The Fire and The Rose (4)

As usual, Vincent was the last to leave, putting the huge wooden bar across the doors until the next occasion the Great Hall might be needed. The Helpers had long since returned to their homes above, and most of the Tunnel residents had stumbled into bed, except for the clean-up volunteers. Even the pipes were quiet as they approached the central chambers. Only a few candles burned in Vincent's chamber as they entered to retrieve their gifts. Catherine sank gratefully in the chair as Vincent sat on the floor beside her. Her feet had gotten quite a workout tonight. She handed Vincent his present.

"Happy Winterfest, Winter Solstice, Chanukkah, Christmas, Feast of Sol Invictus, and et cetera," she smiled.

"You have been reading a great deal of Joseph Campbell," he said fondly as he accepted her gift. It felt heavy. Carefully removing the beautiful wrappings intact he opened the box and smiled. "Sekhmet."

"It's a nineteenth century copy, of course," Catherine admitted. "You don't find genuine Egyptian antiquities in little Greenwich Village antique shops. But I just couldn't resist her."

"I wonder why?" he inquired. He turned the lion-headed bronze figure over in his hands. His eyes returned to Catherine's face. "She was a war goddess."

"She's a very strong goddess, a warrior's goddess. I decided you needed somebody very powerful to watch over you when I'm not there."

"Are you comparing yourself to Sekhmet?" Vincent asked.

"If anything threatened you, I could give her a run for her money." Catherine pointed to herself. "Though she be but little, she is fierce."

Vincent laughed. "Your ability to quote Shakespeare grows by leaps and bounds."

Catherine reached out a hand to stroke his hair. Her voice grew serious. "Perhaps it's my way of telling you I love all sides of you. Before I told you there was no darkness, as long as you were with me. Now that I think about it, I realize it's not true. There's always got to be darkness, and that's not a bad thing. How else would we recognize light? It's the balance that's important."

"Light is the left hand of darkness, and darkness the right hand of light," Vincent quoted softly.

"Exactly," Catherine agreed. "It's not that there is no darkness when we're together-but that I'm not afraid of it. There can be treasures buried in darkness."

Wordlessly, Vincent handed Catherine her gift. She also unwrapped it carefully, knowing the paper still had many lifetimes of use Below. Nestled in tissue paper was something that seemed nothing but a piece of stone at first, until she tilted it and the light flashed from its glittering heart. "Oh, Vincent, it's beautiful! I've never seen a geode this color. It's like a crystal flame."

"A small thing-for your belief that there was treasure in my darkness."

The love in Vincent's voice was so strong Catherine could not bear to look at him for a moment. She stared at the red-gold heart of the stone in her hands, wondering if Vincent could read her mind as well as her feelings. Often, in her own mind, she had compared his desire for her to a geode. She thought of his passion, as fiery and pure as this crystal, locked inside impenetrable stone. Sometimes she despaired of it ever seeing the light.

"Catherine--are you all right?"

She raised her head to face him. "Just overwhelmed. It's so beautiful."

Vincent took her hand and held it to his cheek for a long moment. "Not as beautiful as you." Still holding her hand, he searched her face for a moment. "It's very late ... would ... would you stay Below tonight?"

For a brief moment, the imagery of the geode still in her mind, Catherine's heart leaped. Could he possibly mean-no of course not. "Where could I stay?"

"There is chamber free that you should like. It's somewhat distant from the others, you would not be disturbed."

Concentrating hard on hiding her feelings of disappointment, Catherine nodded. "Thank you. To tell the truth, I don't feel much like going Above tonight."

Vincent rose, still holding her hand, and blew out the candles. They walked a long way, past doors behind which only quiet could be heard. As they passed the chamber where she had stayed when her father died, Catherine idly wondered if someone had moved into it since. Finally, at the end of a branching corridor, they came to a door with a heavy tapestry covering it. Pulling it aside, Vincent motioned Catherine to precede him.

It took a moment for Catherine to make sense of the scene before her. When she did, she seemed to lose all power of motion and could only stare. At first, she saw only fire and roses. The flames soon resolved themselves into countless candles-smaller ones in niches and on the tables; large thick ones in tall holders at each corner of the huge bed. The roses remained roses, huge bouquets of them on every surface, and two perfect blooms resting on the pillows.

Catherine whirled around to search Vincent's face, afraid to believe that all this could mean what it seemed. His face would have told her all she needed to know, if the tremor in his voice did not. "Catherine-I would stay here with you-if you will have me."

She could not speak, but the surge of joy and desire she no longer needed to hide was answer enough. Vincent almost staggered at the force of it, a look of astonished wonder on his face. Throwing her arms around his neck, Catherine buried he face in his chest and burst into tears. "If I will have you? Oh, Vincent!" Her voice was a mixture of laughter and tears as she lifted her head to look at his face. "Vincent, are you sure about this? Don't do this for me; it has to be what you want."

"Catherine, I have wanted this almost from the first moment I saw you, even though it was a long time before I admitted it to myself. And once I had done so, I mocked myself for thinking, even for a moment, that you could ever think of me in that way. Painful as that was, I consoled myself with the thought that it was all for the best, since it was impossible anyway."

"And when did you admit that I did think of you that way?"

Vincent looked down at her face with a reminiscent smile as he combed her hair with his fingers. "One disadvantage of the bond I have with you--it makes it very difficult to maintain ignorance of something like that."

Catherine leaned her head against his hand, closing her eyes. "When did you decide it wasn't impossible after all?"

"I have thought long and hard these past months about your words, and your faith in me. You have finally given me the courage to trust what my heart tells me. But even now, I can't be certain ... can't be sure this is without risk."

Catherine opened her eyes at the undercurrent of fear she heard in his voice. Turning her head, she kissed the palm of the clawed hand that had been buried in her hair. "Remember, Vincent-some risks are worth taking."

Wordlessly, Vincent traced the tracks of tears on her face with his fingers, then bent his head to let his lips follow their path.

When those lips finally found her mouth, Catherine buried her hands in Vincent's hair. She knew then he had been right to deny her this before. It was like putting a match to straw-once begun, there would be no stopping. Finally, they broke apart to look at each other, breathing as if they run a long way.

Catherine tried to calm her raging feelings a little bit. She had waited so long for this moment, she intended to make it last-for her own sake as well as Vincent's.

Vincent seemed glad of the temporary respite. Finding his voice at last, he spoke seriously, not looking at her."Catherine-it is unlikely I could ever give you a child. But if there is any chance at all, it is not a risk I am prepared to take ... it is too dangerous for you, and not fair to the child."

Touched by the undercurrent of sorrow in his voice, Catherine put her arms around him and held him close. It's a risk I would take gladly, she thought, but that was a battle for the future. She had expected he would feel this way. Paracelsus' poisonous lies had done their work well. Stepping back, stroked Vincent's cheek tenderly. "You don't have to worry about that, love," she reassured him. "A little while ago I decided it might be a good idea to ... uh ... be prepared for ... anything," she finished lamely. Catherine was relieved at the quick understanding that showed in his face. Being the son of a doctor had its advantages.

Vincent's voice was teasing. "You were that sure of me?"

"Oh, no! God, no," she answered with feeling. She looked deep into his eyes. "I was that hopeful," she whispered, her voice breaking. Seeing her own longing mirrored in his eyes, she rubbed her hand on the velvet of his vest for a moment, before slowly beginning to untie it. Laying it aside, she toyed with the ruffled collar of his shirt, and suddenly smiled.

"What is it?" Vincent asked her, bemused.

"I was just thinking-when I first saw you tonight, I thought of this as your 'special occasion shirt.' I had no idea just how special an occasion it would prove to be." Catherine took his hands and pulled Vincent forward. "Come on, sit down on the bed a moment. There's something I've been dying to know." Afraid to ask, Vincent allowed himself to be led. At this point, he could refuse Catherine nothing, no matter how inexplicable. When he was seated, Catherine knelt to take off his boots, then his socks. When she was finished, she looked up at him, grinning.

"Catherine, don't you dare say it."

"You are awfully tall for it. But you do live in a hole in the ground, although I've never seen you smoke a pipe. Do you eat six times a day?"

"Catherine, I have been hearing this sort of thing from the children all my life."

"Do you mean," she asked in mock indignation, "everybody around here knows you have furry feet except me? How did they all find out?" she asked him suspiciously.

"Father has always insisted we all learn basic survival skills, including swimming. I have never been comfortable doing so with others around, but I could hardly put anyone to the trouble of teaching me separately. Word spread."

Catherine rose to sit on the bed beside him. She put her arms around him and hugged him fiercely for a moment. "Vincent-there you go dwelling on your differences again, and assuming the worst. Didn't you ever think that people might actually find them delightful? I hope you don't think I love you in spite of them. I love you because of them, because they're part of your wonderful, unique self."

To reinforce her words, Catherine traced the shape of his lips, first with her fingers, then with her tongue. Somehow among the hungry kisses that followed, the ruffled shirt ended up on the floor, and Catherine almost lost herself in the feel of silky fur against her hands. With an effort, she pulled away and stood up, Vincent following as if mesmerized.

"Your turn," Catherine whispered, indicating the dress. For a moment, Vincent did not move. Then, taking a deep, shuddering breath, his finger moved along the chain of her necklace to touch the crystal where it rested between her breasts. Catherine kept her eyes on his face as he reached behind her. Unzipping the dress slowly, he eased it off her shoulders. As it slid to form a gleaming pool around her feet, he drew in his breath sharply.

"Vincent?"

"I ... I had expected you would be wearing more underneath it," he admitted hoarsely.

"It's a heavy fabric," she explained. "I thought it would be too warm with the dancing, and all the people ... it's not the first time you've seen me this way," she reminded him gently.

With obvious effort, Vincent raised his eyes to her face. "All I could see then was the blood and the bruises. I could not understand how anyone could bring himself to mar such beauty ...it seemed a desecration." As he spoke, his hands moved tenderly over her skin, as if they had a will of their own.

Pulling him close to her, Catherine whispered into his ear. "Then it's past time you had some better memories to replace that one."

Catherine knew full well what it cost Vincent to take this step, and what fears still remained. Despite all her words in the past, a little core of doubt lay deep in him, doubt that she could really love, really desire, a body such as his. Having no doubt herself, Catherine simply let her feelings show him the truth as they slowly finished undressing each other. He was more beautiful even than she had imagined, and she could feel the joy growing in him as his doubt dissolved under her touch. As they lay together in the great bed, she slowly discovered what a feast he was for the senses, as he learned how strongly she responded to his discovery of her. Sensing Vincent's remaining fear of losing control, Catherine used her own growing passion, transmitted through the bond, to lead him onward until the last of his barriers crumbled. They both discovered, as Catherine had known all along, that the fire inside him was hearthfire, keeping them warm; the fire of the sun, giving life. As they moved together, Catherine seemed to lose all sense of boundary between herself and the world. There was nothing but the feel of Vincent inside her and around her, and light, and the smell of roses. Just before awareness dissolved into pure sensation, it seemed she could sense a great wheel turning. It poised for a moment at the still center of the world, and then began its inexorable climb back toward the light.

And all shall be well and
All manner of thing shall be well
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the crowned knot of fire
And the fire and the rose are one.
-T. S. Eliot
Four Quartets



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