Two of  a Kind
Part 15
By Rosemarie Hauer

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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.