Vincent’s frantic pace was gone now, his strength sapped completely by the traumatic events just past. He moved about the chamber slowly, weighed down with worry and fear. He needed to get her to Father, but the nearest pipe access was an hour away, and he couldn’t leave her, not yet. Instead he watched her closely as he stripped the clothes from her and bathed away the blood from the rest of her body. It was everywhere and his eyes were bleak by the time he finished. He covered her warmly then finally spared a glance for himself.
He too was covered with dark, wet stains -- her blood. He heated more water, pulled off his clothes and bathed, for once giving no thought to his nakedness, though Catherine slept a mere ten feet from where he stood. He wrapped a spare blanket about himself, unwilling to put the bloody clothes back on until they dried, then pulled a chair up close to the side of the bed and watched her as she slept, fear and dread coursing through him as the adrenaline which had kept him going since the accident drained off him in billowing waves.
It was perhaps an hour later when next she stirred. Vincent had left his hand resting gently against her forehead while he sat beside her, continuously monitoring for any sign of fever as she slept. But the heat he’d been dreading didn’t manifest itself. Instead he began to notice a slight drop in her body temperature. Finally she began to shiver, her head tossing restlessly upon the pillow. He sank to his knees beside the bed and gently stroked along her temple and cheek, willing his heat to her, but she only seemed to grow colder. He knew it was the loss of blood and that her chills in no way precluded the possibility of infection. He knelt beside her for several long minutes, but when her teeth began to chatter he moved decisively, sliding into bed and molding his body along her side, careful not to touch the raw wound just inches away. He slipped his left arm under her neck to cup her left shoulder and rested his right palm warmly along her ribs on her left side, gently rubbing her torso there.
Her restless motions ceased almost immediately, though it took a while before he noticed an improvement in her body temperature. It almost seemed as if she responded to his closeness and touch alone and that thought filled him with amazement and disbelief. When he felt a still calm both along her body and the bond, he relaxed against her and before he knew it dropped off to a restless sleep of his own.
Comforting, soft warmth surrounded him and he cuddled
close, instinctively keeping his touch from the
newly sutured flesh. The warmth
began to change, to increase until it was first only slightly uncomfortable,
then progressively more so. He woke abruptly to an intense heat -- it came from
Catherine. She moaned softly, heat shimmering off her body in distressing waves.
Vincent pulled away instantly and wrapped the loosened blanket more securely
about his nakedness.
From the height of the candles he could tell that he had slept for about forty-five minutes, certainly no more. He quickly filled the ceramic basin with cool water, added a little rubbing alcohol, then immersed several strips of cotton sheeting. He wrung out one strip and tenderly bathed her brow. His anxiety increased dramatically when he felt the wet rag turn warm quickly in response to the heat emanating off of her. He replaced that one with several fresh, cold strips and pulled the blankets away from her body in an attempt to lessen the fever consuming her. He gasped at the sight of the sutured cut, its red, inflamed puffiness filling him with an almost paralyzing fear. Vincent shook that off quickly though, and immediately moved to clean the flesh along that full length, leaving a cool compress of cotton strips along it before beginning to bath the rest of her heated body with the water and alcohol mixture.
It took perhaps thirty minutes before her fidgeting lessened, and he worked continually then and for at least thirty more after that, replacing the heated fabric with fresh, cold strips in an attempt to draw the fever from her. Finally he noticed beads of sweat along her brow and she grew calmer, the fever broken, at least for the time being. Once again he bundled her up in the warm covers and took a watchful seat beside her, his hand stroking soothing along her temple.
Vincent didn’t sleep at all for the next ten hours as Catherine’s body continually cycled between fever and chills. At one point he grew almost frantic as an intense fever overtook her. It lasted for at least two hours, and her delirious moans tapered off to weak, almost inaudible whimpers before it finally broke. But he had no time to relax his vigil then, for that episode was immediately followed by a dramatic drop in her body temperature and she was wracked with convulsive shivers that lasted for over an hour. Her skin felt like ice and he discarded his blanket altogether then, pressing his naked body along her fragile length and chafing her skin almost roughly in an attempt to give her his own heat. When that terrifying episode had finally ended, her rest seemed a little more peaceful, though he feared it was more from exhaustion than anything else.
He sat at her side for two more hours after that, never taking his gaze or touch from her until he was satisfied that the extreme body temperature swings were indeed through. Vincent’s own exhaustion was almost overwhelming, the fear and anxiety sapping his strength completely. Though there had been no evidence of another traumatic episode during that time, he still could not make himself leave her to find the nearest pipe station. He knew it would take almost two hours, perhaps more considering his waning strength, to get there and back, and he wasn’t willing to take the chance, not yet. He also knew that he should get some sleep now, while she rested calmly. He rose to check his clothes. They lay draped over a chair and the blood stains were quite dry now, but he couldn’t make himself put them on, the first tentative touch filling him with a trembling that brought with it images of that disastrous fall in the river cavern. He paused for a moment, then tightened the blanket about him and slipped into bed with Catherine. He settled down a foot from her, along her uninjured side, but rested a hand upon her left arm, near her shoulder, so that he would feel any movement from her should her condition change. Within seconds he dropped off to an exhausted sleep.
Vincent felt a stirring beneath his hand and several sensations immediately rushed over him to be interpreted by his semi-sleeping subconscious: Catherine’s skin felt somewhat warm, but not feverish and her heartbeat was slow and steady. Through the bond he felt a low, comforting hum, telling him that she was, at least for the time being, all right. A second later his eyes flew open as those sensations registered in his conscious mind. His hand no longer rested upon her arm, but instead cupped her left breast, her heartbeat reassuringly clear beneath it. He stayed still for a moment, searching her face for anything amiss, then finally sighed raggedly. The bond hadn’t lied. She still slept, and seemed to be resting, if not altogether easy, at least calmly.
Vincent drew his hand away from her breast, his own heart skipping a beat as the rhythm of hers slipped from beneath his palm, then glanced at the short stub remaining of the twenty-four hour candle -- he’d been sleeping for a little over four hours. That candle was the only one left lit in the chamber. The torch had also gone out sometime in the last few hours. He slid from the bed and, not without a shudder but with firm resolve, finally dressed again in his stained clothing. He looked down at himself in horror, the first image of her injury replaying itself again in his mind, then quickly drew his cloak on -- the blood stains were almost invisible along its ebony length, he noted with relief. Next he lit a new twenty-four hour candle and a fresh torch and set some water to heat beneath its flame.
No sooner had this been done than he felt a stirring through the bond and heard a soft murmur behind him. Vincent turned to find Catherine blinking hazily from deep within the rumpled covers of the bed. He went to her and eased down upon the mattress at her side, careful not to jar her.
"Vincent?" Her voice was hoarse.
He stroked gently along the softness of her temple for a moment as he searched the wan paleness of her face. "I’ll get you some water, Catherine."
He left her side and returned a moment later with a small, water-filled bowl and a sponge. He saturated the sponge completely and held it to her parched lips, squeezing it gently until the water dribbled out in a slow stream. Catherine drank only a little, and soon he set the bowl upon the bedside table.
"How do you feel?"
She stretched and caught herself with a grimace of pain, a gasp pulled from her lips. "Sore."
He nodded in sympathetic response. "Try not to move too much for now."
"How long?"
She glanced about the chamber and he knew she meant ‘how long have we been here?’
"Just over twenty-four hours."
Catherine’s eyes widened at his words. "Father?"
Vincent shook his head. "I couldn’t leave you, Catherine. The nearest pipes are an hour away."
He did leave her then, but returned a moment later with the ceramic bowl filled with hot water and some more strips of cotton sheeting. He sank to his knees at the side of the bed and set the bowl on the floor.
"I’ve got to clean the wound again, Catherine."
She didn’t speak, but nodded in agreement.
He drew the covers back until they rested at the tops of her thighs and Catherine gasped at her first, clear sight of that injury. It was long and deep, though that last was more sensed than seen. Luckily it didn’t look too jagged -- Vincent’s stitches were frequent, small and regular, and in some small, rational corner of her mind the thought came that it would heal well, all things considered. Still, her foremost response was one of horror. The cut traversed the full length of her torso in an angry red line and she squeezed her eyes shut tight in order to stop the tears. It was ugly, completely dwarfing the slender beauty of the body she had worked so diligently to maintain. Had her painful response been less so she might almost have laughed at that ridiculous thought. She had almost died, they had both almost died, and Catherine suspected she wasn’t out of the woods yet. And what was her first thought? A vain and shallow cry for her lost beauty. Pitiful. Pathetic.
Still... She had waited patiently for the day when Vincent would look upon her nakedness with awe and pleasure; a gift she craved to give to him and him alone. Instead he saw this... this ugly, painful gash that marred her silky flesh and could leave him no room for anything but sorrow, fear and sympathy. She could feel it even now as he looked upon her.
Vincent felt her chaotic response through the bond, but couldn’t separate the jumbled emotions swirling there. He tenderly bathed her injury, wincing in pain each time she did. The wound was more swollen in some spots than others, and drained slightly near where it ended, on her belly. He made a compress of hot water and packed it along the wound’s length, letting the heat infuse her flesh until the cloth strips just began to cool before replacing them. He repeated this step at least four times, and Catherine lay still beneath his ministering hands, her eyes closed tight against the image of that cut, though the picture would not leave her mind.
"I’m sorry, Catherine, but I’m almost finished."
Vincent could feel the tension filling her, even without the bond it was unmistakable; her hands were clenched in tight fists and her muscles strained along her length. Tears welled up and spilled over his cheeks as he nursed her, attributing her reactions to the physical pain of her injury and the heat of this treatment. Finally he removed the last compress and covered her with the blankets once more.
When Catherine finally opened her eyes again Vincent stood with his back to her across the chamber, emptying out the basin into a metal pail on the floor. When he turned back to her she could clearly see the evidence of his tears, his eyes swollen and red, and her painful introspection immediately ended. She held out a trembling hand and he came to her quickly, grasping it tight and easing down to sit beside her on the bed.
"I’m all right, Vincent, really."
The tears he had finally suppressed just moments before spilled over again at her words and he leaned his forehead against their clasped hands. She couldn’t stop her own tears then, and her other arm encircled his broad back, rubbing against the muscled tension there until it eased and she no longer felt the hot tears slide along their tightly entwined fingers. Finally he sat up and wiped his eyes, not trying to hide that action from her.
"We need to get you back to the main tunnels and to Father. It will take me a while to get to the pipes and back; perhaps as much as two hours. I should go as soon as possible. You should eat something, but I would rather wait for a few hours yet, until I’m sure you can keep it down."
"Go now, Vincent. I’m all right."
He stared at her intently and she felt a probing along the bond that she had never before experienced. There was nothing subtle about it, and she was amazed to realize that Vincent had kept this ability well hidden from her during the course of their relationship. But this was not the time to pursue that point, it would have to wait for later. His words interrupted her wandering thoughts.
"You’re sure, Catherine?"
"Yes. Go."
He stared at her for a minute, then nodded and headed for the chamber exit.
"Vincent!"
The urgency of her tone stopped him abruptly and he whirled to her with concern on his face.
"Be careful."
The worried concern melted to a sorrowful understanding, the image of the collapsing cliff face clear in both their minds.
"Don’t worry, Catherine. Rest. I’ll be back soon."
And then he was gone.
Time passed slowly, Catherine’s thoughts consumed entirely with self-pity now in Vincent’s absence. She couldn’t help herself, though she tried to block the flow of those emotions from him. A numbness overlay all else and she suspected that she might have been successful in that endeavor.
Just over an hour and a half had passed, though it felt closer to three, when Vincent returned. He swept into the chamber and came directly to her side to rest a hand upon her brow. She pulled it down to press a kiss into his palm, that action suddenly irresistible to her. He sighed softly, allowing his hand to rest there, against her mouth for a moment, relief outweighing his habitual reserve.
"They’re on the way, Catherine. It won’t be long now."
She nodded, that slight motion sending a tingling from his palm up his arm and throughout his body. He pulled his hand gently away then, cupping her cheek tenderly.
"Do you think you could eat some soup now? The trip back will be uncomfortable and you’ll need your strength."
A smile tugged at her lips. How like him. He would protect her with his dying breath, but he wouldn’t keep the truth from her. It pleased her so, this faith he had in her, this belief that she could endure almost anything with a stoic’s strength. The smile faded as her earlier thoughts intruded once more. Was he right? She had come to think he was during the last two years, but now she wasn’t so sure.
"Catherine?"
She saw his worried look of concern and shook those thoughts away, unwilling to burden him with their triviality.
"I am hungry. I think I might be able to keep a little soup down."
Vincent was immediately distracted by her words and left to rummage through the trunk at the foot of the bed. A moment later he emerged with a plastic bag and a small saucepan. She watched him fill it with water and empty the contents of the bag in it, then set it carefully upon the tripod, above the burning torch. A few minutes later a spicy aroma filled the room and Catherine found herself salivating in response. She hadn’t known how hungry she was until that exact moment.
The soup was apparently freeze-dried and was ready quite quickly. In no time at all Vincent poured a little of the broth in a mug and sat once more at her side. At the first spoonful, her stomach lurched in protest, but it settled down after that and she was able to finish off most of the contents of the mug. That interlude was strangely comforting and pleasurable -- she would periodically close her eyes throughout it and imagine herself in Vincent’s bed, being cared for by him after her attack, more than two years earlier. Only then her face had been bandaged and she hadn’t yet seen him, seen the full beauty of him. Now... She couldn’t finish that thought, the soothing soup turned to ashes in her mouth.
Vincent felt the sudden twinge shudder through her and set the mug aside. "What is it, Catherine? Are you in pain?"
She shook her head, for a moment not trusting her voice.
His look of concern deepened, but he didn’t press her.
"I need to bandage your wound and tape it securely for the trip back. Could I do it now?"
Catherine sighed with resignation and nodded. "Yes."
He watched her closely for a moment longer, his hand resting soothingly upon her brow, but when she spoke no further he finally turned aside to go through the metal first-aid kit upon the table. After he had gathered everything he needed, he poured out another basin of hot water, set it upon the floor and knelt at her side. When he drew the covers back to bare her torso, Catherine raised her right arm out of his way and, seemingly as an afterthought, draped her forearm across her eyes.
Vincent paused and looked up at her half-covered face. What he could see of it was deathly pale, and he searched the bond gently in an attempt to share her pain or fear, but there was nothing, only a tense stillness that withstood his tender probing. Finally he sighed and turned his attention back to his task. He cleaned the wound once more with warm water, then soaked clean rags in a peroxide mixture.
"This will sting a little."
She nodded but didn’t speak.
When he laid the strips along the cut, Catherine gasped and Vincent both felt and saw her muscles tense along her torso, arms and throat. His hands rose to gently knead her shoulders near the curve of her neck and a minute later her tension eased, though she still would not uncover her eyes. Overtop of the wet strips he laid a three-inch wide length of cloth bandaging which extended several inches beyond each end of the wound, and over the long edges of that he carefully placed two lengths of sterile tape. At the top of the wound he paused, then finally stopped the tape just short of the end of the cut. Her nipple lay just beyond it, and though he had cut the cloth bandage long enough to cover it protectively, he couldn’t make himself place the tape over that sensitive region.
Starting low on her belly, Vincent placed an eight-inch length of tape cross-wise over the bandage to hold her flesh secured tight for the trip back, brushing back her dark curls to ensure that none were caught under the edges of the sticky tape. Then he added two more cross-wise pieces further upward along her torso. When he reached the top of the wound he paused again. Finally he decided to place the last piece of tape just before the end of the cut, at the curve of her breast just above her ribcage. He knew this soft flesh would be even more susceptible to tearing if not held firm, and Vincent silently promised himself that only he would remove the bandages once back in the home tunnels to ensure that her delicate skin was hurt as little as possible.
"I’m done, Catherine."
She nodded in response and dropped her arm down, though she kept her eyes closed as if fatigued. Catherine expected to feel the warmth of the blankets enveloping her once more, but instead felt them pulled off entirely and looked up in surprise.
Vincent saw her reaction and answered quietly. "They should be here shortly; we need to be ready to leave quickly." He moved about the bed, untucking the bottom sheet from the mattress, then crossed her arms about her torso and wrapped it about her securely, leaving no ends hanging free. He spread out a soft blanket next to her then gently moved her to its center, wrapping that one about her too, until she was enclosed completely, only her face exposed.
Catherine had to smile at the image she must present -- she felt like a mummy. Vincent saw her response and felt the small bubble of humor through the bond and smiled tremulously in return, but it lasted only for a moment. Finally he sank down on the edge of the bed, laid his head next to hers upon the pillow and curled his right arm over her chest to gently cradle her torso along her ribs and shoulder on her left side. His eyes closed and he cuddled closer yet, burying his face against the curve of her neck. A quiet stillness enveloped them.
Later Catherine would remember those moments so clearly, their poignancy almost unbearably sweet to her. But there was a darker element hovering near, one whose presence would make itself felt eventually, of that she was certain. She sighed heavily, knowing he held his deepest feelings of grief and guilt yet from her. When would this finally come out and how could she help him through it? It was a painful thought which led to other, more complex twists of logic as she tried to guess how his ultimate response to this accident would manifest itself, how it would affect their relationship, how it would affect them. She was lost it that labyrinth of thought when she heard sounds echoing from down the outer passageway. Focusing on Vincent once more, she found him still seated by her side, his hand resting upon her bundled shoulder, his head turned now to watch the chamber entrance. A second later the cavalry arrived.
"Vincent, Catherine!" Kanin, Stephen, John and Kevin entered, a rolled up stretcher in hand.
Vincent stood up and clasped Kanin on the shoulder, his gaze touching each of the other three men in turn. "Thank you for coming so quickly. I know it’s a long way, but we should leave immediately."
"No problem, Vincent, we’re ready now. Father sent these pain pills along, Catherine. They’re strong and might make the trip back a little easier for you."
"Thank you, Kanin," she whispered, her voice hoarse and weak.
Kanin nodded sympathetically, touching her brow lightly in a comforting, brotherly caress. He gave the pills to Vincent then turned to the water dispenser, filling up several canteens and restoring them again in his pack. Vincent handed him a paper sack which Catherine knew contained the bloody remains of the sheet strips and her torn clothes -- to be burned once back in the hub, she had no doubt -- and that too was added to the pack without comment.
Meanwhile Stephen and Kevin moved quickly and efficiently, unrolling the stretcher and setting it upon the bed next to her. But when they began to position her to slide her upon it, Vincent stopped them.
"I’ll do that, Stephen." His words were soft, but firm, and they backed away immediately. He moved to the other side of the bed and sat beside her. The other three became quite busy suddenly, though for the life of her, Catherine couldn’t figure out what it was they were doing.
"Here, Catherine, take this."
Vincent raised her head up slightly so that she could take the pill he offered, but not so much as to cause her any undue pain. Her arms were tightly enclosed in the sheets and blanket, but she managed to take the pill and the water he held for her after that with no mishaps. He eased her back to the mattress, but kept his arm about her and leaned down close to stare deep into her eyes, their noses almost touching.
"Are you ready?"
The words were a husky whisper, unheard, she was sure, by
anyone else in the room. Her gaze locked to his and she nodded, but still he
didn’t move. She didn’t know how long they sat there, intent only on each other,
but finally he blinked hazily and pulled away. He returned to the other side of
the bed and gently slid her over onto the stretcher. Stephen and Kevin returned
to stand at her head and foot, but before they could pick it up off the bed
Vincent leaned down to her once more.
"I’ll be right next to you the whole way, Catherine. Don’t worry."
"I’m not worried, Vincent."
She wanted to say more, to tell him how she never worried when he was with her, but she held those words back, certain he would somehow twist their meaning in light of what had happened just a short day since. Instead she smiled up at him with a trust and assurance that he couldn’t misinterpret, no matter how much he tried. Vincent surprised her then, leaning down to press a kiss, not upon her brow, but amazingly enough upon her lips, in plain sight of the other four men in the chamber. She was speechless, stunned, and he pulled away and stepped back before she had a chance to respond. She felt herself lifted up and they began the trek back to the home tunnels.