Two Of A Kind
Part 14
by Rosemarie Hauer

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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.