Your Pain Is My Pain
Part V - The World Belowby Teri
Thus, thus, it is joy to pass to the world below.
Virgil (Aeneid)
* * *
Another one. Vincent felt the gripping pain and tried desperately to focus his strength. He gathered it together and funneled it to Catherine along their bond, the channel opened wide between them now, during the onset of her labor. The pain receded and along with it the rushing in his ears. His muscles quivered in protest and he was left panting weakly.
Catherine’s fingers loosened their death grip upon his hands as she slumped back against the pillows piled high behind her. Her hair clung damply to her brow, and he brushed the limp strands back tenderly.
"Rest now, Catherine."
His voice was low and even, but his eyes were bleak with pain and fear. Her labor was only three hours old, yet he was overwhelmed by the strength of the contractions which wracked her, feeling it all through their bond.
She smiled up at him, her face amazingly serene in the aftermath of that last, all-encompassing pain. "I’m sorry, Vincent. I wish I could spare you this."
Tears filled his eyes at her words and he shook his head. "I would bear this pain alone if I could."
She squeezed his hands gently, then drew them to her parched lips, pressing a soft kiss against the silky covering along the backs of his fingers. "I know you would, but our destiny lies down one path, and we must share what we encounter there, both the pleasure and the pain."
He smiled tremulously, then turned away for a moment, returning with a cool cloth. He ran it along her hot brow, and pressed it against the back of her neck, feeling the soothing sensation as she experienced it through their bond. Catherine’s eyes fluttered closed and he felt her sink down into the waiting exhaustion, that well growing deeper and darker as it followed each contraction. He pulled his legs up upon the bed and curled along her side, resting wearily and drawing his strength together once again in preparation for the next painful assault.
They had gone to the Mirror Pool that afternoon, the short walk one which Catherine always enjoyed even as her pregnancy advanced. They were lost in the easy flow of their conversation, in the sweet aura that always surrounded them whenever they were alone together, when without warning he’d felt an odd, shivery stillness through the bond. For a moment he was distracted entirely, his attention caught by that foreign sensation. The stillness evaporated with a sudden, swelling rush and Catherine’s gasp penetrated the fog enclosing him. He looked down and found the front of her woolen jumper soaking wet.
Vincent couldn’t remember the trip back to the hub; it had flown by in a blur, his attention focused entirely on Catherine as he held her in his arms. He hadn’t noticed the figures scurrying out of his way as he’d raced through the tunnels, nor heard the messages ringing out over the pipes in his wake, but when he arrived at his chamber he found Father and Mary already waiting there, with Peter on the way. No sooner had they entered that familiar abode when the first pain had struck, squeezing the breath out of them both with a clasping grip that stunned him. When he’d returned to his surroundings, he found himself on his knees, Catherine still in his arms.
And so it had begun. Mary had helped Catherine change out of her wet clothes and into a white, cotton gown and a warm tunnel robe, then she and Father had left them in the cozy chamber alone. They had walked about the chamber on and off for the first hour, anticipating the lighter contractions of the early stage of labor, but those had progressed quickly and now they were strong and regular, and less than five minutes apart.
Vincent’s fear was growing as the pains increased in strength and frequency, and the news that Peter was in the midst of an emergency Caesarean and couldn’t be reached only added to his anxiety. Father and Mary checked in on them every fifteen minutes or so, and neither seemed particularly worried, but they didn’t know, couldn’t know the strength of those pains. He was sure this wasn’t normal. He was amazed to find, though, that despite his vastly superior physical strength, Catherine seemed to be holding up better than he under these difficult circumstances. He sighed raggedly and cuddled closer to her, his arm wrapped protectively about the low swell of her belly. The darkness pulled him down, urging him to rest within its still, comforting warmth, and he heeded that call. Within seconds he had sunk within that deep well, images scrolling by him of the months just past, of Catherine and him together Below.* * *
The First Month:
Unbelievable, impossible. Could this really be true?! Even as he moved the last of the boxes from her apartment’s sub-basement area and into his chamber, he questioned the final meaning of it all. It had happened so fast. Six weeks ago an innocent night spent Below with Catherine had set in motion a chain of events which left him breathless and dazed even now.
An afternoon’s visit had turned into an overnight stay -- Catherine hadn’t felt well, and Mary, Rebecca, Olivia and Jamie had encouraged her to stay and share the hottest spring pool Below with them that evening. Though she had been sensitive to Vincent’s potential discomfort over such a plan, he made no objections, but on the contrary, encouraged her to stay. He knew well what she went through, indeed had shared it with her every month since they’d been together. Instead he had taken that rare opportunity to care for her Below, in his own home, to help ease her pain, and Catherine had discovered the secret he had kept so successfully for more than two years.
The depth of his link to her, especially in regards to her biological cycle, was something she had never suspected before, he was certain of that, and more certain still that there was some she did not yet suspect. Still, he couldn’t regret that partial disclosure, not then, not upon experiencing the cozy intimacy engendered by the sharing of that knowledge. He would always treasure those precious hours spent together, alone in his chamber, but the memory that was blazoned in his mind was of the end of that visit, of their parting at the threshold of her apartment. Catherine had kissed him, and he had kissed her back,
There had been other kisses in the weeks that followed, but that one was forever stamped on his heart; the feel of her against him, the taste of her, honey-sweet, as strong now as when he’d first experienced it.
So innocent. That was how it had begun, but not how it proceeded. One taste of Catherine and he was lost; lost in the physical and emotional sensations of her, their bond expanding dramatically to pull them together, questing for more, always more. Though he hadn’t been able to admit that thought to himself, not then, there was no other way to describe the change that took place in the weeks that followed; they had become lovers in every sense of the word but one, and the bond more than compensated for what he could not yet bring himself to accept.
Never, never would he have believed their bond was capable of the change that took place then. A simple kiss would begin it, drawing them in to a deep place where emotional sensations converted to physical ecstasy, building and multiplying until there was no withstanding them. The result was inevitable, drawing the deepest responses from their throbbing bodies with no effort, no thought. Never had he felt such radiant joy, such explosive, exquisite pleasure as he felt with Catherine then through their bond. Never had he felt such peaceful, serene, satiated fulfillment as in the aftermath of those moments. It was perfection, beyond description.
And yet there was more. They soon found that their kisses, blissful though they were, were not necessary for this bond response. Even apart, their desires drew them together through the pulsing stream of their bond where an unbelievable rapture awaited them. Thus the last of his secrets unfolded to her, unbeknownst to him. The draw to her had been there always, but especially during the one day each month when her body called out to his with a lush fertility that demanded his response. He had no choice then but to retreat to the farthest depths of the tunnels Below, to cower in the darkest caverns in shame and fear as his body and heart cried out for her.
It had always worked in the past, but no more. Once released, the deepening response of the bond could not be contained, especially then. Twice during those six weeks he had sought out the deeper rock work, and twice the bond had thwarted him, opening wide between them and pulling them together despite the distance separating them. The churning, chaotic sensations experienced then were unbelievably intense, demanding a response that could not be withheld. The shame he had felt after that first time had overwhelmed him entirely, resulting in a parting that was agonizing in all the loss it implied. He couldn’t help but share the sorrow and grief she felt during that separation. It added to his own growing burden, culminating in a torrent of anguished guilt just two weeks later, when she was wracked by another sort of pain. Their separation had ended then, and he found neither the strength nor will to attempt it again.
As always, when the time drew near, he returned to the lower levels, driven there by the imperative urges drawn from him at the insistent beat of her rhythms. He hadn’t been able to withstand those urges though, indeed had given in to them almost willingly once safely separated by miles of hard rock, his need for her immense. The ecstasy they shared then, despite the physical distance between them, was beyond all their other experiences.
Vincent had planned to return to the home tunnels and to Catherine after a safe three day interval, but instead she surprised him by coming Below. She had only meant to meet him half-way, to share a small space of time alone with him on his return trek, but her plan had gone awry. The paths lining the underground river were dark and slippery and she had fallen in. Only their bond had saved her, guiding him to her with unerring speed. Once safely ensconced in the newest way-station, the quilted covers pulled tight about their shivering bodies, he’d given in to the exhaustion surrounding them, sinking down to a deep, dark emptiness from which no memories stirred, not even now.
But Catherine did have memories of that time, and she had told him about them just four days later...just four days ago. They had made love and she was with child, his child. Unbelievable, impossible...yet true, all of it, true.
Things had happened quickly then. Catherine had given notice at the DA’s office and sought refuge Below, with an official request of sanction made to the Council. There had been no question about her acceptance, of course; the others were stunned but overjoyed by the news. And now, with the moving of these few boxes of her most precious Above belongings, she had transferred her life to the tunnels Below, with him.Vincent was still numb, barely able to assimilate what it all meant. Much as he tried not to think on such an impossible thing, lest his hopes be dashed upon the ragged rocks of reality, it seemed it might truly be so, that they might indeed be in the midst of building a life...together.
* * *
"Vincent, aren’t you coming to bed?"
Catherine had set aside her book and was watching him closely as he sat at the small writing table finishing up his journal entry for the day. Every night for the last week he had found an excuse to go to bed later, when she was finally asleep. It was harder than he’d imagined it would be, sleeping beside Catherine each night, in his bed, in his world. His desire for her was growing by leaps and bounds, but his fear of sharing what they had before, in light of this unplanned and unbelievable pregnancy, was growing at an even more rapid rate.
"Not just yet, Catherine. I want to go check on Geoffrey. Father is keeping him in the hospital chamber until he’s no longer contagious to the other children. I’ll be back soon."
He waited anxiously for a reply, and when one wasn’t immediately forthcoming, he hurriedly made his escape, tension filling him at the thought of the continual subterfuge in which he was ensnared. There had been times in their relationship when he hadn’t told her everything, but never when he had lied to her. Though this wasn’t truly a lie -- he was indeed on his way to the hospital chamber where Geoffrey lay -- it was too close to rest comfortably on his conscience. His heart ached at the distance between them now, and it was all his fault. He couldn’t fathom what these changes in their lives meant, much less accept what they implied.* * *
Vincent feverishly paced the outer passages of the hospital chambers, waiting anxiously for Father and Peter to finish Catherine’s exam. So much, so soon, he couldn’t take it all in. For three weeks now Catherine had shared his chamber, and his bed. Of course it was only that, nothing more. He still had no memory of that night in the way-station, and it was hard enough to believe that he was going to be a father, that Catherine would have his child...
It was too much, too soon. He couldn’t deal with that other issue, that forgotten conception, not yet. And so they shared his chamber and his bed and he could hardly believe that she was here in this way with him.
"You can come in now, Vincent."
Father’s voice caught him by surprise, as did his presence in the hospital entrance. He hurried into the chamber and glanced about searchingly for Catherine. She emerged a second later from behind an ornate privacy screen and he went immediately to her side. He didn’t speak for a moment, his questions now nothing more than a jumbled profusion of words spinning about in his brain. Catherine seemed to sense his turmoil and took his hand in both of hers, stroking it soothingly.
"Everything is fine, Vincent, there’s nothing out of the ordinary."
He expelled a huge sigh of relief, the immensity of his emotion catching him by surprise. He turned to the two older men, truly aware of their presence only now. Father seconded her response.
"Quite right, everything is just as it should be. Catherine is almost a month along her first trimester, and both she and the child are doing fine. Peter and I are very pleased."
"Yes, there doesn’t seem to be anything to worry about for now, everything is going according to schedule."
Peter patted him comfortingly upon his shoulder, his touch adding to Catherine’s to ease the tension that had filled him during the past hour.
"Still, just to be safe, I strongly recommend you continue taking the special precautions we discussed earlier, at least for the next two months. What do you think, Jacob?" Peter turned toward his old friend, who nodded.
"I agree. There’s nothing to indicate any difficulties, but this is a special case nonetheless. Being overly cautious for now would be the wise thing to do, all things considered."
Vincent breathed a silent sigh of relief. He was suddenly very aware of the underlying current of his emotions, hidden so well this day by his anxiety over the exam. The topic of a physical relationship between them had been notably absent during the last few weeks, thanks to the early advice of Father and Peter. He hadn’t realized how he’d been dreading the thought of that conversation until now, when he’d narrowly escaped it once again.The Second Month:
"Catherine?"
"Back here, Vincent."
Her voice floated somewhere from behind a tall structure comprised of an assortment of stacked tables, chairs and bedposts. Vincent picked his way gingerly through the cluttered storage chamber and finally found her tucked away between a tall armoire and a six-drawered bureau. She crouched down with her back to him, staring intently at something hidden from his sight, just around the corner of the bureau. She turned her gaze towards him and his breath caught at the tender look there.
"This was yours, Vincent. Mary told me where to find it."
He stepped closer and peered around her to the small cradle resting among the taller, adult furnishings. Catherine’s hand stroked lovingly along a smooth edge of the warm wood. Her hand trembled slightly, and Vincent knelt down beside her, one hand covering hers gently while his other arm rose to encircle her shoulders. She leaned her weight against him entirely, taking refuge in his steady strength.* * *
"Just three more days, Vincent, and we’ll be done. What do you think of it so far?"
Vincent gazed about the new chamber, astonished by their progress despite his own daily efforts there.
"It’s wonderful, Kanin. I can’t believe it happened so fast."
"To tell you the truth, I can’t believe it either. With so many volunteers, I was afraid we wouldn’t be able to move around in here, much less get anything accomplished," Kanin noted wryly. "I bet Catherine’s anxious to get out of the guest chamber and back here again."
"Yes, we both are. It’s odd to think of it, but except for trips to the lower regions, I’ve always stayed in this chamber, ever since I was a child. It seems strange to have another room attached to it."
Their glances met and held, and Kanin easily read the astonished look there, bordering so closely on disbelief.
"So many things are different for you now. Livy and I wanted you to know how happy we are for you both. You’re very special to us, and so is Catherine. You two belong together, everyone here knows that." He paused as if he meant to say more, but finally shrugged, unable to add to those simple words.
Vincent’s expression was tinged with shyness, confusion still evident there.
"Thank you, Kanin." He hesitated a moment, then finally went on. "I still find it so hard to believe, that Catherine is here with me, that we’re going to have a child." He shook his head in amazement. "A few short months ago I never would have believed it to be possible."
Indeed he appeared dazed as he looked about the small addition to his chamber. Kanin stood quietly beside him, his hand resting solidly upon his friend’s broad shoulder.* * *
"Oh, Vincent, it’s perfect."
Catherine looked about her with a blissful joy that would have been palpable even had they not shared a bond. Vincent’s eyes finally turned from her beloved face to move slowly about the small, cozy chamber. A woven rug covered almost the full perimeter of the floor, and upon it sat an array of warm, mahogany furniture; a crib filled with hand knit covers, a tall bureau and padded changing table, a cushioned rocking chair with a small side table and candle cluster. A second rocker rested now in their own chamber, just a few short feet away, and next to it sat the cradle Vincent had slept in as a baby. He ruefully suspected that Catherine would have a difficult time making this their child’s chamber when the time came, despite her pleasure with it now.
As always, the concrete thought of a child, their child, shocked him into an almost breathless state. It still didn’t seem real to him, the concept of a child, of him being a father. No, how could it be? He sighed raggedly, finding, as always, that he was still incapable of dealing with this thought rationally. Catherine’s voice broke through his chaotic reverie, drawing him back to his surroundings, back to her.
"I love you, Vincent."
He turned to her and their eyes met, her starry gaze drawing him in to lustrous sea-gray depths. She stared at him in adoration, and he gasped at the sensation her look and words inspired. He felt both flow directly through him to nestle in his heart, the fluttering there matching the shiver that coursed down his length. He shuddered uncontrollably, unable to respond for several long moments. Finally he reached for her left hand and pressed a tender kiss at the center of her warm palm.
"I love you, Catherine, so much...so much."
He was bowed over her hand, his golden hair curtaining his face, but she heard the tears there. She eased in closer to him slowly, until her right arm circled under his left one, and around his ribs and back. She drew closer yet, nestling along his side and nuzzling against the region of his heart. Despite all that had occurred in the last two months there was a barrier still present between them, perhaps even stronger now than before these momentous changes. Ever since she had moved Below, and despite the fact that she now shared his bed, they had not kissed. Well once, perhaps, she mused, on the night she’d requested sanction Below. It had been a public kiss, but warm for all that. Still, there had been nothing since then, and she was sure she knew the reason for that absence.
Vincent still could not remember the events of that evening two months before, the night they had conceived their child. In the space of four days, he had been rushed headlong from a nebulous, more ethereal than physical relationship experienced primarily through the bond, to one whose implications were much more earthy. He couldn’t deal with that transition, she could see it clearly; he had no frame of reference for it. She knew better than to expect that a close proximity to her would, in itself, abolish this issue. She was pregnant, and even if Vincent could get beyond the psychological barriers a physical relationship with her implied, this was one obstacle he dared not risk. No, this issue had become a non-issue, a silent chasm between them which she hadn’t known how to breach. Until now.
Now she felt a hesitancy from him. He didn’t pull away from her as he always had in the last few weeks, whenever their hugs grew a little too long or a little too warm. He still held her palm against his mouth, but now she slipped it gently out of his grasp and slid it over to cup his cheek. Slowly she lifted her face upwards from the broad expanse of his chest, until she met his downward gaze. His eyes were pinned upon her, dark and uncertain. Her gaze strayed down to his mouth, to find his lips trembling in... What? Fear? Anticipation? She leaned upward toward him, stopping any retreat he might have attempted by the simple, tender touch of her hand upon his cheek. Finally her lips touched his, and she breathed a sigh of relief against their silky warmth, the feel of them a luxury she had missed so much during these last two months.
Vincent trembled against her. How had he lived without the touch of her lips upon his? His mind beat feebly against the wall of his conscience, calling out to him, reminding him why he could not do this...must not do this, but his body would have none of it. His arms tightened about her, holding her softness against his muscled strength. The memory of their first real kiss burst upon him then, and his mouth began to move upon her, gently, tenderly.
More than three months ago they had stood at her threshold, saying goodbye after her weekend stay below. The kiss had taken him completely unaware, stunning him into a frozen stillness before her. It had been nothing like the kiss she had given him months earlier, after her father had died. That kiss had been one of gratitude, simple...chaste. Nothing like the one that followed. He’d tasted her honeyed sweetness then, her silky tongue teasing his clefted lip and hot mouth unmercifully until it was impossible to withhold his response from her.
Just as it was impossible now. It had been so long...too long. Too long since he’d tasted the sweet nectar of her. Too long since he’d felt her full, sensuous lips nuzzling his own, urging him to a place of unleashed passions and blissful release. Oh, how he wanted that again...wanted her, needed her.
"Catherine, oh, Catherine."
His words murmured out to her huskily, vibrating against her lips and then shuddering down her trembling body until they settled at the very center of her womanhood. He felt it all. Pulsing waves built around them, growing and expanding, enclosing them in the golden aura of their bond. Catherine groaned against his mouth, her breath hot and sultry upon him. A growl burst from deep within his chest, and he slanted his lips across hers, taking her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss. His tongue sought out hers hungrily, and they twined together, even as her body pushed harder against him, her limbs seeking his with a fervent heat that was irresistible.
In the midst of their growing ardor, Father’s and Peter’s words whispered out to him, ‘special case...special precautions...’ That was all it took. With a muffled groan, Vincent pulled away from her, away from the silken threads binding them within the pulsing web of their bond.
"No!"
He held her arms tight, his head bowed in anguish as a cold chill enveloped the space now separating their yearning bodies.
"Please, Vincent, please!"
The words tore at him, her voice a clear reflection of the aching need still filling her. Finally he raised his head to meet her pleading gaze.
"No, Catherine." His voice was a husky growl, the passion there not yet dispersed. "We have to remember what Father said, what Peter said. We can’t take any risks, not now, you know that."
Their eyes locked, pain and need throbbing through them both, but Vincent was resolute, and he saw it instantly when she made that same transition. A shuddering sigh swept through her and her eyes focused, a calm certainty suddenly filling them.
"You’re right, Vincent. Nothing is worth endangering our child, not even this." Her hand rose to stroke longingly along the massive expanse of his chest. "It will be difficult, but I can wait a while longer."
His own sigh was a chaotic mix of relief, regret and trepidation; this wasn’t over yet, of that he was certain.The Third Month:
Catherine idly threw a pebble in the still waters and they watched as the ripples grew and spread outward, the stars reflected in the watery basin of the Mirror Pool shimmering as if from a cosmic force.
Vincent felt a corresponding ripple deep in his chest, the rhythm of his heart changing minutely as it instantly followed the bidding of the small hand still hovering tentatively out towards the water.
"It’s so peaceful here, Vincent, so beautiful. I can’t get over the stars. Above they can rarely be seen amidst the city lights, but here..."
She gestured out over the pool and Vincent’s heart skipped a beat entirely. The pleasure he felt from her happiness here, in his world, was overwhelming, unbelievable. It filled him with a blissful joy that was almost past bearing. His arm rose to enclose her and she immediately sank into the sheltering warmth of his body. She nestled close, her cheek pressed against the hard expanse of his chest, just over his heart. The peaceful stillness of the chamber enfolded them and they floated there, in their bond and amid the watery stars, together.* * *
"Check."
Vincent frowned furiously at the board before him, scanning the pieces and their relative positions with dismay. There was no escape; it was checkmate in five moves at the very least. He tipped over his King in acknowledgment of defeat and his rueful gaze rose to meet the mischievous one of his opponent.
"It seems the teacher still has a few tricks left for his pupil."
"In this as in all things, Father."
Jacob sat back contentedly, reaching for the ever-present cup of tea on the table at his side.
"Where is Catherine? I don’t believe I’ve seen her since breakfast."
"She had a full day planned. This morning she spent a few hours tutoring James for his SAT, and then she went to the hot springs pool with Rebecca and Olivia. They were going to have a picnic lunch in the moss caves afterwards. Right now she should be studying with Pascal in the Pipe Chamber."
At that very moment a slow, tentative message tapped out over the pipes and both men cocked their ears toward the sound.
‘Vincent, I’ll be home soon. Catherine.’
Jacob glanced in his son’s direction and caught the quick play of emotions which flew across his face in the course of that short transmission. The message had been short and nondescript, but the import of that word, home, was clear for all to see in the flush of his cheeks and the sparkling intensity of his darkening eyes.* * *
The nights were the hardest, especially now. The daytime hours were filled with work and classes, with duties and responsibilities, but the nights...
Vincent lay stiffly besides Catherine’s peacefully slumbering form, staring up at the craggy rock ceiling, tracing the endless patterns there, real and imagined, in a futile attempt to get his mind off the thought of her beside him. All things considered, the last three months hadn’t been so difficult. In retrospect, he was amazed that her daily presence here in his world, in his very bed, hadn’t driven him completely mad. He wondered at that now, as the stirrings within him grew to a clamorous pitch, demanding what they craved...demanding Catherine, warm and soft in his arms. A growling moan escaped his throat and he hastily rolled to his side, his back to her, his knees pulled up tight against his chest.
At first, he’d been frantic, wondering how he could possibly do this, how he could survive such close proximity to her day in and day out. Much to his amazement and relief, and with only one or two notable exceptions, he’d felt himself enclosed in a sort of foggy, buffering cloud during much of the last few months, attributing it to the shock of those recent events which had set this course before them. Now he wondered if indeed that had been the case. Numbers, dates and events swirled in his head and he tried to make sense of them all.
One week from tomorrow marked the three month anniversary of Catherine’s move Below. In less time than that, three days to be precise, the second trimester of her pregnancy would begin. But the event preoccupying him most just now had already occurred, two days ago. Two days ago the hazy, distancing cloud surrounding him had lifted, leaving him raw and exposed, his aching heart and trembling body yearning towards her sweet presence as a flower turns its face to the sun, seeking the radiant warmth it needed to live.
The overall difference between then and now was so great that he couldn’t help but wonder if there was some deeper, more basic reason for the calm strength and control he had found within himself during the last three months. Could it had come from Catherine...from their bond? Could the bond have muted the constant desire which had always flowed between them, just beneath the surface, during that sensitive time of her pregnancy? Father and Peter had recommended caution during the first trimester; had their bond ensured that safeguard by stilling the emotional intensity so typical of their relationship? More importantly, why had that calm power deserted him now?
Those rational thoughts fell away as the maelstrom within him grew. With a muffled groan he slipped from the bed, drew on his boots and cloak and left their chamber. He couldn’t stay here, not now, not like this. Once in the outer passageways he broke into a run, moving outward and down, deep down to a little-frequented side pool near the Great Falls. There the spring waters ran still and cold, cold enough perhaps to cool his heated blood.The Fourth Month:
Vincent’s thoughts were turned inward, completely oblivious to their surroundings as he and Catherine walked back towards his chamber. Peter and Father had been extremely pleased by the results of Catherine’s exam; there was nothing to indicate this was anything other than an ordinary pregnancy, just starting its second trimester. Father had been circumspect, but Peter, in ignorance of the true state of affairs, had happily informed them that they could resume a normal, physical relationship.
What would happen now? He was overjoyed by the news that all was well, and for the first time since he had learned of her pregnancy, the fears within him that no progeny of his seed could ever be ‘normal’, were beginning to recede beneath the calm progression of events. So far he had seen no deviations to any of the other pregnancies he’d observed Below. But his relief was tempered now by the new possibilities set before him. He had been able to avoid this topic for three months, but he was certain that would come to an end now, and shortly, if he knew Catherine.
He was right. They entered the familiar yet now unfamiliar chamber he had inhabited all his life and he gazed about him, stunned anew by the changes he saw there. It wasn’t just the new chamber residing behind the heavy, woven tapestry near the far end of the room; it was both much simpler and much more complex than that. All of his old treasures still remained, yet nestled among them were other, more recent gems; a feathered owl mask resting against the statue of Justice, an ivory shawl draped casually across the foot of the bed, a dazzling collection of delicate crystal and gem-encrusted eggs placed along one shelf, the glow of candles reflecting off their jeweled facets. Hidden inside the deep recesses of his wardrobe, her clothes were flolded among his own.
He had cleared out two of the four drawers for her and emptied half the remaining space when the decision had first been made that she would come Below. That separation had lasted no more than two weeks. One day, while searching for a thermal shirt, he’d found a peach, silk camisole tucked between two stacks of his own clothes. He remembered it so clearly; the sensuous feel of silk and lace as it draped across his fingers, the evocative scent, part flowers, part her, imbedded deep within it as he buried his face against the delicate mass. He’d started guiltily when a sound from down the passageway had alerted him to Catherine’s approach, then hastily replaced the garment and turned to busy himself with his journal. They never discussed the space arrangements, but in the days that followed he found more and more of her personal things among his own, his heart almost bursting with a poignant joy at each discovery.
"Vincent?"
His gaze focused once more on the chamber about him and he turned to find Catherine seated at the writing table, her chair pulled close to his. She patted the worn velvet seat invitingly, and he sat down next to her, all his will now centered on controlling the wayward beat of his heart and the panting of his breath; both were increasing at a rapid rate, along with his anxiety.
"I know how uncomfortable this makes you, but we need to talk about it...about us."
She hesitated for a moment as the heat surged up his face. Finally he nodded stiffly, staring down at the tabletop, and when she continued, it was not in the same vein as when she’d begun.
"Why does it always have to be so difficult for us? It’s not fair...it’s just not fair."
He started at the sorrow in her voice, his eyes rising hastily to search her face. Tears filled her eyes and spilled down over her cheeks and she brushed at them with a trembling hand. He reached instinctively to comfort her, covering her hand with his own suddenly steady one while he wiped away the salty tears with the pad of his thumb.
"Shhh, Catherine, don’t cry. Please, don’t cry."
His heart ached with pain to know that he was the cause of her anguish. He slipped his arm around her to pull her close, and she buried her face against his quilted vest. Her shoulders shook beneath his hand as she sobbed, and he could do nothing more than hold her tight and murmur soothingly as he petted and stroked along her back and arms. Finally her tears slowed until there was only an occasional sniffle and hiccup muzzled against his broad chest.
"Tell me, Catherine."
He would do anything to ease her pain, anything...even hear the one thing he was most frightened of hearing. The words she spoke were soft and low, echoing through the muscled expanse of his chest.
"I know how hard this is for you, having me here, Below...the very idea of us having a baby...and the fact that you can’t remember what happened that night in the way-station. Believe me, Vincent, despite all that has happened in the last few months, I know that moving our relationship forward is no trivial thing. I want everything to be perfect between us when we decide to take that step. I won’t rush you, but I need you to know that I won’t give up on us. This is meant to be, Vincent, it is, and I’ll be here for you when you’re ready. It’s just that..."
She paused, sorrow and confusion evident in her voice.
"What, Catherine? You can tell me."
He urged her on, despite his own anxiety over the direction this conversation had taken.
She leaned back from him slightly, her eyes scanning his face. One hand lifted to stroke lightly across his cheek and jaw until her fingertips rested gently against his lips. Her gaze fastened there, then finally rose back up to meet his eyes.
"I’ve missed you so these last few months...missed your kisses, your passion...even if only through our bond." Her voice caught, and she blinked the tears back which were forming once again. "In a few months more we’ll have no choice. We’ll have to wait then, until well after the baby is born. I know you’re not ready to accept everything, not yet, but couldn’t we at least share what we had before? Please, Vincent, make love to me in the bond. Please."
Her voice was a poignant, aching whisper, touching him deeply. Her pleading words stirred the tumultuous emotions inside him in a way nothing else could. Fear, love, doubt and desire swirled through him, each emotion crying out for dominance, demanding control. He hesitated, confusion adding to the chaotic vortex spinning within him.
Later, he could never be certain whether he made the decision, or whether fate controlled them entirely, he only knew that one moment he was seated beside her, and the next they lay together on his bed, his arms pulling her close and holding her tight.
"Oh, Vincent...Vincent!"
Catherine called out to him, urging him closer still, and he was unable to resist, taking her mouth in a deep, pulsing kiss. At that very instant he opened the bond wide between them and passion flooded their beings, pure and sweet, swift and strong. There was nothing like it, nothing. The doubt and fear left him then, his love for her, his need, overwhelming all else.
Ecstasy soon burned all rational thoughts from him, his mind consumed with her, with the feel of her, in their bond. Their emotions grew, swelling to enclose them completely in a bliss beyond compare. He was barely aware that he kissed her now, the feelings and emotions so diverse and so all pervasive that it was almost impossible to separate the physical reality of what they experienced from the tumultuous sensations of the bond. He had neither the will nor the energy to try, his consciousness released to mix and blend with Catherine’s in a hazy delight that knew no limits, no boundaries. The firestorm reached its critical mass and blazed out of control, an inferno that burned away everything in its path. It swept over them with a fierce fury and they cried out, pulling each other close and tight.
When it was done, they were left drifting in a cloud of cool, calm purity.
Vincent had only a moment’s rational thought left before sleep claimed him completely. It burst upon him with a stunning certainty, the tender aftermath of their passion leaving him open and receptive to the true nature of their dream. This was how it would always be; he saw it with crystal clarity -- this was their truth beyond knowledge.* * *
Vincent paused in the entryway, caught by the sight of Catherine within. She sat in her chair, her back to him, sipping a cup of tea and reading from a book of English poetry they had started the night before. Her bare feet rested upon the seat of his chair, and as he watched, she set her cup down and reached to idly rub her sole. He entered the chamber then, moving quietly towards the table. Catherine didn’t hear his approach, and started as she felt the touch of his hands upon her. He slipped a hand beneath her crossed ankles, lifted them up slightly, then sat down, resting them in his lap. He began to massage one foot, his eyes never leaving hers.
"What are you reading, Catherine?"
"‘The Daydream’, by Tennyson."
"Read it to me, please."
She paused and he had only a fleeting moment to wonder at the odd light in her eyes before she complied. Her head bowed over the book, and he was captivated by the silky sheen of her hair as it curved along the line of her jaws. Her sable lashes curled beguilingly against high, satiny cheekbones, but his eyes were irresistibly drawn down to her mouth as she started to speak. Her lips were full and lush, the soft, low tones of her voice blending with the seductive image of her to draw him in to a hazy state of tremulous expectation and delight.‘And o’er the hills and far away
Beyond their utmost purple rim,
Beyond the night, across the day,
Through all the world she followed him.’The words penetrated the fog surrounding him, startling him back to the reality of his chamber. His eyes rose fearfully to meet hers, and her gaze was open and naked to him. She smiled in tender understanding and then bent back to the poem, beginning where she had left off, though for the life of him, when she was through, he couldn’t remember a word beyond those four, precious lines.
* * *
Vincent reread the lines just written minutes before in his journal, saturated in a blissful cloud of contentment. All was quiet in their world now, with the welcome exception of the ever-present, though now muted, tapping of the pipes. The children’s story hour had ended two hours ago, and most of them were by now fast asleep. The tunnels were peaceful and, for the most part, empty. His chamber was cozy and warm, the golden candle glow within centering on two spots; one from the cluster at the center of the small writing table where he sat, the other from the bedside table just behind him.
It took no effort at all for Vincent to envision Catherine curled up in his bed, a book in her hands. He drank in that sight every night, stunned anew by her presence there. He closed his eyes, sinking into and becoming one with the peaceful stillness surrounding him.
He didn’t know how long he sat thus enfolded, but suddenly a ripple, a current barely more than thought wavered through him. He focused upon it, but it was gone as fast at it had appeared. He waited, his attention centered somewhere...he wasn’t sure where, only that it was the source of that elusive touch. There. So soft, so delicate...no more than the wispy, fluttery wings of a butterfly at rest. The stillness inside him was broken suddenly by a stronger wash of emotion, an exquisite excitement and joy. There was no mistaking the source of those sensations; they came from the bond...they came from Catherine.
Vincent turned in his chair, the image of a moment ago now before him. Catherine rested at the center of his bed, a mound of pillows piled high behind her. A book lay discarded at her side, and she stared outward, unseeing, an enigmatic look on her face. The blankets were pushed back and her hand softly caressed the small, rounded curve of her belly through the warm weave of her tunnel gown.
"Catherine?"
Her eyes focused and she turned to him, a beaming smile upon her face.
"The baby moved, Vincent."
"Twice." His voice was barely audible, no more than a stunned whisper.
"You felt it." Catherine’s voice contained that amazement now, and more.
"Yes."
He got up slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, and came to the side of the bed. He looked down at her in wonder, finally sinking to sit upon the bed next to her. His gaze was drawn to her belly, and his hand followed. It hovered over her for one tentative moment, then lowered to gently rest upon her. Catherine’s hand covered his, holding him against her warmly.
Vincent’s eyes flickered back up to her face, though he was unable to withdraw his attention entirely from her the soft swell beneath his trembling hand.
"I wasn’t sure what it was at first, it was so soft, so...elusive. Then I felt your response, and I knew."
The stunned look had not left him, and Catherine lifted her hand to cup his cheek, urging him to her waiting lips.
Their kiss was soft and warm, a tender, poignant affirmation of what they had experienced together...of what was yet to come.The Fifth Month:
Vincent stared at the image before him, stunned by the change which had occurred seemingly overnight. Catherine stood across the chamber drawing a warm tunnel robe over her shoulders, unaware of his presence in the outer entry. She stood in profile to him, and there could be no mistaking her pregnant state.
Up until just a few days ago it hadn’t really been noticeable, except to him. But how could it not? He knew every line and curve of her body intimately, far beyond what their limited physical experiences together would have implied. He could close his eyes and picture her exactly as she had looked that night he’d found her in the park, and again a year later, lighting candles on her balcony in celebration of that anniversary, and again a year after that. No, it was impossible for him to miss even the smallest change in her, impossible.
Six weeks ago he had unerringly detected the slight rounding in her belly and a new fullness in her breasts. He had felt those changes against his own muscled length when they had lain together on his bed, lost in the bond and lost in each other, five weeks ago, and then two weeks after that. But not since.
He had waited with trembling anticipation and need after that first time, unable to initiate that intimacy under the unusual conditions in which they found themselves. An agonizing two weeks passed before Catherine begged him to come to her once again, begged him to complete her, to complete them, in their bond. Afterwards she told him she had feared his hesitancy to approach her had meant that he wouldn’t allow a repeat of that intimacy. She had tried to ignore her yearnings for him, but she couldn’t...it was impossible.
In the tender aftermath of their passion, it was just as impossible to withhold the truth from her -- though he had often enough in the past where this issue was concerned. In an aching whisper, secluded in the comforting darkness of their chamber, he had told her how he needed her...would always need her. He couldn’t speak the words of doubt and fear that still filled him, but she knew. She comforted him and held him close, and hours later, in the middle of the night, they woke together, once again seeking the sensual release they could find only in each other and in their bond.
Three weeks had passed, and though his need for her had not abated and never would, there was a new hesitancy between them, and he was indeed the cause. Things had changed since that night two weeks ago, when they had felt the first stirrings of their child. He was overwhelmed by that experience, the reality of it shocking him into an awareness that had somehow eluded him since her move Below.
Catherine was pregnant. Catherine was pregnant with his child. Catherine lived Below now, with him, in the chamber he had occupied since childhood. Unbelievable, yet true. His child grew within her, the rounding of her belly now plain for all to see. His eyes traced her graceful curves avidly, the swelling abdomen starting well beneath her beautiful, full, up-tilted breasts, the nipples more prominent now than before.
His breath caught in a painful gasp, an ache building in his chest at the sight of her before him. She was so beautiful...so beautiful. What a fool he’d been to think that this would become easier as her pregnancy advanced; his mind drew him back, but his body urged him ever on. Nothing could ever weaken the desire she inspired in him, he saw that now with a fearful dismay, dreading the months to come; the months when he must endure her intimate presence beside him each night while denying himself the comforting warmth of their souls touching...merging...becoming one.
How could he do it? How? She was turning now, and in a minute would see his dim, still presence in the darkened door. He melted back into the shadows and silently retreated. He needed time...time to gather his scattered thoughts together, to pull his control back about him and secure it tight before he lay beside her tonight.
"What will you call the baby, Catherine?"
"We haven’t decided yet, Samantha. Besides, you know that even once we do, it’s a tradition to keep it a secret until the Naming Ceremony."
Vincent heard the teasing sound in Catherine’s voice and could easily picture the chagrined look upon Samantha’s face. She had thought, no doubt, that Catherine might not be aware of the significance of their traditions Below. He smiled and began to turn away from the chamber entrance, deciding not to interrupt their conversation, but Samantha’s next words stopped him in his tracks.
"It’s so romantic, you and Vincent having a baby."
Vincent could hear her sigh of delight.
"It’s like a fairy tale. When will the Joining Ceremony be? I say it will be after the baby comes, when you’re thin again, ‘cause you’ll want to wear one of your beautiful dresses from up-top, but Kipper thinks it will be before. He says Vincent doesn’t care about any of that." She rolled her eyes at that, as if to say ‘men, what do they know?!’. "I’m right, aren’t I, Catherine?"
Vincent’s breath caught painfully in his throat and he stood frozen, unable to move, dreading Catherine’s response. He felt the wave of sorrow first, then heard it in her voice, though he was sure it was well hidden from Samantha.
"That’s something else we haven’t decided about. It’s not that simple. There’s so much to concentrate on right now, what with the move Below, and the baby..."
She had tried to perk up her words on the last sentence, but by the time she reached the end, they trailed off, sad and unfinished.
Vincent swallowed hard, hot tears springing to his eyes as he felt the anguish Samantha’s words inspired in Catherine. As with everything else in their relationship, he was the problem. This was a topic that had never been raised between them -- not once. It ate at him, but he couldn’t do it.
At first glance it did seem obvious; Catherine was Below, staying in his chamber, having his child. But was that really her choice? No. None of it was planned, they were both victims of circumstance, adjusting as best they could to this amazing new reality set before them. Catherine had left her job to ensure the child’s safety, and he couldn’t argue with her reasoning -- her job had jeopardized her life more than once. And they couldn’t completely ignore the possibility, be it ever so slight, that this child might look like him. He winced at the very idea, immediately banishing it from his thoughts. No...no matter how unlikely that possibility, the logic of her move Below was also sound. But what would happen afterwards?
That was the question he whispered to himself every day, every time he found himself getting a little too comfortable with her presence beside him in his world. There was nothing to indicate this child would be anything other than a normal baby, like every other child raised here Below, save one. Long ago he had decided that he couldn’t tie Catherine to this limited existence. How could he do so now? Catherine had to be free to decide what was best, both for her and the child. Oh, she would stay if he asked her, he knew that to be true, knew she would bind herself and her child to him and to his world...if he asked her. But he couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted it for himself.
Vincent’s grief-filled reverie was broken by the sound of Samantha’s voice, her simple logic one which he wished he could accept with all his heart.
"You guys have to do it soon, Catherine. It’ll be the biggest party ever, and we’re all waiting."
Her words and tone brooked no argument, and he heard Catherine laugh with genuine humor. Her response tugged at his heartstrings, his sorrow as deep as ever.
"We’ll see, Samantha, we’ll see."* * *
Something pushed him, nudging him upwards, out of a deep sleep. He felt it again, somewhere near his hipbone, and his eyes fluttered open dreamily, slumber easing slowly away. The chamber was pitch black about him, the one candle left lit when they’d retired, long extinguished now. The pipes tapped out five o’clock, and he stirred lazily, Catherine’s warm, soft length pressed along his side. When it happened again it was much stronger, a kicking jab against his side which startled him awake completely, his eyes wide with astonishment.
He rolled to his side to face Catherine and found her awake, tears coursing down her cheeks.
"Catherine? Is something wrong?! I’m going to get Father."
Fear filled him and he hastily began to rise from the bed, but she stopped him, her hand holding his arm tight.
"No, Vincent, nothing’s wrong. It was the baby kicking. Here, feel."
She took his hand and guided it to her round abdomen, pressing him firmly against her side. He resisted for a moment, pulling back to make only the slightest contact with her taut smoothness through the soft fabric of her nightgown. As if the babe sensed his presence there, he immediately felt a fluttering motion beneath his palm. He drew in a quick, rasping breath, pressing down to feel that touch more fully. The movement slid away from beneath his palm and he quickly followed, tracing along the swollen curve of her belly until he found it again, near her navel. When it finally stilled, his eyes rose to hers, full of stunned amazement.
"So strong. I didn’t know it would feel that strong."
He was at a loss for words, the memory of those vigorous kicks still fresh in his mind. He felt her happiness, yet there was an element of immense relief there too; he felt it clearly, could plainly see it in the tears still filling her eyes.
"Tell me, Catherine, please."
She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, and when she let it out it was as if a weight had left her.
"It’s nothing, Vincent, not really."
She paused for a moment, and he watched her steadily, waiting for her to go on.
"It’s just that the books say you can usually feel this kind of activity in the fourth month, and I’m almost through the fifth -- the baby’s been so still up until now. And I look like I’m barely in my fourth month. Nancy was much bigger at this stage. I guess I was a little worried."
Vincent’s hand had never left her belly, caressing her unconsciously throughout her explanation. He realized what he was doing suddenly, flushed, and drew his hand away, raising it to tenderly stroke her hair back from her face.
"You should have told me, Catherine, we could have spoken with Father about it."
He was shocked by her admission. He had never suspected there might be anything amiss, trusting completely in Father’s and Peter’s assurances throughout. Worse yet, Catherine had been worried, and he hadn’t known, hadn’t been there to comfort her as he should have.
She drew in another deep breath and relaxed completely against him.
"I didn’t want to worry you, Vincent. Nobody else was concerned. I thought I was probably just being overly sensitive, now I know I was. But I’m not worried any more. Everything’s going to be fine."
She smiled up at him with a sure, calm certainty that overwhelmed him. No matter how much he shared these things with her through their bond, there was much he would never know. He saw it in her eyes, and felt it within her; in those few, precious moments of activity, she had connected with their child at a level that he could barely imagine.The Sixth Month:
"Vincent?"
Mary’s voice startled him out of his daydreams and he felt a flush sweep up over his face, tilting his head down to hide within the long strands of his coppery hair. Mary wasn’t fooled. She took a seat beside him and waited calmly for him to regain his composure.
"I’m sorry, Mary, I didn’t hear you. I was just...doing a little reading."
He gestured vaguely at the stacks of books upon the table before him, looking highly uncomfortable. The medical and physiological books all had titles which dealt with pregnancy and birth. Several helpers had taken the middle children on a tour of the Metropolitan Museum this day, leaving him the afternoon free. Catherine was busy with her tutoring, and he had taken that opportunity to do some research in the small library alcove of Father’s study.
"I’m glad you finally got some free time, you work much too hard. Everyone would understand if you cut back on your schedule a little bit, Vincent, especially now."
"We all have responsibilities. Mine are no more burdensome than anyone else’s."
Mary sighed, the slightest bit of exasperation evident there.
"This is a special time for you. So many changes have taken place; Catherine’s move Below, the baby... In a few months, they’ll be an even bigger change. You should enjoy this time while you can."
"A few months..."
He was once again lost in thought, his eyes hazy, the words a shivery whisper. There was a note of trepidation in his voice, and Mary noticed it immediately.
"What is it, Vincent? You’ve been so distracted during the last week or so. What’s wrong?"
His eyes focused back on her, and their gazes met. Mary had always been there for him -- he couldn’t remember a time without her calm, comforting presence. As a child growing up Below, there had been two people he could always talk to, no matter how uncomfortable the topic -- Father and Mary. That had changed during his early adolescence; there were things then that he couldn’t discuss with anyone, not even Father. That time culminated in the illness which defined his youth, and he emerged from it somber and withdrawn, and even more introspective than before. If Father was the force that sustained his will during that time, Mary had been the rock of stability holding him secure and safe. He paused for a few moments, then finally nodded, a resolute look on his face.
"I... Catherine and I... We want..."
He broke off painfully, beet red now, and uncertain how to proceed. His hands twisted together nervously upon the table and a moment later Mary’s rose to cover them soothingly, her gentle touch calming him almost immediately. He took a deep breath and made another attempt.
"How late into the pregnancy is it safe to...?"
He still couldn’t articulate the words, though Mary clearly understood what he was asking. She patted his hands comfortingly.
"There’s no definitive answer to that one, Vincent. If there haven’t been any problems, usually through the seventh month or so. The best indicator is Catherine’s comfort. You’ll know when it’s time to wait."
Her answer both reassured and discomfited him. Like Peter, she didn’t know the true state of affairs between them; only he, Catherine and Father knew that. He dreaded that explanation, but finally decided to go on, wanting her counsel on this issue.
"No, not...like that. We haven’t... Only once, Mary, the night the baby was conceived."
She couldn’t hide her surprised reaction to that, but he went on resolutely.
"But before then...and since, we’ve shared something akin to it, in the bond. The sensations are very strong, both emotionally and physically."
He couldn’t go any further.
There was a momentary pause as Mary digested this new piece of information. Her calm acceptance soothed him immensely.
"How did Catherine feel the last time you shared this?"
"She felt...fine."
That was an understatement. The heat surged up his face again, and there was no hiding it. Mary diplomatically pretended not to notice.
"Then let that be your guide. All of Catherine’s exams have gone very well. There’s nothing to indicate any problems -- none whatsoever. You love Catherine, and she loves you. You should be together. You have an advantage over other couples -- listen to her response through your bond -- I don’t think it will lead you astray. In fact, it’s probably better than listening to what Catherine herself may say, especially now."
She had turned to leave him, and added that last sentence almost under her breath, a wry smile on her face. He heard her nonetheless, his curiosity immediately piqued.
"Why is that, Mary?"
She laughed and her response floated back to him just before she began her descent down the spiral staircase: "Most woman notice an increase in their sex drive during this time of their pregnancy. Try the psychology section next -- Dr. Ruth."
He flushed once again, remembering the many times during the last two months when he’d felt those urges from her; a strong, sweeping desire that was cut off almost as quickly as he’d sensed it. He remembered those two nights when she hadn’t been able to contain it, when their passion had overwhelmed them completely. From those images, his mind flew once again, as it had all day long, to last night.He had awakened in the still darkness of the early morning hours, Catherine nestled in front of him, his length spooned along hers. The baby had been quite active before they’d fallen asleep, and she had drawn his hand around her waist to press it against the strong motion there. They had fallen asleep thus enfolded. The dream awoke him, a warm, sultry dream full of passion and love. His hand no longer rested upon her belly, but instead cupped the warm fullness of her breast, her nipple pressed tautly into his palm. His body tensed against hers, the passion of the dream still infusing him. He drew his trembling hand away from her and turned, curling up into a ball with his back to her. It was only then that he discovered she was awake. She turned and pressed along his length, one arm circling his waist and ribs to rest gently against his chest. He felt her nuzzle into the nape of his neck, shivering uncontrollably at the sensation that touch inspired.
"It’s all right, Vincent, it’s all right."
But it wasn’t all right. He’d had to pull away from that tender touch and her comforting words. His need was great, but so was his resistance. He left her then, to wander the outer hub, alone.He focused back on his surroundings and found that Mary, too, was gone.
* * *
"Vincent!"
He turned from his precarious perch on the bridge of the Whispering Gallery, startled by the unexpected and undetected presence near the far entrance.
"Mouse. What are you doing here?"
"Looking for you. Found you."
The young man grinned with pleasure, his obvious pride well out of proportion to the accomplishment. He walked out onto the bridge to join his friend and sat down cross-legged next to him. He peered over the edge curiously, then looked back at the larger man.
"Catherine’s with Mary. Saw her. Mary’s making a blanket. Pretty colors, soft. Nice. For the baby."
Mouse’s big grin still remained. His normal, cheerful nature had seemingly doubled ever since Catherine’s move Below. He watched her closely, inordinately pleased with her presence here. That vigilance increased whenever Vincent wasn’t with her. He had assigned himself as her protector in his friend’s absence, and took that chore very seriously, finding Vincent wherever he might be to issue his periodic reports.
Vincent had meant to tell him it wasn’t necessary, afraid that Catherine might grow weary of that continual observation, but she didn’t seem to mind, and truth to tell, he felt better knowing she was well protected when he wasn’t there. Besides, it was rare when they were apart for more than four or five hours. There were times when his work kept him in the deeper rock chambers through the day, but usually he would join her for lunch, his typical class work keeping him in the home tunnels. Though he had brushed off Mary’s suggestion that he cut back on his schedule, the truth was that had been done for him. Kanin and the others had delayed some of the deeper rock work which often kept them away from home for several days at a time, the return trip too long to be convenient. They made excuses for the delays, pretending that it wasn’t a good time for them and their families, but Vincent saw through their subterfuge.
Despite that, he said nothing, accepting their gift, and grateful that he hadn’t been put in the position of making that difficult decision himself. He knew Catherine was well cared for by Father and Mary and the others, but he couldn’t bear to be away from her, not now, as her third trimester drew near. After all, none of them really knew how long she would carry this child; nine months was pure speculation on their part.
But beyond that, he was torn by the need to give her some space. Catherine was used to living a solitary, private life, and he didn’t want to overwhelm her with his continual presence. So from time to time he forced himself to leave her alone, to let her experience the world Below on her own terms. She seemed content with that arrangement, seeking out the others for instruction and conversation, making a place for herself here Below that was uniquely her own. Still, he couldn’t deny the joy that filled him at the happiness and pleasure she always felt upon his return. They would retreat to their own chamber then, reveling in the cozy bliss of being alone there, together.
"Come back with me, Vincent?"
He started guiltily, caught once again in the daydreams and reveries that engulfed him so often these days.
"Come back? Is something wrong, Mouse?"
He rose hastily to his feet, furiously scanning the bond for any sense of danger or distress. He found only calm stillness there, a peaceful serenity that told him all was well with Catherine. He focused outward to find Mouse standing before him, one hand upon his arm.
"Nothing’s wrong. Catherine’s going to your chamber, to read, she said. Said I should tell you if I saw you. Said I would. Catherine wants you there. Didn’t say so, but Mouse can tell."
He blushed bashfully, and looked down at the ground, kicking a pebble out over the abyss. Vincent let out the breath he’d been holding with a gust of relief and something else -- pleasure, excitement. Catherine wanted him with her. She told him that over and over again, but his surprised response never changed. He clapped Mouse on the shoulder, happiness coursing through him.
"Let’s go home, Mouse."* * *
Vincent moved slowly about the chamber, putting his journal away and extinguishing all but one candle on the bedside table. The twenty-four hour candle behind the stained glass inset across from the bed had gone out an hour ago, but he had not replaced it with another. Anxiety vied with those other, strong emotions filling him, and he paused near the bookshelf with his back to the room, trying to gather his control tightly about himself. He had been struggling with these feelings for weeks now, his desire for her, his yearning to be with her in the bond coming upon him more and more frequently, the strength of those urges overwhelming him. Several times during the last two weeks he had made the decision to go to her, at least once more before her final trimester began, dreading the long interval that would inevitably follow before they could once more be together. But each time he had been unable to make that move, fear freezing him in his tracks. He knew that Catherine wouldn’t approach him, not after that night three weeks ago when he had left their bed, left her, rather than give her what she wanted, what they both wanted.
But that meant nothing now. The call to her was so strong, so deep. It vibrated through the bond to him, settling inside him in a place he couldn’t reach, couldn’t deny. Her own need was great, he felt it more and more often now, no matter how much she tried to hide it from him. He took a deep breath and gathered what little strength remained. His control tentatively regained, he turned back to scan the room about him.
The light in the chamber was low and dim now, casting the barest, comforting golden aura about a small radius of space near their bed. Catherine already curled cozily within the warm covers there, sleep easing through her in a slow, hypnotic wave. He moved toward her slowly, discarding his robe over a chair in passing. Before he slipped into the bed, he blew out the last remaining candle and darkness enfolded them. He lay stiffly at her side, mere inches separating them. Finally a shudder swept down his length, and he reached out to pull her close. She murmured sleepily to him, cuddling closer yet, and he held her tighter, pressing against her soft, curving warmth. He nuzzled beneath the silky fall of her hair to find her ear, whispering her name softly. He felt her begin to waken and moved downward a little, his lips kissing a line down her neck until he reached the tender hollow of her throat.
"Vincent?"
The shocked surprise in her voice was evident.
"I need you, Catherine...I need you."
His words rumbled through her warmed skin, and she quivered against him, groaning weakly in pleasure and relief.
"Oh, Vincent."
His mouth sought hers then, and passion exploded within them, a fireball of such heat and light that everything about them was consumed in its fiery glow. It was heavenly, glorious -- he couldn’t imagine how he had waited so long for this. The weeks just passed somehow rivaled the years which had preceded the discovery of this gift from their bond, when their love had grown with no sensual outlet besides the longing glances, tender sighs and tentative, chaste touches exchanged between them.
There was no way to compare that time with what they were capable of sharing now. He concentrated fiercely, attempting to separate the physical world from the bond-generated one which surrounded and enclosed them. Finally he felt the smallest stream clear the pulsing wave of the bond. One part of his mind followed and it led to the tunnels, to his chamber, to the bed where Catherine lay, warm and yielding beside him. It was astonishing to feel this while immersed in the sensual mind weave of the bond. The sense of Catherine ‘there’ was so strong, so poignantly sweet and yet so demandingly passionate. It was difficult to imagine anything that could add to the sensations experienced that way.
But what he felt now did. His hands trembled beneath her, wrapped tightly about her quivering body -- he could feel the long muscles of her back stretched taut with sexual tension, feel the strength of her arms, clasping him tight and drawing him ever nearer. His own body throbbed with desire, an aching, hard strength that yearned toward the soft haven of hers. A growl was torn from him then, and beneath the lustful pleasure there was an element of frustration; he needed her closer. His aroused flesh called out for her touch, but her rounded belly impeded the contact he craved. A second later he gasped in stunned surprise when he felt her thigh nudging against his.
The bond. It had to be the bond. It communicated the slightest nuances between them, allowing for an almost instantaneous response. He could feel that Catherine’s awareness was now, like his own, split between the twin states of their outer, physical reality and the inner, tumultuous sensations of the bond. He hesitated for one trembling moment, then slipped his leg atop hers, drawing her own in tight to the heat and passion of his body. She wriggled closer and pressed strongly against him and he gasped in ecstasy at the feel of her there, moving downward along her a little to increase that contact. Through the bond he felt her pleasure expand with a shivery, flooding fall of sensation, and knew her body had responded to that new contact. He could feel the effect of it fully through their bond, despite the layers of nightclothes separating them. The delicate scent of her arousal rose up to enclose him in a foggy haze, and he moaned with pleasure and delight, burying his face against the pulsing length of her throat, licking and nipping at the satiny soft skin of the hollow there. Not far beneath his questing mouth, her breasts pressed tight against his upper chest. The feel of her taut peaks drew a groaning cry from him, and before he knew it, seemingly without thought, one hand slid from around her back to seek that aroused fullness. He cupped the luscious globe and rubbed his palm against her straining nipple and she cried out, arching into his hand and the curve of his body strongly, with a demanding need.
Oh, god, how he wanted her! The scent and taste of her, the feel of her body surrounding him and holding him tight. He shook with passion, the flooding sensations of his body and the bond overwhelming him with a tempestuous ardor that burned a blazing trail through him. He couldn’t have everything he wanted, not now, a raspy voice deep inside told him that and held him back. He sank within for the briefest moment, listening to that voice, then emerged with a shuddering gasp, his focus now turned from what he couldn’t have to what he could.
He began to move slowly downward along her body, his mouth kissing an aching path along her chest until he reached the curve of her breast. He paused there for a moment, squeezing the taut fullness in his hand and lavishing hot kisses along the resulting swell. Through the bond he could clearly hear her cry of pleasure, her voice outside of it adding to the ecstasy filling him, urging him ever onward. He quested after that mewling cry, everything in him needing to bring her the rapturous release his own mind and body so clearly craved. His hand left the underside of her warm breast, his fingers slipping upward to catch the edge of the lace trimmed neckline of her cotton gown. He tugged it down until her taut, yearning nipple was exposed to his avid gaze and stared in awe at the beauty of her, his palm once again dipping lower to cup that enticing curve. Her rigid peak drew him and he suddenly heard Catherine’s words of six months ago, telling him how he had kissed her and touched her in the depths of the night. He still had no memory of that event, nor the more significant one that followed in the way station, but for some reason, that lack of memory was less disturbing now than it usually was. She had assured him of the pleasure she’d felt in his chamber on that long ago night, and he took courage from that. Slowly he began to kiss downward along that enticing slope.
His eyes were closed, absorbing the feel of her silky flesh beneath his lips and the swirling, chaotic desires and responses that filled the bond. Those sensations were as strong as ever, and growing; they drew him deeper and deeper into the sensual spell awaiting them. He was lost in the blissful haze of those emotions when, through the physical stream of his consciousness, he noticed a difference in the texture beneath him. The satiny smoothness had given way to a rippled firmness. He licked delicately along that surface, a rich, sensuous scent assailing him from the hidden valleys there. Catherine moaned and arched strongly beneath him, and suddenly the taste of her turgid nipple was against his tongue. He froze for the barest moment, then, with a groaning gasp drew her into the wet heat of his mouth.
"Oh, Vincent, Vincent!"
She cried out, her head thrashing from side to side upon the pillow as she held him tightly to her, needing this touch from him, craving it with an unending desire. He felt it strongly, through the almost overwhelming physical sensations that filled him as he quested after her luscious flesh. The emotions and sensations swirling through the bond suddenly coalesced, drawing together to a dense point that drew them with an irresistible strength. His body tensed, responding to that force with no thought, no hesitation. He felt the change in Catherine too; the swelling, flooding warmth that signaled the onset of her release. There was only a second to recognize those changes, before the dense mass exploded in a fiery burst that burned through them entirely. He cried out as their release encompassed them, the sensations so intense they bordered on pain. She arched against him and screamed his name, and he pulled her closer and tighter, seeking to touch every length of his pulsing body along hers. They strained together for some time unknown, then collapsed upon the bed, completely drained.The Seventh Month:
Catherine moved quietly about their chamber collecting her nightclothes in preparation for her evening bath. When she had them all together, Vincent set aside his journal and rose to accompany her to the small bathing chamber he had always shared with Father. He had begun this practice just a week before, concerned about the possibility of her slipping on the wet rock floor of that humid room.
Though she had been smaller than usual throughout the first six months of her pregnancy, that deviation seemed to be disappearing now, during the onset of her third trimester. From the back she looked little different than she always had, carrying most of her weight up front, but much of that had appeared seemingly overnight, just a little over a week ago. She had responded awkwardly to that new weight at first, uneasy in her motions. It took only a few days, however, for her natural grace and athletic ability to reassert itself, her movements regaining the lithe, graceful confidence she had always exhibited. He couldn’t imagine a sight more beautiful than Catherine pregnant.
"Are you ready, Catherine?"
"Yes, I think I have everything."
He took the stack of clothes from her and she slipped her arm through his as they exited the chamber. Just left of their rooms, about twenty yards down the small side passage, was the bathing chamber which also connected to Father’s rooms, another thirty yards down from the second entrance there. Once in the chamber, Vincent turned to set her nightclothes upon the hand-carved shelf that ran along the one straight side of that room between the two entrances. He heard a muffled exclamation behind him and turned back to find Catherine seated upon a flat rock, struggling with the ties of one soft, leather boot.
"Here, Catherine, let me."
He knelt before her and worked the knot loose, slipped them off, then helped her to her feet. She undid the buttons at the shoulders of her jumper, and it slid to the ground. She stepped away from it, moving to pick it up, but Vincent was there before her, folding it away onto the shelf with her nightclothes. When he turned back to her, she handed him her soft knit sweater, standing before him dressed only in a white chemise that fell to about mid-thigh. It had thin blue ribbons threaded through the narrow shoulder straps and around the low-cut neckline, with a small lace scalloping peaking out just beyond the silk trimming. The garment was a delicate, translucent blend of Irish linen and lace, one of the few Above things Catherine wore here Below. Since it fit her so well now, falling in loose, graceful folds about her, he had to assume she had shopped for this and a few other garments long ago, after she had discovered her pregnancy but before she’d moved Below.
His eyes drank in the shadowy outline of her body, and he drew in a shuddering sigh, dismayed by the lust he felt for her, even now. At first, he had wondered if she might wear the silky gowns which were her preference Above, both dreading and craving the sight of her in those richly sensuous garments in his own chamber, but they never appeared. He wondered why that was, sometimes attributing it to the coolness of the tunnels, sometimes to her shyness as her stomach swelled, sometimes, guiltily, thinking perhaps it had to do with him, with the delicate balance they had struck in the early days of her move Below. And sometimes he wondered if they would reappear later, after their child had been born. He never pursued this line of thought, however, the idea of it and all it implied too much for him to consider now, when there was yet so much left undecided between them.
He suddenly realized that he had been staring at her, lost in thought, and flushed, taking the sweater from her hand and turning hastily to stack it along with her jumper. When he turned back to her, she was just undoing the last of the small pearl buttons on the chemise. He held up a towel before her and she took it, letting her chemise drop to her feet. Her shoulders and arms almost seemed to glisten with a pale pink glow, especially here, where the water-laden air glittered from the reflected, flickering flames of the torch resting in its wall niche near the door. His eyes hastily rose back up to her face and he held out his arm to her. She wrapped the towel loosely about herself, took his hand and stepped onto the first step of the pool. He walked along the outer edge as she circled the perimeter of the pool steps, until she had reached the fourth level. She eased down onto that step fully, then pulled the towel away from her body, handing it up to him. The water just covered the rosy tips of her breasts and Vincent sighed raggedly, turning to wring out the towel and hang it over the length of pipe running along the wall just beneath the shelf. He picked up the delicate linen garment and laid it along with her other clothes, stroking the soft, almost silky fabric surreptitiously, then finally drawing reluctantly away. From there he moved to the wicker basket of supplies near Father’s entrance. He chose a bar of lavender soap and a vial of lilac shampoo, and handed both down to Catherine.
"I’ll come back in thirty minutes, Catherine."
"All right. Don’t worry, Vincent, I won’t try to get out without you. I’ll be fine."
He smiled sheepishly, then finally turned and left her.* * *
Sunday nights Below usually entailed a relaxing, communal event, and Vincent scanned the growing crowd in Father’s study in search of the one face which would complete this gathering and every other for him. Catherine had left with Mary and Olivia after supper, and none of them had yet made an appearance here, though he saw Kanin and Luke readying themselves for story hour, an empty chair beside them obviously intended for Olivia. Father was ensconced in his reading chair, a cup of tea and book at his side, chatting with Peter, who had come down for Catherine’s monthly exam and stayed for supper and chess with his old friend.
This exam, like all the others, had gone extremely well, no problems or concerns evidenced thus far. To Vincent’s relief, Peter was hopeful the baby would go full term, and Father tentatively concurred, though both were surprised by the rapid growth of the child during the last few weeks. They suggested that Catherine refrain from any activity from here on out, either physical or in the bond, which might result in anything approximating physical contractions, as they could bring on an early labor at this stage of the child’s growth. They had agreed, though neither mentioned that the bond seemed to have anticipated that need, muting those desires somewhat during the last few weeks, though they could not be banished entirely. Still, Vincent noticed a dramatic increase in his level of control where Catherine was concerned, and thought the same might be true of her, though they never discussed it.
It had happened just shortly after they had been together in the bond, near the end of her sixth month. Sometimes he thought that the sensations they’d experienced then had been so violently intense because the bond ‘knew’ it would be the last time. It sounded silly, but he couldn’t shake that idea. Many times during the last two weeks he had found himself reliving those moments in his dreams, both waking and sleeping. The pleasure they’d experienced then had been beyond everything that came before -- at least of what he recalled, he thought with the inevitable twinge of shame. Never had the bond allowed such a mixing of the physical and ethereal, and he had been overwhelmed completely by the fierceness of his response.
Sometimes now, upon seeing Catherine curled up in their bed at night, he had an almost irresistible urge to go to her, to undo the ribboned lacings of her gown and bare her beautiful breasts to his yearning eyes, to his hungry mouth. The fantasy would sweep over him in an instant, and each time it took a tremendous amount of control not to heed the urgings he felt within. But each time he had found a deep well of previously unknown reserve, a control that matched the requirements of those feverish desires. He was immensely grateful for this new control, while at the same time feeling an unending regret for the loss of that blissful rapture which had been theirs for such a short time.
His musings were broken by the sudden appearance of Mary in the doorway. Close behind her were Olivia and Catherine. He let out a sigh, his gaze catching her searching one immediately. He and Catherine had been together throughout the day, yet after each separation, no matter how small, the sight of her would stun him anew. She wore a soft tunnel gown over a loose blouse, and looked adorable, her swelling figure somehow not at odds with the almost girlish look of pleasure which filled her face at the sight of him. Neither noticed the indulgent, satisfied looks which were exchanged between many of the other occupants of the chamber at the sight of their favorite couple, separated by the length of the room, yet so obviously drawn to each other by the merest touching glance.* * *
"Vincent, what are you doing here?"
Rebecca’s presence caught him off guard, his concentration wandering this night.
"I couldn’t sleep. I thought perhaps a cup of William’s tea might help. Why are you up so late, Rebecca?"
She sat at one of the small tables in the kitchen area proper, sipping tea and reading from a stack of lists.
"I took a late watch for Jamie and just got off. A cup of tea sounded good to me too. The kettle is hot, why don’t you join me for a few minutes?"
He nodded and turned towards the counter where he filled a spoon infuser with William’s tranquil tea blend, then poured steaming water from the kettle over it. He added a dollop of honey, then joined Rebecca at the table.
"Is Catherine sleeping?"
"Yes. She wanted to read from Tennyson’s Idylls this evening -- they’re among her favorites -- but fell asleep before I could get through the first five pages."
He smiled ruefully, a tender light in his eyes.
"Mary says pregnant women need at least eight hours of sleep each night, sometimes more."
"I know. Catherine claims that she is eating for two, but I always add that it seems more likely that she’s sleeping for two."
Rebecca’s merry laugh floated out on the silence of the night, and her humor was infectious, drawing a soft chuckle from him. A moment later their eyes met, and he saw the love and friendship that had always been there between them. The happiness still remained, but her face grew serious when next she spoke, her hand reaching out to cover his.
"We all love having Catherine here Below, for her own sake, but when I think of what it means for you... I’m so happy for you, Vincent, you deserve this more than anyone."
He drew in a ragged sigh. He had heard those same words several times from his friends Below in the last few months, but somehow, coming from Rebecca now, they took on a new significance. Tears sprang to his eyes before he could stop them, and all he could do was wipe them away as they fell like drops of rain against his cheeks. Rebecca slid her arm around his shoulders, drawing him near, and he sank against her comforting warmth. His words whispered out, the aching tightness in his chest almost suffocating him.
"I don’t know, Rebecca, I don’t know. Catherine has given up her life Above because of me...because of the child. I’m so afraid she’ll be stifled here, that it won’t be enough. More than anything else, I want her to be happy. It would kill me to know that I had taken those opportunities away from her."
"Oh, Vincent, don’t you know? Catherine loves you more than life itself. She will never be happy unless she’s by your side. It’s so obvious to all of us -- why can’t you see it? Believe me, Catherine has lived a life full of material wealth, of luxuries and indulgences we can only imagine, but that means nothing to her now, less than nothing. She has chosen you over all else, and only you can make her happy -- not by setting her free, but by keeping her close. She needs you to need her, Vincent. That’s what will make her happy. This child is only the start, don’t you see? She wants to build a life with you, and only by accepting that, by opening yourself to her fully, will you give her the happiness she deserves. Do it for her, Vincent. Do it for yourself. You both deserve this."
He shuddered against her at those words, their import overwhelming him entirely. Could he do it? Could he accept that Catherine’s happiness lay in this world Below, with him? It would be simpler to believe it if it weren’t for the fact that the scenario Rebecca described all too aptly encompassed his own means for a happy life. Might this be nothing more than a convenient trick of reasoning his desperate mind tempted him with? How could he trust that it wasn’t? He knew that in Catherine’s happiness lay his own, yet somehow he couldn’t accept the reverse; that in his lay hers. This was what tormented him daily, as he watched Catherine blossom with his child before his very eyes.The Eighth Month:
"Vincent?"
Catherine called out softly from just beyond the entrance to the bathing chamber and Vincent froze in the middle of the pool, the sound of her voice immediately casting him into a state of confusion. He looked around wildly, trying to decide where the best spot was to hide himself, then gave up, standing where he was, though he had an almost irresistible urge to sink down deeper in the water until it covered his chest entirely.
"Come in, Catherine."
The nervousness that had filled him a moment ago was replaced by a surprised consternation upon her appearance. She wore a soft woven tunnel gown which was normally a pale ivory color, but now sported a dark stain from her right shoulder across her chest. Her hair was sticky and matted on the right side and her face and neck were suspiciously shiny.
"What happened?"
"William made me his special vegetable drink. He told me to shake the bottle before I poured it out, but apparently the lid wasn’t on tight."
She shrugged and gestured along the front of her gown, a chagrined look on her face. "William’s still cleaning up the kitchen."
He couldn’t stop the smile that crossed his face at the image her words inspired, but a moment later that smile disappeared, confusion and anxiety filling him once again.
"Could I share your bath, Vincent? The juice is awfully sticky, and I’d like to try to get this stain out of my gown before it sets in."
Her request was all too reasonable; there was no way he could refuse it. Still, there was a momentary pause before he could get his answer out, and when he did, his voice was husky and low.
"Yes, of course."
She kicked off her slippers and moved towards the pool steps, and he realized with relief that she wasn’t going to take her gown off first. He met her there and reached his hand up to hers, guiding her along the pool’s perimeter to make sure she didn’t slip. When she was safely on the pool floor, he moved several feet away, and stood there hesitantly, uncertain of his role now.
Catherine ducked beneath the surface of the water for a moment, and when she emerged she no longer wore the gown, but instead held it in her hands. The water reached to about the middle of his ribs and was just above the curve of her breasts -- his heart pounded at the very thought of them standing together in the pool, naked. Luckily she was turning away from him and didn’t notice his agitated response. She picked up a cake of soap from the edge the pool and began to rub it against the stained gown, working the soap in with a gentle motion of her fingers. A thought came unbidden to him then, of her fingers touching him in such a tender caress. He sighed and turned away, undone by that fantasy.
A moment later he heard her wringing the garment out, the water cascading in a musical flow against the gently stirring currents of the pool. When he turned back to her, the gown was gone and she was reaching for the shampoo. She stood in profile to him, her eyes closed, and when her hands reached up to lather her hair, the tips of her breasts broke the water line, their round curves and taut peaks glistening with jeweled beads of water. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly tight and dry, unable to turn away from the beautiful sight of her.
Suddenly he felt her eyes upon him, and his gaze rose guiltily to meet hers, embarrassment etched across his features. She smiled tenderly at him, love and acceptance there, but he couldn’t stop the shame that filled him, and turned from her, his breath coming in harsh gasps of pain and longing. He didn’t hear her approach, the touch of her hands upon his back catching him completely by surprise.
"Catherine, no..."
"Shhh, Vincent."
Her hands circled his ribs then and his breath caught in his throat, his agitation extreme. Before he could pull away, she tightened her grip about him, pressing her warm, silky body along the length of his and moving her hands caressingly along his abdomen and chest.
"Please, Catherine."
His voice pleaded with her, and he felt her hesitation, her hands stilled for the moment. He didn’t know what he would do if she wouldn’t heed his words; he didn’t want to think about that possibility. Finally she loosened her grip and began to pull away. Before she disengaged from him entirely, she pressed a kiss along his shoulder blade and whispered against his hot skin, "I love you, Vincent."
The words trembled through him and he shuddered uncontrollably, wanting her back even as she left him. He stood tensely still, listening closely to make sure her footing was secure. When she’d left the chamber he slumped against the pool wall, his hands pressed tight against the hard rock. He pushed with all his strength, willing the desire from his body and into the cold stone.
It took a long time for him to regain control once more. He couldn’t get the sensations out of his head; of her hands and body against him, of her lips upon him, touching his bare skin and silky covering. How had it felt to her? What had she thought of it?...of him? A quiet voice whispered out that she hadn’t been repelled, that she was pleased, that she loved him. He was surprised to recognize the voice as his own.* * *
A soft sound drew him out of the depths of sleep, and he found Catherine restless beside him. He lay silent for a moment, his eyes still closed, trying to sense what she was feeling. He concentrated intently, then felt a dull ache in his own muscles, low down, near the small of his back.
"Does your back hurt, Catherine?"
She turned to him in surprise, her gray eyes dark with sleeplessness, the light there reflected from the dim glow of the small stub remaining of the candle just behind the stained glass wheel.
"I’m sorry I woke you, Vincent. I just can’t seem to get comfortable tonight."
He rose up on one arm and stroked soothingly along her temple and the silky plane of her hair.
"Don’t be sorry. Turn around, and I’ll rub your back."
She complied immediately, turning until she lay on her side, facing away from him. He pushed the covers down to rest low on her hips, then began to massage the muscles at the small of her back. He felt the easing of her pain a moment before he heard her sigh.
"That feels wonderful."
She was almost purring with pleasure, and he suddenly recalled that night, ten months ago, when she had stayed Below with cramps and he had first rubbed her back.
How had they arrived at this point?
It was incredible, there was no other word for it.* * *
Vincent carefully left the pool and dried off, noticeably favoring his right arm. Drying his hair was impossible, and he finally gave up, turning to awkwardly pull on a pair of sweatpants, a thermal shirt and soft slippers, grimacing in pain as he maneuvered his right arm into the sleeve. He drew his robe off the shelf, but after a moment shrugged and looped it over his arm, not even attempting to put it on. Finally he left for their chamber.
Catherine was waiting for him. She was dressed in her own nightclothes, her hair already dry from her early evening bath. She met him at the chamber entrance, took his robe from him and slipped her arm about his left side.
"There’s no need to worry, Catherine. It’s just a strain, Father says it will be fine in a few days."
"I’m not worried, Vincent, I just want to help."
She stared up at him, her eyes full of love and concern, and he couldn’t deny her. He slipped his left arm around her shoulder and they entered their chamber together. She led him to the side of the bed where the covers were already turned back, and pushed him gently down to sit on the edge. She turned to the small brazier in the corner, pouring out a cup of tea for him. A moment later she returned and handed him the mug. He raised it to his nose and inhaled the delicate scent of the hot brew a moment before taking a tentative sip. It was William’s tranquil tea, and though he felt stiff and sore, he knew that it would relax his muscles and help him sleep.
"Your hair is dripping wet, Vincent -- you couldn’t reach it to dry it, could you?"
"Not very well," he admitted after a small hesitation.
"Let me."
She took a comb off the bureau and a towel from the chest resting against the far wall, then returned to the bed, crawling up to kneel behind him. He felt her breasts and belly press lightly against his back as she rubbed the towel along his scalp, squeezing the water from its long strands. He closed his eyes tensely, gathering his strength together, and a moment later he felt a soothing calm infuse him, partially from the tea, but mostly from their bond. He willed his muscles to relax, and suddenly they did, a comforting looseness easing through him which slightly muted the dull ache in his right shoulder and arm. Catherine felt the easing of his tension, and wrapped her left arm around his neck, hugging him gently. Her right arm slipped low to cradle his injured one and he felt himself encompassed by her entirely.
"I wasn’t completely honest with you, Vincent. I was worried, just a little. When I heard Kanin’s message over the pipes, that you’d been hurt at the work site, I imagined the worst. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when Father said it was only a strain."
He turned his head slightly until their foreheads just touched, his voice a low, husky whisper; "I know, I felt it."
She shivered at the intimacy of his words and a few moments passed before she was able to speak again.
"Father gave me some salve. He says it has to be rubbed into your arm, shoulder and upper back twice a day for the next few days. Are you through with your tea?"
He nodded mutely, uncertain of what to say or do next. She took the mug from him and set it on the bedside table, then turned back to tug at the hem of his thermal shirt.
"Let me help you with this."
The shirt was long, and he had to raise up for a second so that she could pull it clear of his hips. He sat tensely still in front of her, trying to find a way to do this himself, but he knew it was impossible. It would only hurt her to deny her help in such an innocent way, and besides, the truth was that he couldn’t rub the salve in himself, at least not on his back, that much was plain. While he mused anxiously upon his predicament, Catherine guided his left arm out of its sleeve and slipped the shirt over his head before continuing on to gently ease the other sleeve down his right arm.
Only a little thing, he kept repeating to himself as he sat half naked before her, but his anxiety was growing, the trembling in his muscles converting the dull ache of his right arm into a throbbing pain.
"Why don’t you lay on your stomach? I can rub your shoulder easier that way."
He jumped at that suggestion, happy for the opportunity to hide the sight of his chest from her. Catherine scooted over towards the stained glass inset and he slipped down upon the bed, sighing with relief. Not that he was any too happy that she saw his naked back, but he felt much less vulnerable now, the dim lighting of the chamber and his new position easing him considerably. He couldn’t raise his right arm up over his head, and so left it at his side, his elbow bent and hand resting near his shoulder.
Vincent heard her working the salve through her hands and a moment later felt their slick warmth upon him. She stroked the lotion along his arm and over his shoulder, finally rubbing it tenderly along the planes of his back. At first the cream felt cold, but a moment later a heat radiated through each muscle. A gasping sigh left him, and he realized he had been holding his breath ever since she first touched him. The salve was definitely working, and he waited, almost with regret, for her hands to leave him. Instead she repeated her earlier pattern along his flesh, her fingers massaging a little more forcefully into each muscle, easing the tension away from them. She stayed at the curve of his shoulder and neck a long time, until finally the tension left those muscles, too.
It felt good...so good. He didn’t want her to ever stop. He floated in a hazy cloud of warmth and his eyes drifted shut, pleasure enfolding him completely. It took only minutes for him to drop off to a deep, dreamless sleep.The Ninth Month:
"You should eat a little more, Catherine."
"You don’t need to worry, Vincent, I feel like I’ve eaten enough for four people this week. I just suddenly feel so tired. I think I’d like to lie down for a short while."
He immediately stood and helped her to her feet. Once out of the main dining hall he lifted her into his arms, her added weight no burden to him.
"Vincent, stop. This isn’t necessary. I’m just tired, I can still walk."
"I know that, Catherine."
Despite his agreement, he made no move to put her down, continuing on towards their chamber. When he arrived, he went straight to the bed and set her down there. He adjusted the pillows behind her and shook out a crocheted afghan over her. She sighed with pleasure and Vincent felt a warm satisfaction ease through him.
"Would you like me to read to you, or are you too tired?"
"I’m never too tired to listen to your voice. I never will be."
"What would you like?"
"Jane Eyre."
He glanced at her in surprise, and saw that the memory was upon her, too. The last time they had read that particular Bronte novel was that weekend over ten months ago, when her stay Below had ended in their first, real kiss. That had been the start of everything. It had led them here, to the chamber which they now shared, which in turn housed a new addition waiting silently for their expectant child. Unbelievable.
He retrieved the book from its shelf, then settled in his chair beside the bed and began to read to her. Within twenty minutes, they were both sound asleep.* * *
"Are you tired, Catherine? Would you like to take a nap?"
Catherine had been taking a daily nap for the last two weeks, and he asked automatically, though he felt no fatigue in her today, but rather a restiveness which surprised him.
"Not today, Vincent. I think I’d like to go to the Mirror Pool. Can we?"
He thought for a few moments, then nodded. It wasn’t very far, and he could always carry her if she grew tired. In fact the thought of that possibility pleased him no end. He took her hand and they began the short trek outwards from the main hub, happy and content in each other’s company.* * *
"It’s time, Catherine. Push!"
Father’s voice was as commanding as she’d ever heard it, but though she tried, she couldn’t do it. Her strength seemed to have disappeared entirely during the strong contractions of the last few minutes. She fell back limply against the mattress, sweat pouring off her body.
"I can’t.
"You can, Catherine."
She knew Vincent was terrified for her, for what might happen. She felt it clearly through their bond, but she heard none of it in his voice. Up until now he had been sitting at her side, holding her hands and pulling her forward to help lever her body for each demanding contraction, but now he released them and slipped his hands behind her shoulders. He quickly helped her sit up, then pushed the pillows off the bed and eased in behind her. She was cradled by the hard strength of his body, her head and back resting along his torso and chest, her arms lying along the firm length of his thighs, his knees pulled up alongside hers. The next contraction came hard and fast, and he leaned them forward to meet it, pulling her knees far back towards their sides.
"Push, Catherine, push!"
She felt an incredible surge of power through their bond, a strength filling her that stunned and amazed her with its fierce power. She gripped his knees tightly and pressed her upper torso back strongly against his chest, pushing with all her might. A scream was torn from her throat at the peak of the contraction, the pressure at her cervix intense. Suddenly it gave way with a slippery twist, and she gasped in surprise.
"The baby’s head is out, Catherine. One more, just one more," Mary implored her.
Catherine gritted her teeth and gathered her strength together. She felt Vincent holding her, both in his arms and in the bond, and they pushed. The pressure and pain disappeared in an instant, and both of them gasped in astonishment at the sudden absence. She closed her eyes for just a moment, then they flew open again. Father and Mary stood with their backs to them, near the tall table set up across the room.
"My baby..."
A resounding cry answered her plaintive plea, and she felt a flooding sensation through the bond, a mix of joy, anticipation and relief. She felt Vincent’s presence there, as she had so strongly during the last few hours, but there was another now, strong and sure within them both. She knew Vincent felt it, too.
"Father?!"
His voice was impatient, yet there was still an element of uncertainty there. His arms crossed around her chest holding her tight, and she felt the trembling along their muscled length.
Father leaned down to pick up the blanketed bundle upon the table and he and Mary turned back to them, tearful smiles upon their faces.
"It’s a boy. Vincent, Catherine, you have a son."
Father looked down at the small child hidden from their sight, deep within the folds of the receiving blanket, and there was no mistaking the look of tenderness and love on his face. He looked back towards them, and tears ran unheeded down his cheeks.
"He’s so beautiful."
He walked over to them and gently placed the child in Catherine’s eager, waiting arms.
A stillness enveloped him, but Vincent felt and heard Catherine’s every response. Her indrawn gasp rode the bond wave of her emotions, an awed, ecstatic joy emanating off her in a billowing cloud of sensation.
"Oh, Vincent."
Her words whispered out to him, full of love and light and tender satisfaction.
There could be no doubt that this was his son.
The whispy, pale curls would soon be thick and golden, that much was certain, and the almost invisible eyebrows curved inward toward the silky down of his nose. A light pattern, more shadow than substance for now, was sprinkled along his face and body, and it was obvious that it would shortly manifest itself in the silky covering of his father. The small, bowed mouth had a clefted upper lip, and the baby raised one clenched fist toward it in a futile attempt to suckle there. Vincent’s eyes were inexorably drawn to the tiny hands, his own large one reaching down to stroke along the miniature fist. The small hand opened immediately, fingers reaching to grasp the furred one held out to him. The nails were soft and barely visible, but there could be no doubt that they would eventually become sharp and tough, the angled edges unique.
The tightness in his chest was squeezing the breath out of him until Vincent thought he might actually faint, when suddenly the child’s eyes opened and looked up to meet his own. He had seen many babies Below, the blue of their eyes pale and soft, but not like these. They were an intense, bright color; like that of Gainsborough’s ‘Blue Boy’, the thought passed fleetingly through him. They were lit with a blazing light. He couldn’t stop his breathy gasp, and at that very moment heard the the same sound echoed by Catherine. Had Vincent been less fearful of his own image, he would have immediately recognized that color as his own. Catherine certainly did, a new surge of joy rushing through her to add to the considerable well of it already in existence.
The child stared up at them both and they were mesmerized, caught in the tender light that shone there. The waves of love and joy coming from Catherine beat against the buffering wall surrounding him, and suddenly it broke and crumbled, the tightness in his chest falling away with a silent rush. Tears sprang to his eyes, and his arms slid down to encompass the child, even as they circled her. He held them both with trembling arms, overwhelmed by the presence of this tiny being, this reflection of himself which Catherine had carried for so long within her, nurturing with her body and her soul.
"Oh, Catherine, Catherine."
He rubbed his cheek against her own, turning inward and down to press a warm kiss against the gentle curve of her neck, and the pulse beneath her ear quickened instantly in response. He nuzzled against the soft, pink shell, the aching words whispering out to her with a fierce urgency.
"I love you, Catherine, I love you."
A shuddering sigh swept down her length and she turned her face until their eyes met; stormy green and tumultuous blue blending together like waves in a turbulent sea gone suddenly calm.
"I love you, Vincent. I’ll always love you. Thank you."
Her last words were barely audible, but he shook in response to their undeniable meaning. They stared silently at one another for some length of time unknown, then, as one, they leaned together and their lips met in a tender kiss.* * *
Vincent stood silently in the entryway to their chamber, mesmerized by the sight within. Catherine sat in the deep rocking chair, Mary’s knitted shawl about her shoulders, their swaddled infant in her arms. He had never seen a more beautiful sight than that of Catherine as a mother, a glow emanating from her that was visible regardless of the presence of the bond. On the other hand, he could still hardly believe that he was a father, despite the incontrovertible evidence before him.
The baby was less than three days old, and neither had left this chamber, or him, for more than a few minutes at a time. Those days spent together, cozily ensconced within this familiar place, were completely different than the other days they’d spent here before. Now they were a family. Vincent’s throat tightened at that thought and he blinked back his tears, setting aside, for the moment, that there was much yet to be decided between them. Instead he let his eyes fill with the precious sight before him; the woman he loved and their child - their child! - tucked within the warm security of his world. His heart swelled with pride and pleasure, the blissful joy on Catherine’s face something he would never forget. The knowledge was overwhelming; that he was, at least in part, he thought humbly, responsible for that happiness. He suddenly remembered the words he had spoken to Catherine’s father before he died; how he would care for her, protect her and love her with his last breath. He silently repeated that promise now, their child an inseparable part of that solemn vow.
The still picture before him suddenly shifted, Catherine turning towards him as if she had known all along he stood there in silent reflection. She held one hand out to him, urging him to her with a quiet appeal that was irresistible. He moved to her side, staring down at the beautiful image of their son asleep in her arms. He reached down a tentative hand and lightly stroked the soft, downy curls, his hand coming to rest upon the child’s smooth cheek. His hand raised up then, to cup Catherine’s own satiny jaw, and he held her thus as his mouth lowered to hers for a gentle kiss. When he drew back, their eyes met and held, love and pleasure filling all the empty spaces within them. He was filled with thoughts and images of what this all might mean for them, what she had brought to his life, but he couldn’t speak, his chaotic thoughts a jumbled mass that defied translation for now. Instead he sank down on the floor to sit beside and facing her, resting his head in her lap. His right arm circled her legs to hold her close, the other hand rose to gently rest upon the blanketed body of their son. Catherine held the child close with her left arm, but her right one now shifted to encompass the still shoulders of the man she loved more than life itself.
No words were spoken between them, none were needed. A golden glow from the candle cluster set nearby enclosed them in a soft aura of light, their bond adding to that gentle illumination. A blissful peace eased through them, and they held it and each other close, their bond reaching out to weave it into the binding net that drew ever more tightly about them. They felt that peace sink deep within, and somehow, though there were questions which yet remained, Vincent knew that this, too, would always be a part of them now, theirs forever within the precious stillness of their bond.