SHOW ME

Adrianna MacNeely

Chapter 1

Catherine knew the exact moment their friendship had ended. "Kiss me Vincent!" The words flew back into her mind from the cavern where they had spent many petrifying hours. Those were the words; the death knell of the friendship they had shared for almost three years. And the myriad of words that followed–his and hers–she shuddered now to think of those words that had so quickly and abruptly come to an end and been replaced by this unbearable, uncomfortable, unfamiliar politeness. It was as if those words were still floating down in that cavern, embarrassingly irretrievable, and for some reason, she so desperately wanted to take them all back. But why? Why would she take any of it back? She had meant all of it. All she had wanted for so long was to tell Vincent her true feelings and have him return to her those same emotions. "Be careful what you wish for," she thought wryly, "you just might get it." The old warning came back to haunt her as she agonized over what she knew she would have to do now. Standing on the edge of the abyss, she looked down, wondering how she had come to this point.

Six days earlier Catherine couldn’t have been happier. She had finally gotten a genuine vacation from the DA’s office–one whole week–and she knew exactly what she was going to do with it. Vincent had been working in the lower levels for the past ten days to assuage the spring flooding and she’d desperately missed him. If it hadn’t been so busy at her office, she’d have been helping too, but she was assured by Father, during her only brief trip below that the efforts of the tunnel dwellers were keeping ahead of the melting and the spring rains were uncommonly light. Although she had had a short visit with Mary on that trip, Vincent was working far away from the main living area and so could not have stopped to visit even though the flooding was considered under control for the moment. By the time Catherine’s vacation began, it had been two weeks, two days, six hours, and nine minutes since she had seen Vincent, and she was suffering what could only be described as withdrawal. Desperate for a fix, she headed below with a messily packed bag of clothes and no plan to leave until she got what she needed.

By the time she arrived outside Vincent’s chamber, the pipes had announced her arrival and Pascal was there to meet her and tell her that Vincent was not yet back but was on his way and would be there in a couple of hours.

"It’s lunch time. How about joining me?" Pascal asked with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"And who’s on the pipes while you try to woo me with food?" Catherine replied teasingly as they walked toward the dining chamber. Catherine knew she was a favorite among the single men of the tunnels, but considering herself most definitely "taken" she felt free to play gently with those who dared to dream the impossible dream. For Pascal, though, it was all a big show. She got the definite feeling he was in practice for someone else.

"Who cares?" he answered, looking at her with an exaggerated dreamy expression on his face, "Vincent’s miles away, and I’ve got you all to myself now."

"You might want to revise that statement," answered the amused voice of Father who had somehow silently walked up behind them, "considering that there are twenty other people in the dining chamber already." Father’s face showed that he was in an unusually good mood, as was everyone in the tunnels this afternoon. The flooding had been contained with minimal damage, the weather report looked good for at least the next four days, the laundry (the bane of any spring) was caught up for the moment, and they were more rested than they had ever been during any spring in the past. It was indeed a good spring.

Catherine marveled at the elated mood she felt in the dining area and had to admit she was feeling it too, though for a different reason. Her excitement was growing with every tick of the clock. After a big meal and lots of spirited conversation, Pascal leaned over and whispered, "Did you hear that?"

"What?"

"The pipes say he’s back. We’d better not be seen together."

"Don’t be silly," Catherine retorted in a mock conspiring tone, "he has to bathe first, doesn’t he?"

Before he could tell her that Vincent had been seen coming from the bathing chambers, Catherine leaned over and gave a little squeeze to Pascal’s knee. Catherine had only recently found out that Pascal was extremely ticklish, and he let out a yelp that made everyone look at him in shock. Catherine looked back with a completely innocent expression on her face which made Pascal completely lose his composure and laugh like a little boy. His laugh was contagious and the mood so high that very quickly everyone in the dining chamber was laughing without even having a reason.

Just then, Vincent walked in with some of the other men from the lower tunnels and Catherine flew into his arms. Greetings and hugs followed and everyone calmed slightly. Vincent felt like he’d been away for years instead of days. Now he reveled in the feeling of her soft arms around his neck and spent several more seconds than his usually allotted time drinking in her scent. She was more beautiful than ever and he wondered how much more her appearance could improve in his opinion before doing damage to his insides. Perhaps the damage was already done. He didn’t care. When Vincent greeted the others and then asked what everyone was laughing about, the chorus of laughter started up again. Catherine was wildly amused by this, but Vincent couldn’t see what all the fuss was about and looked at Father suspiciously just as the elder man wiped a tear from his eye. Despite his ignorance of the source of everyone’s amusement, Vincent loved the sound of Catherine’s laughter. It reminded him of the time that they were in their music chamber and it began to rain. Her fun-loving spirit was contagious and he began to wonder if she had bewitched the entire tunnel community.

Eventually, Catherine reluctantly extricated herself from Vincent’s embrace and sat back down. Watching Vincent eat while most of the other tunnel dwellers were leaving the dining area for some play time, Catherine made small talk about the dryer-than-usual weather Above and how much the children seemed to have grown in only two weeks. Vincent just listened and ate ravenously.

"Didn’t they feed you down there?"

"We didn’t get much time to eat." Vincent replied through a mouth full of bread and an apologetic smile. For a moment, he looked more like an errant schoolboy than the grown man she had come to love. It only made her love him more. His hair was still damp from bathing and she ran her hands through it in a motherly way to show affection for this man who was so childlike in some ways and so manly in others. She could feel a shudder run through him in response to her touch and through their bond she could feel his desire for those comforting strokes to continue.

"I missed you." she said. The simple words were so deeply felt that they surprised him in their ardor. He stopped eating and looked at her. Deep into those grey-green eyes he saw an intensity he hadn’t seen before. It excited him. It fueled his own passion. It frightened him. The meaning of the emotions would have been clear to him if they had been his, but coming from Catherine, he was confused. "Perhaps I am confusing my own feelings with hers" he thought,," or mixing them somehow."

"I missed you, too."

She could feel the mood becoming too much for him. So often she was tempted to continue feeding him her heightened emotions despite his discomfort, but she was so afraid she would scare him away. So, as was her habit, she lightened the mood, calmed her inner turmoil and smiled. "What should we read tonight?"

Once again he felt Catherine’s emotions return to her normal restful state and Vincent relaxed. He was always mystified by her brief forays into more passionate displays, but chalked it up to her not having anyone else to display it with. After all, she didn’t have a lover. "You choose," he finally answered, noticing she was still waiting.

"Okay," she replied, "how about a comedy? Much Ado About Nothing or Taming of the Shrew?"

"Hmm," Vincent, looking a little pained, not being as fond of the comedies as a good tragedy, but loathe to refuse Catherine, replied, "If you wish."

Catherine knew that Vincent had a sense of humor. It was just a little hard to find sometimes. Well, she was determined to bring it out and refine it and nothing worked better than a good Shakespeare comedy for getting one in the mood for playing silly games. "All right then, Much Ado it is." she firmly declared.

William was hard at work directing the youngsters assigned to kitchen duty that evening. But he managed a glance or two in the direction of Catherine and Vincent to watch their progress. Shaking his head, he wondered if they would ever stop dancing around each other and dive in like most couples do. But he knew Vincent. Ever the cautious one; always afraid of overstepping boundaries—real or imagined—Vincent might take ten more years to express in words what was clearly written on his face. William marveled at the patience Catherine had.

Back in Vincent’s chamber, they both sat on the bed, he at the head, she at the foot while she started reading about the comic trials and tribulations of Beatrice, Benedick, Claudio, and Hero. Vincent found himself caught up in the story despite his momentary protestations. The character of the prince, Don Pedro, was especially compelling to Vincent. He woos a woman only to give her to another man, he proposes to another woman only to lose her as well, and he ends up alone and melancholy. Is this the kind of life that awaited Vincent himself? Would Catherine eventually become the wife of another? He couldn’t bear the thought of it. Suddenly Vincent jumped off the bed. Catherine could feel his rising agitation but was at a loss to account for it.

Looking at him confusedly, she asked, "What is it, Vincent?"

Suddenly feeling foolish, he sat back down on the bed, and looked down at his hands. I...I’m feeling rather restless. So much activity, I believe it’s difficult to follow it so soon with complete inactivity.

"Of course. Perhaps we should go for a walk."

The idea appealed to him and so, by way of reply, he grabbed his cloak and held out his hand for her. She picked up her jacket and they walked out together almost toppling into Father and Mary in the hall outside.

"Oh Vincent, I was hoping to discuss the work rotation with you. We’ll still need to send men down to the lower level tomorrow, mostly to keep watch."

"Yes, Father, we should discuss this. Catherine and I are going for a short walk first. Can I meet you in your chamber at 8:30?"

"That’ll be fine. We’ll talk then. Have a nice walk."

"Thank you, Father"

As Vincent and Catherine walked away, Father shook his head. God knows he had interfered with that couple enough. Their love had managed to grow in the fire and he was done trying to put it out. He smiled at the thought of his son settling down with a life mate. It was a little sad to be losing him. He himself would be alone then and there was no getting around that. But his son would be happy, how could he begrudge him that?

A gentle touch on his arm woke him from his reverie, "What are you thinking about, Jacob?"

"Oh, Mary," He sighed, laying a hand over hers and looking at her gentle face, "old man thoughts, just old man thoughts."

Vincent sighed in relief as Father and Mary watched them leave and slowly became farther away. He just needed to be with Catherine in silence. She knew how he felt through the bond. For so long this bond was a mystery to her–a one-way connection where Vincent could feel her feelings–but lately, during the last three or four months especially, she had realized, or learned was probably more accurate a term, how to tune into this bond herself, leaving her wondering just where the bond originated–Vincent, herself, or both of them together. Now, she knew he did not want to talk. He desperately wanted her presence, as someone wants air to breathe. But he wanted to think while he was breathing her in. She was content just to hold his hand and be near him. And so they walked aimlessly in comfortable silence together.

Vincent had much to think about. For some time, his empathic connection with Catherine had been a one-way flow. But that was changing and he knew it was due to him. Vincent had not yet told Catherine that their connection was a two-way bond, not wanting to frighten her with many of his darkest emotions. Therefore, he had always kept a tight reign on his side of the bond so that she could not pick up on it. But something was happening lately. Something was making it more and more difficult to do and he only could speculate about the cause. He was in love; more so than ever. His own makeup; his unique physiology, would not allow him to close a bond between himself and his chosen mate for such an extended period. "His chosen mate," he scoffed. Yes, he had chosen her. He had to admit that. But how could he limit her to this existence. Now he was even limiting her mind to an existence within his repulsive and seedy desires. He would not have it! He must fight for her freedom, even if it meant fighting himself. But was he fighting for her or for himself? Lately, her emotions were getting harder to read. Because he’d been cutting her off from his own, it was becoming more difficult to distinguish whose emotions he was picking up. The simple ones, yes—fear, sadness, disappointment, anxiety. Perhaps he was reading them on her face more than in her heart. She did always show her feelings easily. It’s one of the things he loved about her. But the more complex emotions he was feeling lately Vincent took to be a combination of his darker emotions wrapped in her friendship for him. He silently reproached himself for thinking that she could have deeper feelings for him, chalking it up to wishful thinking and the dream that he spoke of but she rarely brought up in those terms.

Catherine wondered what he could possibly be thinking. His emotions, though still a struggle to pick up, were now clear enough to distinguish—uncertainty, helplessness, determination, confusion, love, disgust, and hopelessness all within a short period of time. He felt miles away in thought, while his emotions were closer than ever. All the while they kept walking.

After some time, they were in a large cavern walking along a four-foot ledge circling a deep chasm that she didn’t recognize. It had been quite some time since they had passed any of the tunnel family. The cavern was dark and cold. For some reason, the light didn’t reflect on the walls here as it usually did throughout the tunnels.

"Vincent, where are we?" Catherine finally asked. She didn’t recognize the route anymore. She was pretty sure these were not tunnels that she had ever explored with Vincent before.

Waking from his reverie, Vincent looked slightly dazed. He looked around as if to get his bearings and for one tiny moment Catherine had the distinct feeling that they were lost. A wave of fright washed over her but then he said with a small smile, "Have no fear, I know where we are. This is one of the unimproved tunnels. It’s the shortcut we’ve been taking to the flooded lower levels. We don’t use these areas for much because they’re more dirt than rock and we’ve never been sure they’d stand up to the wear and tear of regular habitation." Looking up he touched the muddy walls and stated vaguely, "they seem to be in pretty good shape despite the spring rains. Come, let’s turn around and go back the way we came. These walls are a bit too muddy for my taste. I don’t want you to get dirty."

Just then, as if in response to Vincent’s statement, a big clod of mud fell from above them straight on top of Catherine’s head and dripped down into her hair and onto her face. "Oh yuck!" she shouted as she reached up to remove the big chunk.

"Catherine! Are you all right?" Vincent was concerned that there may be rocks in the mud but Catherine put his mind at ease.

"You were right Vincent," she assured him, "It is all mud."

Just then the disgusted look on her face while she picked the mud from her hair struck him as one of the funniest sights he had ever seen. She truly did show what she was feeling on her face. He had to use all his self-control not to laugh out loud. But it was to no avail. The bond had betrayed him. She stopped and looked at him with suspicious eyes. "Vincent, what exactly are you finding so amusing about this situation?" She asked with exaggerated indignation.

Her question undid him completely and he could no longer hold in the laughter. His laugh was almost a giggle and it delighted her from head to toe. There was the sense of humor she was looking to encourage. But he would also need to learn to laugh at himself, not just at her. She was formulating a plan. Vincent, aware of her intentions, began backing away. Placing the torch in a holder, he began readying himself for a showdown.

"Oh, no you don’t," Vincent said in his best warning tone through tears of laughter, "I don’t need a bond to know what you’re thinking Catherine Chandler."

She removed a clod of mud from the wall and aimed very carefully, winding up with her left hand to throw it. Just then, Vincent was hit right on the forehead with mud, seemingly from above. It was a perfect underhand arc from Catherine’s right hand.

"Did you forget I’m not left-handed Vincent?" Catherine asked teasingly. The look of surprise on Vincent’s face sent her into frenzy of giggles.

After that it was a mud free-for-all with each of them trying to be the winner with the least amount of mud on them in the end. Soon they were both uncontrollably laughing and neither of them could throw straight. They fell back against each other while they wound down, Catherine getting in her parting shot by placing the left-handed clod she still held gently atop Vincent’s head and giggling again at the ludicrous gesture. His hair was already caked with more mud than she’d ever seen.

"I’ve never had this much fun getting dirty," she said with a residual unladylike snort.

"Me neither. Now I’m ready to sit down and read without jumping around. Apparently I just needed a good mud fight."

"Hmm, And another bath." Catherine felt his heart had lightened and hers had also as a result. If only that feeling could have lasted.

In an instant it was all gone, replaced by a sickening dread as the ledge began to collapse on all sides around them. Vincent reacted quickly grabbing Catherine so swiftly that it was painful. There was only one outcropping of rock that he could see and he made for it as the entire ledge that they had just been playing on plunged into the chasm beneath them.

The two-foot square that he leaped onto was no guarantee of safety. It might have been held only by more crumbling mud, but it was their only hope. Around them mud fell with sickening slurping noises for several minutes. They were being pummeled by mounds of mud from above but Vincent held them fast to the rock ledge. Intermittent flashes of light between intense darkness told them that the mud had not fallen onto the torch. When the mudslide finally came to an abrupt halt, they could see again, but what they saw was terrifying. The vertical walls had held where they had been, but the horizontal ledge was all but gone. The only section left was the rock outcropping on which Catherine and Vincent now stood. Underneath them was the pitch black chasm. Twelve feet behind Vincent was the passage they had entered through, thirty feet behind Catherine was another way out to more unimproved tunnels and more muddy danger. Neither of the passages nor the pipes was reachable from where they stood and no one knew or probably would even guess where they had walked.

Catherine trembled as Vincent held her tightly, trying hard not to move their feet from their positions. She could see almost nothing but the torchlight near the entrance tunnel behind Vincent. She felt more than saw that the ledge they were standing on measured only about as large as their feet put together. There was nothing but cold air on either side of where their feet rested. Neither of them could step back more than an inch, maybe two.

Catherine breathed heavily and Vincent came to the sudden realization that she was in pain. "Catherine, what hurts?"

"It’s my shoulder. It’s nothing, Vincent. Really."

He slowly moved his hand up to her shoulder, gently feeling the joint and bone, ascertaining the extent of damage. It was dislocated and he quickly realized he himself had done the damage when he’d grabbed her toward the ledge. He groaned, guilt washing over him as he replayed his violent reaction to the disaster that had so narrowly been averted. He had hurt his beloved Catherine.

Knowing his thoughts, she spoke them out loud, "You saved me, Vincent. That’s all that matters now. This will heal." Then, quickly moving on to more practical matters, she asked, "Can you jump to the ledge behind you?" Catherine was not usually one to bring up Vincent’s differences, but in this case, it might be a blessing that he could do things no other human could.

However, Vincent seemed uncomfortable with her question and simply answered, "No."

"Don’t be modest. I’ve seen you jump farther Vincent."

"When I’m running, Catherine. But I can hardly get a running start here. Besides, I’m not leaving you."

She was about to protest when his final excuse came. "And I might knock you off this ledge with any attempt to do so."

Silently agreeing that it might not be the best idea for him to be leaping from a ledge she had to stand on, Catherine changed the subject. "How long do you think it will take for them to find us?"

Vincent’s guilt once again surfaced, this time with a vengeance, as he realized his thoughtless, meandering steps had led them down here to where no one would think to look. He tried to make his reply as encouraging as possible without an outright lie. "Well, I was supposed to meet Father at 8:30 and it is now about 8:45. So they already know something has happened to make me late. But I don’t know if that’s enough to make them worry yet. Although it’s unusual for me to be late, where you’re concerned, it’s not unheard of. They will likely begin looking for us before bedtime though. It’s not like us to stay out without at least notifying them on the pipes. And they saw us head below, not above, so I’d say there’s a good chance there’ll be a search for us starting some time tonight."

Catherine tried to take courage from that guess, but she knew, and cursed her own inconsistencies, that the tunnel dwellers were familiar with Vincent’s loss of routine when it came to her visits. She was not even that confident. Nevertheless, she smiled at Vincent, knowing he would see her face better than she could see his. However, the smile faded quickly as the effects of the long walk, the mud fight, and the pain in her arm started to take their toll. Vincent noticed immediately.

"You should sleep, Catherine. You’re tired."

"I couldn’t possibly sleep standing up. Besides, how can I leave you alone."

"I’ll be fine."

"No. I’m fine."

"Catherine. . ."

"Really, Vincent, I’m okay."

"Listen to me!" his voice, rougher than he’d intended, now softened, as Catherine’s head snapped up, "I have to stay awake to keep us on this ledge. We may be here for several hours yet. Right now, I’m quite all right, but I will likely need someone to keep me awake later. The best way for you to do that is to get some rest while I can assure you that I will not fall asleep. That means now. Can you do this for me?"

His commanding tone took her by surprise. His argument was too logical. His plea was impossible to fight against. And he was absolutely right. She found a kind of power in him that she had not known he possessed. It was very reassuring, very comforting, very alluring.

But suddenly she was exhausted and she knew she could easily fall asleep standing up as long as he was holding her. She nodded in answer to his question and rested her weight against him. His arms went around her waist and she attempted to reach up around his neck, but then pain shot through her like an arrow. Gasping for air, she thought perhaps she wouldn’t sleep after all. Several attempts at other resting positions caused more pain. There seemed to be no way of getting comfortable with a dislocated arm and there was no room for him to fix it and keep them both on the ledge. Finally, after trying a few more shifts, Vincent carefully leaned down until his face was next to hers and said in a reluctant grumble, "I have an idea."

She gasped as he then gently reached under her buttocks and lifted her like a child. Spreading her thighs apart, he placed one of her legs on each of his hips and leaned her against the mud wall. Facing Catherine, Vincent leaned into her in order to keep them both safely on the ledge now that their center of gravity had shifted up. Her one good arm she wrapped around his neck and the other remained folded between them as comfortable as it could be. His proximity was unnerving and intoxicating at the same time. Her heart quickened as she took in his scent. He smelled so good—a combination of mud, sweat, and man. Her legs being spread wide and wrapped around him gave her a heady feeling and her body responded naturally to the stimuli it was receiving. There was absolutely nothing she could do to stop it. Hearing the beginning of a low growl from Vincent, Catherine knew her physical reaction was being detected. She didn’t care. She wanted to move her hips and unconsciously started to clench long unused muscles and moan softly. She had an itch that desperately needed to be scratched.

"Be still," Vincent’s soft reply to her moans reminded her that she dare not move. Their position on the ledge was just too precarious. Instead she leaned her head on Vincent’s shoulder, moaned again happily, and fell into a swirling dream of wonderful sensations.

Vincent had felt her physical reaction to their positions and immediately regretted his choice. But there seemed little he could do. He concentrated hard to control his own reaction while desperately wanting to move against her. Her skin was so soft under the single layer of clothing she’d worn Below. His hands started a kneading motion on her back, wanting more of that softness. Her scent, always delicious, became intoxicating as her arousal increased. He had the urge to bury his face in the source of that scent, to open her up and find the heart of it, to wrap himself in that essence and roll in it forever. Everything seemed to move in slow motion for a moment and a low growl started deep in his throat. When he realized what he was doing, he stopped. A sickening dread came over him at what he had almost allowed. He could not touch Catherine with his base desires. He must never let her know that he thought such things. With disgust and self-loathing came composure. His warning to "be still" was as much for himself as for her. His outward control remained relatively intact, and he was grateful that she seemed to fall asleep quickly.

 

Chapter 2

While Catherine was asleep, Vincent used the time to center himself, blocking out distractions that could cause a loss of control and worked at calming his feeling of guilt about their situation. He cut off the bond to the extent possible thinking that it would be best until they reached home again. He wondered again at the emotions she seemed to direct toward him. How was it that he was feeling these things from her? These were his feelings. It was becoming more difficult to distinguish his feelings from hers and he was confused and frustrated. He had always taken comfort in the fact that he knew how she was feeling. Now his sense of her was not reliable and that made him nervous. Someday even the simplest of her emotions would be clouded by his overwhelming desires. He had to work harder to get them under control. For the next several hours, Vincent put himself through rigorous mental exercises designed to focus him on a spiritual existence rather than fleshly desires. He had not used these exercises regularly for more than a decade. Back then they were a daily routine from his teens through his early twenties, helping him deal with the after effects of Lisa and the ruined hopes of a life he knew he’d never have. He chastised himself for slacking off all these years—these exercises were just what he needed—and swore a new dedication to them when he returned. Even while Catherine slept, he could perceive a difference as the throbbing rhythm he had come to identify as Catherine faded into a soothing background pulse replacing the insistent drumbeat he had been hearing nearer his groin than his heart for some time now. He took this to mean that his animalistic tendencies were being placed in the background. He could not feel Catherine’s sleep pattern now—alpha, beta, REM, etc. He could only feel that her emotional state was at peace. He sighed with satisfaction. His efforts were worth the extra strain they had caused.

When she woke up, Catherine felt much rested and slightly disoriented. A strange feeling of aloneness washed over her momentarily until she realized she was wrapped in Vincent’s embrace and everything was fine. Trying to move, she felt the heavy hold of Vincent trying to keep her still. "Try not to move, Catherine." His voice was slightly on edge.

"How long have I been asleep?"

"Almost twelve hours."

She gasped. "Why did you let me sleep so long? Are you all right? I must be getting heavy? Put me down!" She started to struggle but his weight against her kept her from moving too far and his voice was now becoming insistent.

"Keep still! I will gladly put you down, but first we must make sure your legs will hold you."

"Oh. Well, that’s probably a good idea," she replied with a weak laugh.

"Let’s do this slowly. Remember how little space we have to work with." As he spoke, he gently lifted her down off the wall and she realized she was stiff from sleeping in the same position for so long. He was right to be cautious. Her legs were asleep. He rested her feet back on the level they had been twelve hours before, but her legs felt weak and shaky. Vincent noticed the shaking and began to rub her hips and thighs awake while she kept tight hold on him with her good arm. Even without the bond, Vincent could tell this was having what he would consider an undesired side effect. But he realized he needed to make sure her legs would hold her before releasing her. Finally, she assured him that she could stand without help and he breathed a sigh of relief. With that sigh, she thought he must be very tired from holding her all that time. "You really should have woken me earlier," she said gently.

"No," was his firm reply, "The more sleep you get, the better chance we both have of staying awake until someone finds us. If I had the power, I’d make you sleep longer." With that he smiled a weary smile and she noticed that he had switched their positions so that she could see his face by the light of the torch in the entrance tunnel now behind her. "How considerate of him," she thought with love flowing from her eyes. Vincent saw her expression and knew her emotion was strong, but remarkably, he was feeling very little of it. He marveled at how well the mental exercises had worked and felt a new confidence and a renewal of determination to continue them.

"How long will that torch last?" Catherine asked.

"It’s a twenty-four-hour torch but they do usually burn a little longer than that in these windless tunnels." He was glad he’d brought one of them, thinking at first he’d just bring a small torch since their plan was just a short walk and he hated to waste a valuable torch. But at the last minute, he decided on the twenty-four-hour torch because it was brighter and Catherine would be able to see more of any cavern they entered and would allow him to be alone with his thoughts. Now he cursed his stupid, selfish behavior that had led them to this cavern.

"Twelve hours to go," Catherine thought. She was hoping that would be enough. She dreaded the thought of having to hold on to a ledge that neither of them could even see. She knew Vincent must be feeling guilty although he was alarmingly calm and there seemed to be nothing but silence in the bond between them. She decided to preempt the guilt anyway. "Vincent, I don’t blame you for this. It was just something that happened. Who could’ve known this whole place was so unstable? You said the work crews have been traveling it without incident, haven’t they?"

Vincent sighed, feeling slightly better. She was right, of course. He had passed through these tunnels before—a shortcut to the lower levels—but had never taken Catherine. It was not for safety’s sake that he did not take her here, but simply that they were so scenically uninteresting that he avoided them whenever he was with her. He always wanted her to see what was most interesting and beautiful about his world, not the boring dirt, mud, and holes in the ground. "Why had he taken her this way today? Probably just because it was the route he had most recently walked." Then a realization formed in his mind.

"Catherine! They may just be able to find us here!"

"How?"

"Because they know me," he started then explained, "They know I am, above all, a creature of habit. This is the route we’ve been taking to the flooding. Until it became impractical to make a daily trip, this was the walk I was taking every day mindlessly, while daydreaming," he stopped for a moment looking down at her then averted his gaze.

Catherine’s heart skipped a beat, knowing the next words were "about you" and Vincent could see the elation on her face. He rarely spoke of his deepest feelings for her and she loved to hear anything that touched on them. So often he would come close to expressing his feelings and then inexplicably back away emotionally and physically. It pained her, but she knew he needed time. His upbringing, his unsuccessful, albeit limited, relationships with girls as a youth, his insufficient knowledge of his origins had all culminated to make one anxiety ridden grown man. He needed time to believe that she could love him for who and what he was, whatever that may be; that she wasn’t frightened by the unknowns. So, in the meantime, they were good friends, the best of friends, and within that comfortable relationship they enjoyed something few couples ever enjoyed and an intimacy that no one else she knew could boast. But she couldn’t help longing for more sometimes. She was sure she could be patient though. She knew, with Vincent, she would have to be.

He sighed heavily and brought her out of her musings. "How are you feeling, Vincent?"

"Tired, but I’m well. My legs are stiff from standing in one place. I’ve never been good at that as you well know."

She laughed lightly, picturing him pacing in his chamber as he often did whenever there was something to plan or decisions to make, or especially when something was bothering him.

"Well, let’s think of something to do," she suggested, "I’ll think of a quote, and you tell me where it’s from. We’ll take turns."

Vincent was pleased with this idea. He liked the thought of matching wits with Catherine in literature. So for the next few hours they played back and forth coming up with increasingly difficult challenges of literary quotables, some of which Catherine was at a complete loss to know who the author was. Vincent, on the other hand was exceedingly proud of himself, for Catherine had been unable to stump him thus far. But Catherine had reserved her favorite stumper for a late play.

"The way of love is not a subtle argument," Catherine ventured with a suspenseful smile on her lips.

"Uh . . ." Vincent wrinkled his brow and thought hard. Had he heard that before? He was quite sure he hadn’t. "Did you just make that up?"

"Hah! You don’t know it so you think I made it up?"

"Well, it’s a very good line. But if you know it, then there’s more you can give me." Vincent was not sure she wasn’t trying to pull one over on him, but it was unlike her. Nevertheless, he had a slightly arrogant look on his face as he expected her to say she’d forgotten the rest.

But Catherine would not be so easily defeated this time and she quoted the rest from memory:

The way of love is not a subtle argument.

The door there is devastation.

Birds make great sky-circles of their freedom.

How do they learn it?

They fall, and falling, they’re given wings.

Looking triumphant, Catherine turned to Vincent expectantly. Now that she had quoted the entire thing, she fully expected him to come up with author date and reference as usual or at least one of the three.

Vincent, however, was at a loss. He looked stunned. "That’s beautiful. I have no idea. It doesn’t even sound like anyone I know."

"Well, it’s about time I stumped you. You are much more knowledgeable in literary matters than I. But I was saving that one. It’s by a Persian poet named Rumi. It was probably written several hundred years ago. My mother used to read it to me. She bought a poetry book containing that one when she and my father traveled to Egypt. It reminds me that sometimes you must make a leap of faith and risk everything . . . for love.

Vincent looked at her and pondered her words. He would be willing to sacrifice everything he had, everything he was for her love. They silently stood looking into each others eyes, lost in the love they saw there.

Just then a loud crack interrupted them. Despite the lack of echoes in this mud-filled cavern, neither of them could discern where the cracking had come from. Worry and fright electrified the space between them and they stood frozen, listening to every tiny sound around them like frightened animals in a forest full of traps.

Finally, Vincent broke the silence, "I … don’t … think it was very close. These sounds often come from the tunnels above during the spring thaw. Usually it’s just the contracting of rocks and the melting ice. Things shift, but don’t move too far."

Catherine breathed out, not realizing she’d been holding her breath. She felt exhausted and suddenly realized that it wasn’t so much her exhaustion she was feeling, but Vincent’s. Vincent was having more and more trouble controlling the bond and the effort was adding to his exhaustion. "Let’s play something else," Catherine prodded, not wanting him to become too sleepy. They spent an hour discussing chess moves, picturing a half-empty board in their minds. Although Vincent could easily play an entire chess game without the benefit of board and pieces, Catherine was still a novice despite the fact that she had beaten Father a few times. They both laughed at the memory of the first time. He certainly was a glutton for punishment. But, as Vincent reminded him, he had taught all those who had later beaten him, so he wasn’t so much a bad player as a good teacher.

Catherine giggled again at the thought. Suddenly, she realized that Vincent had become very quiet and was leaning as if he was looking into the chasm. Shock made her act quickly. "Vincent!" she shouted, shaking him as much as she dared. He came to with a start and shook his head to clear it.

"I’m sorry Catherine," he said, looking dazed, "I didn’t realize I was that tired."

"Keep talking to me. Tell me about your childhood. Tell me about you and Devin."

"Devin," Vincent slurred, so tired he couldn’t seem to form coherent words or thoughts.

Again Vincent started to drift asleep. Catherine was starting to feel his weight as he leaned away from her and she attempted to keep him upright with only one good arm.

Suddenly she knew what she had to do. She knew what would keep him awake—the kind of tension that would not allow him to sleep and would inject him with a wake up serum few other things could provide.

"Kiss me, Vincent!"

"What?" His head snapped up but he didn’t believe he’d heard correctly.

"You heard me," she looked at him with all the desire she’d been holding back for so long, "kiss me, Vincent!"

"Catherine," Vincent began, trying hard to guess the reason for her sudden shift in conversation. He rushed to reassure her with a statement he felt more and more to be untrue, "we are not going to die. They’ll find us."

"I don’t care if they do. I want you to kiss me. I’ve been curious about the feel of your mouth for a very long time and I want to taste it. I want to put my tongue on your upper lip and slip it inside that fascinating cleft there."

Vincent gasped, picturing her doing something so intimate, so sensual. He knew what that would do to him and wanted to feel it. His breathing quickened as he pictured her licking his lips just as she licked her own. All thoughts of sleep had vanished.

"I also want you to take off your shirt and. . ."

"What? N…now?" Vincent yelped, looking truly shocked.

"Well, maybe that can wait, but I want to tell you about it."

"Catherine, please . . . reconsider!" Vincent pleaded, only half convinced that he didn’t want to hear the rest.

"I want to see what your chest looks like and I want to rub my bare skin against it."

Vincent’s jaw dropped and he groaned as she gave him something new to picture. Had he really spent hours in mental exercises only to be thwarted by a few words? What was she thinking telling him these things? Didn’t she know what this would do to him? Why would she say such things? Where had all his mental discipline gone? What had she just asked?

"Vincent?"

"Huh?"

"I said, ‘What do you want to do with me?’"

"Oh, Catherine," Vincent didn’t know where to begin. He had no idea why she was suddenly so interested in revealing these intimate fantasies to him and, apparently, wanting to know his. Well, that wasn’t true. He had ideas. He just never wanted to accept what he suspected to be true. Father had put these ideas in his head long ago when he’d said something to the effect that Vincent would have to be careful of women who were interested in the "novelty of something different." He’d said, "wealthy women, especially, seemed to be spoiled and become easily bored, constantly looking for new and interesting things to play with. But even those we meet in the tunnel community might find you appealing because of your differences. Don’t let them fool you into thinking they’re in love with you. They’ll break your heart." Hadn’t Catherine told him several times that she didn’t love him in spite of his differences but because of them? Vincent really couldn’t blame her. He was different and, in a way, he knew that made him interesting. Father was constantly telling him that if he was ever caught Above the most likely outcome would be a curiosity sideshow. People liked things that were different.

But Vincent knew Catherine’s feelings went beyond mere curiosity. She very much enjoyed his company. He was well read, well mannered, well spoken, and he was her protector. These were, no doubt, qualities she would expect to find in a good friend. He had worked hard to live up to her expectations and surpass them whenever possible. And now she was requesting something he could so easily give to her, wanted to give her. If only he knew he wouldn’t regret it. He groaned. Then there was the very likely possibility that soon they would be dead. How could he hold back fulfilling what could very well be her last request even if she was requesting it just as another game?

Suddenly, the last of the torchlight flickered and died and Catherine and Vincent were left in complete darkness.

Catherine gasped, "Oh no!" she whispered, "please, Vincent, keep talking to me."

Vincent knew that Catherine had always been just a little afraid of the dark. But she had never experienced darkness like tunnel darkness. The complete absence of light was disorienting even to an experienced tunnel dweller. Their situation had just become far more serious and their life expectancy had been dramatically cut short. The effects of total darkness would eventually make one or both of them lean in a mistaken effort to remain upright, when upright could no longer be located. The wall beside them would help for a while, but complete darkness makes even solid objects float away or seem like they are falling on top of you so that you try to compensate by moving away. It’s a kind of insanity caused when a sighted person is suddenly robbed of all sight and has not yet learned to rely more heavily on any other sense.

"Vincent, please," her voice trembled, "say something . . . anything."

"Catherine," Vincent hesitated, knowing if he responded to her request there would be no going back. But the dark encircled them oppressively, enclosing them like a tomb, and it seemed more and more certain to him that they would not be found before they fell to their deaths. Would they fall together? He would not drag her with him, but (was he dreaming) part of him hoped that she might not let him go while at the same time he dreaded the very prospect. The thought of being separated from her made his heart constrict. Suddenly he was filled with all the love he had been holding in for so long. Yes, he could do this for her. If it made her happy in the last few moments of her life, he would do whatever he must, sacrifice whatever he could give . . . for her. So, there in the dark he poured out his heart to her.

"I love you, Catherine." His voice, husky with emotion, made her quiver.

"Oh, Vincent, Vincent," Catherine sobbed.

Vincent hesitated only for an instant, but the darkness had made him bold, as if he were only dreaming instead of standing in Catherine’s arms. "I want you, Catherine. I want to make love to you."

"I want you to make love to me Vincent."

Catherine’s excitement was evident even without the bond. Her body was trembling and it fueled Vincent’s resolve to reveal more. "I want to touch you all over," Vincent growled, "Forget that, I want to lick you all over."

"Yes. Vincent, yes!" Catherine, panting, wanted still more.

"I have a fantasy about …" Vincent hesitated, wondering only for an instant if Catherine would be appalled. But then, they would be dead soon and he had to tell her everything before that happened. "About you bearing my child and I’m watching the child suckle at your breasts, and then you . . . allow me do the same." Vincent held his breath for a moment, not knowing what Catherine’s reaction was, not daring to test the bond.

Catherine simply replied, "Oh, Vincent, I would be delighted to have your child and to let you suckle at my breasts. These are things I have dreamed of also."

"I have a fantasy too, Vincent," Catherine quietly stated.

"Tell me," Vincent gasped. By now they were both trembling in anticipation and had moved closer to one another, holding on tight in the darkness.

She was afraid of scaring him with the wilder ones so she picked a tamer, older fantasy she’d had. "I dream about being in the sunshine with you. We go skinny dipping and make love in the water, and then on the sand, and then on the grass, reveling in all the different textures on our bare skin."

Vincent listened to her speak of this once forbidden subject and sighed, allowing himself to picture her fantasy, the feelings, the textures, the sun.

"Tell me another fantasy you have Vincent," Catherine pleaded.

Vincent hesitated, afraid to reveal the one dream which had so haunted him of late. "I . . . lately I’ve been . . . dreaming . . . about finding you in the shower, and coming up behind you . . . and taking you from behind. . ."

Catherine’s gasp stopped him, but she encouraged him with a simple, "and?"

"And I am holding your shoulder with my teeth and growling through you until it vibrates through your entire body."

"Oh, Vincent! That sounds incredible!" Catherine was surprised by this revelation since Vincent was always so afraid he would hurt her with those teeth. This encouraged her to reveal something else. "I often dream of your teeth on me. And the growling noises you make are so sexy, they drive me crazy."

Vincent was aghast. "You have dreamed of these things? You want me to use… my… teeth?" he asked incredulously. Was she serious?

"Yes, Vincent. I love you. All of you." Catherine reached up to touch his face and he inhaled her scent and moaned at the contact. "I love you, I love you" she sobbed once again as she moved closer still.

Vincent leaned closer to her. In the dark, with her hands on him, it was so easy to believe all of this was true. He pictured himself a normal man, in love with his woman and she in love with him. He moved his face closer to where he knew her face was and took her chin in his hand. In the dark, he could not see his unearthly claws against her smooth skin. He imagined normal hands, normal lips moving to kiss her, a normal, handsome face that she could see her children in. He heard her sharp intake of breath as he lowered his lips to hers, brushing ever so softly against her mouth. "I can’t believe this is happening!" she thought.

Vincent had decided to open the bond fully, discarding those walls it had taken him hours of mental exercises to erect, when he heard a noise. Just before their lips pressed against each other, Vincent’s head snapped up and he turned in the direction of the tunnel where they had entered the cavern.

"Vincent, Catherine," called a far away voice.

"Over here!" Vincent shouted, and continued to shout, for the moment forgetting all that had just passed for the prospect of rescue.

"Vincent! Oh thank goodness!" William shouted as he entered, almost stepping over the edge in his hurry to get to them.

"Stop!" shouted several people, halting William just before his plummet.

"Holy…! That’s some drop! Are you two all right?" William shouted when he regained his footing and composure.

"Catherine has a dislocated shoulder, but, otherwise, we’re well."

A plank was quickly found in the nearby storage tunnel and laid across the chasm so that Catherine and then Vincent could inch across to safety. After some quick first aid where Catherine’s arm was put in a sling for comfort, the group walked back to the pipes where they could signal that Catherine and Vincent had been found and the other search groups could return to the home tunnels.

Vincent was worried that Catherine would not be able to walk back to the home tunnels on her own, but she insisted that she wanted to move her legs and would not let him carry her since, she said, "he had carried her enough for one day." Vincent looked at her, suddenly realizing that her face was unreadable except for exhaustion and perhaps relief. He was afraid that her wanting to walk might have to do with their revelations, or more specifically, his revelations. He couldn’t tell if she had meant what she’d said or if she was just "playing with him" as Father had warned. It sounded real. It sounded wonderful. He wanted so achingly, piercingly, desperately to believe she really meant it all.

On the way back there was much talk about where everyone had searched and how worried Father was and also how surprised everyone was that that tunnel collapsed. It was agreed that it could have been worse. The entire work crew, who had used that route as a shortcut for the last month, could have dropped into the pit. Several of the other searchers joined them along the way and were overjoyed that Catherine and Vincent had come to no serious harm. Catherine, who seemed in a particularly jovial mood for someone who had almost died, was kept busy talking with Jaime who had joined them from one of the other groups and seemed to be recounting every minute detail of their harrowing experience.

Vincent cringed when she said, "Well, and then Vincent started falling asleep. So, I . . ." looking over at Vincent, Catherine smiled, "yelled at him. And then I . . ." Vincent watched Catherine closely, not daring to open the bond he’d closed so tightly. Was she flirting with him? Was that a good sign or a bad one? How did anyone who was not empathic communicate with anyone else and understand what was happening?

"Yelled again," Catherine continued. "That did the trick, but boy was that scary! Vincent’s a big guy for me to hold by myself. And then you came along and rescued us." Catherine ended her story with a loving gesture toward William and his crew.

Vincent let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. He’d forgotten the sequence of events until now. He had been falling asleep. She had been desperate to wake him up. Was she so desperate that she would go to such great lengths? He took a long look at his hands, turning them over and examining both sides of each of them in the bright light he now had to see by. Then he closed his eyes, shook his head, and laughed scornfully at himself.

"What is it Vincent?" Catherine was looking up at him and a number in the party had stopped when he laughed.

He looked at her as if for the first time. He loved her beyond measure, beyond reason, and beyond common sense. "She’s perfect," he thought as he looked again at his hands, "and I’m . . . this." He smiled sadly at her and sighed. "You . . . saved my life," he said simply.

The group smiled at that remark knowing that Vincent had saved Catherine in her world many times. They felt that it was fitting she get a chance to save him in his world.

As they moved on, Vincent smiled too, but there was something wrong with that smile, and Catherine knew it.