vincent's hands supporting her waist as she pulled herself over the rim, she gasped in awe at the sight that displayed itself before her disbelieving eyes. The mouth of the cave opened toward a clear night sky, and after having been below ground for so long, the starlight seemed to twinkle twice as brightly as normally. A crisp draught wafted in from the sea, playing with loose strands of her hair, and she could feel a tear steal its way down her face.

"This is so beautiful," she exclaimed. "Vincent, where are we?"

"I'm afraid I cannot answer that too accurately. When Devin and I were here, a long time ago, we did climb up to the surface, but we didn't go to all the trouble of finding out where exactly we were. We tried to look it up on the maps when we returned home, but our maps from the tunnels didn't extend this far back then. For some reasons you may guess we didn't ask Father about it."

That made her smile. She liked imagining a young Vincent who defied the confines and restrictions life had thrown his way, and although she shuddered at the thought of the dangers to which he must have exposed himself countless times, she marveled at his courage and his unshakable spirit. Pivoting, she hugged him impulsively. "I love you, Vincent," she said tenderly, pressing her cheek against the place above his heart.

He returned her embrace, placing a soft kiss on top of her head before he distanced himself from her in order to shed his backpacks and build a camp. She wanted to help, but he advised her to rest.

"You will need a meal and a few hours of sleep before I can take you up to the surface. It's a difficult climb and impossible for you to manage in the dark," he explained.

Too exhausted to contradict, she complied and sat back against the rocky wall of the cave, alternately glancing at the beauty of the night sky outside and watching as Vincent was preparing their meal. Her thoughts were heavy with concern. Although she knew that Vincent had sufficient supplies for a couple more days of traveling Below, the thought of him having to face the hardships of such a straining trek once more made her want to cry. She had seen the darkness of his world, had breathed it, lived with it, and fought it every step of the way. And she had been made painfully aware of the dangers that lurked down there in the bowels of the earth. The shock of almost being trapped in a cave-in was still sitting deep in her bones.

"I wish there was a way for you to come with me," she said, the words escaping her lips before she knew it.

Instantly he froze. "Catherine, I don't like to let you go out there either," he replied, walking over to where she was sitting, and squatting down beside her. "Yet this is the safest option of the few that we have. There are risks involved no matter what we choose to do. Please believe me that I'm not trying to make this harder on us than absolutely necessary."

"I know that," she said, ashamed of her lack of confidence, which she partly blamed on her fatigue. "Do you think there's a phone up there?" she asked, setting her mind on more practical matters.

"Further inland, there are houses," he said, "so you should be able to phone for help. Tomorrow is Saturday, so maybe you would like to call one of your friends. But I suggest you just call one of our helpers. This way you keep the necessity for explanations to a minimum."

"If there were a phone booth, I wouldn't have to explain anything at all," she remarked wistfully. "Unfortunately I don't have any money with me."

He rose to his feet and searched the pockets of his jeans, producing two coins and placing them in her palm. She raised one brow in surprise, and her stunned expression drew a chuckle from him. "We teach our children never to go Above without a coin for the phone," he said simply.

While they were eating their meal, Vincent told her more about the climb and the area she would have to face in the morning. As much as she tried to suppress it, her heart was still rebelling against the fact that she would be back home within a couple of hours while he had to face walking through the darkness for at least three more days.

Putting down his plate, Vincent extended one hand to caress her cheek. "Don't worry so, Catherine. I am accustomed to that kind of traveling. Knowing that you will be safe will give me additional strength."

She covered his hand with hers, squeezing it gently. "I miss you already," she admitted huskily. "As hard as the last few days may have been, being with you was worth everything."

Tilting his head, he gave her a tender look. "What a beautiful thing to say after all that you've been through," he said quietly.

Words eluded her as she met the depth of his gaze, allowing herself to be permeated by the intensity she could sense in him. Finally it was Vincent who broke the contact of their eyes. "You should sleep now," he suggested.

"I guess there isn't any chance at a bath in the ocean," she joked half-heartedly.

"No," he answered, "this cave is too high above the shoreline. It is impossible to climb down there, or up for that matter. That is why this cave is still undiscovered, I suppose."

"Then who put the rungs in the shaft?" she inquired.

"I don't know that," he conceded, unwrapping her sleeping bag and his pallet. "Maybe this cave did serve a purpose some time ago. I will fetch you some water for washing. I'm afraid that is all I can do."

She watched him as he grabbed the canteens and disappeared into the shaft. A short time later, he emerged again, pouring the contents of the canteens into a bowl. "I will go now to refill the canteens," he announced. "Please call me when you are finished."

She nodded her assent, looking after him as he vanished again. The water was cold, as was the air, and although she didn't have another change of clothes, Catherine felt wonderfully refreshed after washing up and redressing. She went to the edge of the shaft, calling down for Vincent to return, eager to have him with her again. When he reappeared in the opening, she could tell from the slightly damp curls that framed his face that he had tended to his own evening toilet already. Her love for him washed over her, engulfing her, driving her into his arms as he pushed himself over the rim of the shaft and straightened.

"Are you telling me that you missed me?" he teased softly, his voice almost a purr against her ear, as he lowered his head to nuzzle her cheek.

Tipping her face up, she heard herself whisper his name as her lips met his. "I love you," she breathed between kisses, between moans of pleasure and desire. She found herself lifted from the ground by a pair of strong arms and carried over to their bed, where he placed her gently on the sleeping bag before lowering himself down beside her. He held her to him, and she could feel his restraint, the effort it cost him not to move against her and give in to his desire for her.

"Catherine," he gasped breathlessly, "this is not advisable. You need to rest and..." He fell silent, still rigidly trying to hold himself away from her.

"And?" she prompted carefully.

"...and I feel dusty and sweaty," he added with obvious embarrassment.

"I'm dusty and sweaty, too," she retorted. "Does that repulse you?"

His answer was a groan deep in his throat as he bent over her and buried his face in the curve of her neck, gently suckling and licking at her skin. Catherine trembled under the onslaught of sensations his actions evoked in her. She tried to pull him closer, arching into him, eager to feel his weight upon her. He complied willingly, gradually increasing the pressure of his body against hers while he kissed her hungrily, passionately. An aching longing to feel his naked skin beneath her hands suffused her with such an intensity that she briefly closed her eyes to be able to contain it. When she opened them again, he was kneeling above her, pulling his vest and sweater over his head. With shaking fingers he fumbled at the laces of his shirt, sighing with exasperation when they got tangled with his impatient attempt to undo them. She rose on her knees and reached up to help him untie the knots. When she parted his shirt, exposing him to her hungry eyes, she felt him quiver with nervousness and anticipation. Leaning forward, she nuzzled the soft hair on his heaving chest, savoring its silkiness as she ran her fingers through it. How she had missed the feel of him, the taste of him, the wild, musky scent of his skin. His pulse beat rapidly under her sensuous caresses, and he moaned with pleasure when she began to trail intimate kisses along his neck and across the broad expanse of his chest. She thought her heart would burst with tenderness when her lips encountered his taut nipples, and she teased them gently with her tongue and teeth. Groaning deeply, he seized her shoulders to hold her away from him, to stop the achingly sweet torture she was inflicting on him.

"Please," he pleaded hoarsely, "no more." But his hands and body spoke a different language, pulling her down to the floor and close again, begging her not to stop. He rolled on his back, bringing her with him, and the way he arched his neck, exposing his vulnerable throat to her exploring lips in total surrender, brought tears to her eyes.

Suddenly she could bear it no longer to be separated from him in any way. She rose to her feet, swiftly shedding her clothes heedless of the chilly night air. All the while she felt his eyes on her, dark and glittering in the meager light of the lantern as they followed her every move.

"Please, Vincent," she implored him, dropping down on her knees beside him and tugging on the sleeve of his shirt, "let me be with you; let me feel you."

Suddenly she found herself turned on her back, his lips and hands running along her body exploringly. His breath, as he whispered soft declarations of love, seared her skin, sending small shivers down her spine.

"Please," she begged, impatiently tugging on his shirt once more. Reluctantly, he pulled away, but only long enough to rid himself of his clothes, and within seconds he was with her again.

His kisses were quickly becoming a sensuous demand to possess her, to devour her, and she yielded willingly to their force, giving him her mouth, her tongue, her breath.

Suddenly he stopped, and a cold dread gripped her heart when she heard a strangled sob tearing from his throat. He lifted his head slightly, just enough to look down in her eyes. "I don't remember," he whispered desperately. "I don't know what to do."

She buried her fingers in his hair, gently massaging his scalp. "We don't have to go on," she soothed, running her hands down his back with slow, reassuring strokes. "We don't have to push this."

He dropped his head to her shoulder, heaving a deep breath. "Maybe I want you too much," came his low admission. "Maybe I should..."

"...want me less?" she challenged softly. "Or love me less?"

His head came up and he gave her a wistful smile. "That would be impossible for me," he said, brushing a single strand of hair from her face, carefully tucking it behind her ear. The infinite tenderness of his gesture made her want to cry with happiness, and she hugged him to her more tightly, whispering, "Will you come and fly with me, Vincent?"

Holding her breath, she waited for his reaction. Suddenly she felt his weight being lifted off her as he braced his body on both arms, looking down at her solemnly. Behind his eyes she could see a million of warring emotions as he fought for his decision. Then, with exquisite deliberateness, he lowered his head, taking her mouth in a slow, searching kiss, a kiss that was as much a question as an answer.

She parted her thighs, opening herself to him, guiding him as he readied himself to come into her body. The feel of him within her made her heart widen with elation, and she experienced his slow, rhythmic thrusts like the beats of wings that carried her away, lifting her to emotional heights that transcended even her wildest dreams. He moaned her name as he tensed and shuddered under the force of his release, and she followed with soft whimpers of ecstasy, drifting with him on a cloud of sated contentment as the spasms of their shared passion ebbed away and subsided.

She made a small sound of protest as he rolled off her body, and lay down beside her, enfolding her in the protection of his arms. She tilted her head back, needing to see his eyes, and her heart skipped a beat when she encountered the love that shone from them. "No burned wings?" she asked quietly, caressing his face with trembling fingers.

He shook his head, his voice barely audible as he replied, "I'm not certain, though, that I liked having to land again."

Catherine felt a grin breaking on her face. "I love you," she mouthed soundlessly.

"And I, you," she heard his whispered reply.

*

Vincent awoke as the first dim light of dawn streaked the sky. Catherine's head was resting on his shoulder, and he dared not move for fear of waking her. The whole scene was of a dreamlike quality, and yet every cell of his body knew that all of it was real. Never in his entire life had there been a more exquisite sensation than holding Catherine in his arms, her naked body warm and slightly damp against his, sated and relaxed from their lovemaking.

Their lovemaking! The thought was all but inconceivable for him, and the memory of her loving him, eagerly and passionately, sent ripples of excitement across his skin. Losing himself in her had filled him with the most delicate sweetness, the likes of which he would never have dreamt possible.

Shifting slightly, he stole a glance at Catherine's face as she lay sleeping in the gradually brightening morning light that filled the room. The mouth of the cave faced south, so there was no hope of direct sunlight to graze her skin and hair, but even in the more indirect light of the dawning day outside, Catherine's beauty took his breath away. Ignoring the subtle stirring of his body, he continued to just gaze at her silently, unwilling to make the slightest movement, lest he disturb her much-needed sleep.

Suddenly her lids fluttered open, and the light in her eyes radiated into him, enchanting him,
warming him.

"We were flying," she said, smiling, "and it was not a dream."

There was something in her words that called out to him, evoking a distant memory somewhere in the recesses of his mind. "I remember," he said, sitting up excitedly.

"You do?" she teased fondly, but he remained serious.

"I remember telling you that I dreamed I was flying, that morning after..." he paused, searching for words but finding none. "I had thought of it as a dream, back then."

Catherine rose on her knees beside him, pulling the blanket about her bare shoulders. "And now you see that it wasn't any of your drug-induced hallucinations either," she said smugly.

"No," he replied with a pensive shake of his head, "it was real." A shiver ran through him as he became aware of the chilly morning air on his naked skin. She opened the blanket to take him in and warm him with her body. A thought formed in his mind as he encircled her lithe form with his arms to pull her to him more tightly.

"Last night," he said, "when we were making love, something within me was freed, and when we joined our bodies, I completely forgot my differences. I forgot what I am."

Rubbing his back with her small hands, she remarked casually, "You know, Vincent, I'd rather say it was during those moments that you knew with absolute clarity who you really are."

He tilted his head, silently gazing at her for long, intense seconds. Would she ever cease to amaze him? Leaning toward her, he took her lips in a kiss that left them both breathless and trembling.

As much as he loathed the thought of releasing her, he knew that he had to pull back or he would never be able to let her go. "Soon," he promised huskily, feeling her resistance as he tried to put some distance between their shaking bodies. "There is enough light for our ascent now. We must go."

Catherine nodded but didn't move. So he pushed himself to his feet and, very much aware of her eyes on him, bent to retrieve his clothing. Following his lead, she rose as well, and he couldn't help but stare at her in wonderment. Her smooth, pale skin was almost translucent, shimmering in the soft daylight that filtered in through the opening, and in her luminous eyes he could read her admiration for him, her love, and her barely concealed desire. Suddenly he needed to hold her one more time, to assure himself that she was not just a dream or a fantasy. She came willingly, eagerly into his arms, clinging to him as if she would drown the moment he let go of her.

"Catherine," he breathed into her hair, longing to hear her say his name as well.

She whispered it softly, the tone of her voice expressing all that she felt for him.

Only when she shivered in his arms did he become aware of his own chilled body, and he released her, stooping to hand her clothes. "Please hurry," he urged, "before you get a cold."

They dressed in silence, and after a quick breakfast he helped her gather her belongings, tying up and shouldering her backpack with determination.

"It's time," he said at last, glad that his voice sounded more certain than he was feeling.

Catherine hesitated for another moment. "Do you really have to walk all the way back?" she asked. "You could wait here until nightfall, and I'd come and get you with a van..."

Touching one finger to her lips to still her words, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Catherine, but this way will be the best."

"You won't go back to seek out Paracelsus?" she finally asked gingerly.

"I won't," he promised. "You have my word."

With one last look into his eyes, she tore her gaze from his and turned toward the opening. "Is this where we go out?"

With a short nod of his head, he preceded her to the edge of the cave, and they both looked out at the boundless sea. "This is incredible," she said with awe.

He would have loved to tell her about the first time he had been here with his brother, about the freedom he had experienced, if only for a moment. But he knew there was no time. So he just indicated the barely visible path they would have to follow, pointing out possible dangers, and explaining how she could best avoid them. "I will climb right behind you," he assured her, "and if you get too tired or think you cannot manage, I will carry you on my back."

*

He didn't have to carry her, though. She was quite capable of making her way up the rocky wall by her own strength. Her deftness surprised him, and once more he marveled at her fortitude and perseverance.

Supporting her as she pulled herself up over the edge of the cliff, he remained behind. She held out one hand for her pack, and he handed it up to her.

"Be well, Catherine," he said quietly.

"And you, Vincent," came her murmured reply, and the tremor in her voice betrayed the tears that she was trying hard not to cry.

He resisted the temptation to pull himself up in order to look after her. Instead he turned and slowly made his way back down to the cave. Leaning against the rough wall, he closed his eyes to reach out for her through the bond that connected them, and was reassured by the fierce determination that he felt in her. But there was a trace of sadness as well, mirroring and enhancing his own.

Why was he suddenly experiencing such a sense of loss? Would he ever be able to breathe again when she was not near?

INTROSPECTION