A/N: The second installment of A Kind of Dreaming. I hope everyone likes it. There is ONE bad swear in this chapter, just to warn you. If anyone can spot the James Joyce allusion, you get a cookie!

Oh dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter-sweet,
Whose wakening should have been in Paradise
-Christina Rossetti

The sight of her forced Erik into a reverent silence, not his usual response. But, she didn't even look at him as she pressed the tip of the syringe into the tubing and the fluid slowly oozed out with the pressure of her finger on the trigger. Ah! The only sweet sensation he ever felt from a shot. He realized he had never seen her before. She was most assuredly new, or perhaps Erik hadn't noticed her before. But, she was an American and just like the girls from home.

He swore to himself he would never forget what she looked like, just from that few moments of watching her. The most striking thing he noticed was how… natural she seemed wearing that awful white. He sneered at the other nurses, but she… she looked like an angel! It literally took the soldier's breath away.

Erik attempted to attribute it to the fact he hadn't seen a gorgeous woman in what felt like years, but it had been quite the month in this hospital and they were everywhere. There was something different about this one.

Her appearance wasn't far off from the other nurses, or any woman he had seen. She had beautiful skin, white as alabaster but soft, at least it looked it. There were blooms of color on her cheeks that he could see in the dimmed lights, and her lips were small, pursed, but pink – lovely… and that hair! Blonder than corn silk, it was fine and shiny, well taken care of. She was obviously conscious of her appearance. But, that didn't mean anything, really. Erik had been privy to the care of several beautiful girls, none of which intrigued him beyond the superficial imaginative daydream.

Then, he realized that it wasn't her appearance at all. She was humming. It was intoxicating; he thought and stared at her, those pert lips and young appearance hiding such a sweet sound. He knew the song she was humming, The Beatles. He could feel his hand itch; he made way to scratch it, nothing there… "Fuck…" he murmured softly, letting his arm flop down over his stomach. The young nurse looked at him, surprise written in her big, blue eyes.

"I didn't realize you were awake!" she chirped, though hushed to keep from waking anyone else up.

Erik rolled his eyes. Typical, he thought, not even looking after him, just making sure he was quiet enough to sleep. Drugs were always the answer, weren't they? "Yea well, I am," he bit back, scowling for a moment before he hissed, damn wounds made it hard to make any facial expression. The explosion took his arm; shrapnel took away half his face. He'd never toggle the ivories again, and it didn't feel like he could make an expression either. Sitting in the hospital, bathed in that white, he didn't really have to.

She paused and frowned looking at him. She didn't seem to have ever been addressed that harshly. "Is there anything you need?" she asked, her voice unforgiving, but she wasn't going to run off. She realized that this was hard for a soldier to deal with, though Erik wished he could just laugh – explain just how bad it really was.

"No," he answered curtly, turning his head away from her, "nothing." And with that, he heard the click of her shoes as she walked down the sanitized hall, and strangely enough, there was no simpering.

Within the next few weeks, Erik continued his silence, only to open his mouth in protest, anger, or sarcasm, but the blonde nurse who he had admired didn't seem to care. Surely she got upset with him; he could see it in her eyes (she was like an open book!), but she didn't leave. The other nurses shook their heads at her, he could hear them whispering about how she would come around soon enough, but no - she didn't.

She continued to return, even if just to push that fluid through the tube, she would offer to take whatever she could over to the soldier, and no one fought her. If she wanted to fail, she could, it wasn't their place to intercede. Erik tolerated her, treated her roughly when she talked, but didn't actively send her away. She hummed when she worked.

It kept him sane, to some degree. The dreams didn't stop, but during the day he was less irritable. She smiled a lot too – he could see why. Whenever she smiled, she basically glowed. The only nurse worth wearing that uniform, the only damn one. Innocence was probably her middle name; he wouldn't have been surprised if that were the case. But, he liked to watch her, even if he didn't want to talk, and he feigned disinterest as much as possible.

When she would greet him, he would grunt, if she spoke, he would answer much the same way as the first time they met, it was just a cycle. Any time he wanted to say anything nice, it got caught in his throat. It was like he didn't know how to be nice to her, even if he thought about it. Perhaps, he told himself, he just didn't want to be nice. Being nice meant he had to continue… he didn't want to continue much of anything, the last thing he wanted to do was have to force himself to smile.

So, he remained the same 'grump' the nurses referred to as the days wore on and the summer grew hotter. He thought he had escaped the heat, but the days got warmer and the air got heavier, he felt like he was back in the damn jungle. It made him sweat and shake and complain even more. But, the young nurse was anything but deterred. She would open and close the window as he demanded, turn on and off the fan, all the time humming. It was haunting, to a degree. Instead of cries, some nights he would hear that humming!

And, she never hummed the same thing twice, not in front of him. Erik had an exceptional memory and with very little else to do, the inability and disinterest in writing letters, and general malaise about literature, he would think about music, everything had some sort of composition in the background. Every movement was set to music he knew, sometimes he felt like he was going crazy. The longer he sat in there, the crazier he felt.

The worst was when she changed his bandages. She would be so slow, so deliberate. He had time to observe her, but he couldn't bring himself to look into her face. He watched her hands instead. She had such beautiful hands, towers of irony against his sun-washed skin. He never watched the whole time though. Erik could watch someone's head get clean blown off, but the second he had to watch his own bandages be removed, he felt his stomach turn.

So, he'd look away, close his eyes, whatever it took, and the sound of that haunting humming comforted him. Some days it would be a classic, like Dean or Frankie, other days she would hum a lively Beatles tune; she changed as frequently as the weather.

As she removed the bandages from his face one day (this was the most painful process of all), Erik let out a deep breath. Solidarity, he told himself repeatedly. She began to hum Mozart. His muscles tightened and his jaw set, much to his discomfort. "Excellent piece," he commented, despite himself.

The girl dropped the used up bandage from her hand and he heard her breath catch in her throat. Obviously, he had startled her. He wasn't surprised, it wasn't as though he ever spoke unless absolutely necessary. "Pardon me?" she said, her gentle voice laced with shock.

Goldwyn immediately regretted saying anything. He sneered, a painful gasp slipping past his lips, "I said get going. You take too long." Peering at her with one squinted eye, Erik saw her roll her eyes and sigh. She still wasn't going to give up! He'd be damned, everything he did and she still wouldn't leave. It wasn't like he truly wanted her to go, but at the same time, he did. Mixed feelings made him uncomfortable, so he shut his eyes again. It was better when he couldn't see her.

He didn't hear her get up like he expected, there was only a small rustle and he felt the bandages weight removed from the wound. She had picked up and returned to the song she had been humming before, patient as a saint.