As always, the reviews keep me going. I have one more week before I start work again. I hope to pump out 2-3 more chapters in the next week, and then my production will slow to about 1 chapter a week. Your reviews are fantastic motivation!

Chapter 20

Erik followed her upstairs, heaving the curtain aside for them both. She had never seen him walk around so long without his mask on – the exposed moment had always been fleeting. Still, he kept it off as she had requested. The sheen of the greasy antibiotic cream highlighted the gruesome ridges, and she noticed the way he turned carefully to keep that side of his face away from her as much as possible.

Maybe her gift wasn't the best thing to give him right now, while he was unmasked. He stood expectantly, however, and she didn't think she could turn back now. Digging into the bag of clothes she had bought earlier that day, she fetched his gift and held it out to him.

His eyes flitted to the present and up to her face. The silence between them stretched out a little longer than was comfortable.

"They're pajamas," she said quickly, feeling the urge to babble overtake her. "I saw them in one of the nicer stores while I was out. I thought you might like them." She paused, but when he remained a statue, she continued, "They're silk and really high quality – I know that matters to you. I didn't know if you had any, and eventually, you do need to sleep, right?"

Finally, he reached out and took the folded package from her. He set it upon the bed, untied the ribbon that held the two pieces of clothing together together, and held up a black button-down, long-sleeved shirt.

"I… never considered pajamas," he said, a bit too slowly as though he didn't know what to say.

"You don't have to wear them if you don't want to. I-I remembered that first night you came to Boston and you wore my father's old pjs. You slept then, and I wanted… I thought you might…" She trailed off. He still wore that expressionless look on his face. She was foolish for thinking he might want to try to sleep, much less in pajamas instead of his normal clothes. The man didn't do anything like a typical guy might, and she had seriously overstepped her bounds here.

She had told him she loved him, and he had said… something similar, but they hadn't declared themselves in a relationship. There had been no talk of boyfriends or girlfriends or anything close to that. Weren't pajamas a gift a wife might buy a husband? What had she been thinking?

Erik cleared his throat. "You want me to wear these?"

"To sleep, yes," she said, miserable. Couldn't he just hand them back and let her return them? She'd rather he did that than trying to placate her.

"I have never worn such a thing."

"I get it, Erik. It's okay." She tried to take the shirt from him, but he held it out of her reach.

"You misunderstand, Christine. I have never thought to wear pajamas."

She blinked at him to remove the tears from her eyes. Why was she getting so emotional over this? She wanted so badly to spend time with him, and yes, that might eventually sleeping in a bed with him. He didn't have to wear pajamas for that to happen, but this was a man who rarely even considered sleep at all.

"You have never thought about it?" she asked, needing clarification.

He fingered the silky material as he spoke. "I have always lived alone. At the worst moments, I needed to stay dressed in order to be able to flee at a second's notice. At the best moments, sleep was always an afterthought, merely something that happened when I grew too weary to go on without a few hours rest. These habits are nothing I ever considered changing."

"You don't have to change them, especially for me."

"I want to change them," he said, eyes suddenly bright. "For you." He stepped close to her, took her chin, and gave her one sweet kiss that warmed her heart.

So she hadn't messed up after all; she had made the right choice. This first full day aboard the Queen Eleanor had truly been fantastic. More than ever, her decision to stay at his side stood out as the correct one to have made. Watching him examine the pants, she didn't have any regrets.

A quick glance at the alarm clock told her it was nearing eleven. The way the ship traveled west to east, and the way time zones worked, they lost an hour every day of their voyage. After the terrific sleep of last night, she didn't want to overtire herself again.

"Bedtime?" she asked.

He nodded. "Do you wish for me to play again as you fall asleep?"

"I thought you didn't want it to be habit-forming," she said, grinning. "Of course I would love that."

His thumb brushed across her chin, his fingernail lightly grazing her bottom lip. "Get ready for bed. I will return shortly." He left, taking the pajamas with him.

Heading for the bathroom, she washed her face, brushed her teeth, and changed into a comfortable t-shirt and pajama pants. She left on her bra since Erik was coming back into her room.

She settled into bed, debated on whether or not to turn off the bedside lamp. A light was still on downstairs, so with the thick curtain pulled back a little, the room wouldn't be in complete darkness. She snuggled down into the blankets, facing the chair that Erik had previously moved into the room next to the bed.

"Christine?" his voice called. This room didn't have a door, so he couldn't exactly knock. He stood by the open edge of the curtain.

"Come on in," she replied.

He stepped into the room, carrying his violin, and wearing the pajamas.

She hid the lower half of her face in the covers to hide her shocked reaction. Never had she expected him to go ahead and put them on, especially in front of her. The comfort had been for him alone to enjoy. But there he stood, black silk framing his tall, lithe body, his angular feet bare. She was staring, she knew, but how could she not? He had accepted her gift, put it on this very night, and now she wanted nothing more than to run her hands across the silk-clad hardness of his chest.

She coughed to cover up her own nervousness as he wordlessly sat in the chair and began to play. Like last night, he easily pulled a melody from the violin that normally would have lulled her to sleep without difficulty. However, this time she was too distracted by his appearance to let her eyes close.

After a while of playing, he lowered the instrument. "Not sufficient tonight, my dear?"

She tucked herself even further down. "No, it's not that. You're playing beautifully."

"Perhaps Bach, then?" He paused, and then said softer, "Or is that not it?"

Oh, she'd been caught. She took too long to respond, the responses all jumbled in her head and not sounded perfectly right before she could say them. His hand came up to cover the misshapen half of his face. He was rising from the chair, striding to the break in the curtain.

"I should go."

"No, no, no!" She threw back the blankets and rushed after him, clasping his sleeve. "Please, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you think… I don't know what you're thinking. But please don't go. I'm so happy you're wearing them."

His jaw was clenched, unnamed emotion swirling in his hooded gaze. He cut a rigid silhouette against the light coming in from downstairs. Did he think he looked ridiculous or terrifying? He was far from it. She remembered how he had slept on her couch in pajama pants and an old Hanes t-shirt, so at ease for that brief second. She wanted him to relax like that again, to be able to unwind and rest.

But most importantly, she wanted him to be comfortable around her.

He allowed her to guide him back toward the side of the bed, and he took his seat again. He didn't resume playing, holding himself stiffly, straight-backed in the chair. His hand hadn't left his face.

She got back into bed, trying to show him that she wanted him to be there. "Please play again, Erik. I promise to close my eyes this time so I'm not distracted by how… you look."

"What?"

He was getting that I'm about to bolt posture again. She quickly sat up again, holding out her hands to stop him. "I'm sorry! I'm getting this all wrong." She took a deep breath. "The pajamas look very nice on you."

"Nice?"

Oh god the man was going to make her spell it out? "I didn't get you those for anything but your own comfort, but you look nice. You look…" What other word could she use that wouldn't cause her extreme embarrassment? Attractive? Beautiful? Captivating? Gorgeous? Sexy?

Her head spinning, she inserted a different adjective, trying her best to explain.

He was staring at her with undisguised shock. What had she said? She backtracked and found a blank spot in her mind for which word she had used, her rising panic causing her to momentarily lose track of her thoughts, and what had she said out loud? By his reaction, she must have used more than "attractive." She squeaked and buried her head into the blankets, hiding completely.

"Christine-"

"I'm sorry!" she said, muffled under the covers. "You look good, okay? I find you very… good."

A long silence followed while she wallowed in her own mortification. She heard rustling, and then he began to play again, this time something brilliant and beautiful, something she didn't recognize. She waited a long time before she dared peek her head out again. His eyes were closed, but his face was calmer, the corner of his mouth the tiniest hint of a curve upward.

Okay, she hadn't completely messed that up.

She let herself relax, his composition soothing her fears. Finally, sometime during his song, sleep claimed her.

She had no idea how long she slept before she woke in a sleepy haze. All lights were off, and she blinked in the darkness. As her eyes adjusted, she caught sight of a shadow near the bed. Erik still sat in the chair, his body slumped, his head propped against one elegant hand. A moment later, twin amber eyes glowed as they opened and stared at her.

"You're still here," she whispered.

"I am," he replied, voice also soft in the darkness. "I wanted to make sure you rested well."

"Did you sleep at all?"

"Briefly. Go back to sleep, my dear."

She hesitated, then asked, "Are you still tired?"

The shadow shifted, long legs stretching out. "I am."

"Then you should sleep too." Before she could lose the courage born out of her own half-asleep state, she folded the covers back from the side of the bed closest to him, scooting back to make room.

She didn't wait for a response. She closed her eyes and felt sleep start to overtake her again. Seconds later, minutes later, an hour later, she wasn't sure – the bed dipped as he sat on it. Ages later, he lay down. She sighed happily, reached out, and felt the edge of the silk of his shirt.

Cold fingers ghosted along her own bare arm at the elbow, running up to stroke her hair from her face.

She had dipped in a toe; she might as well jump in. She shifted closer before he could do anything and put her arm around his waist, tucking her face against his chest. Here, under the blankets, with her own body lined up with his, he began to warm, no longer feeling quite so cold. His hand had stilled on her hair.

In the darkness, she heard his entreaty. "May I touch you, Christine?"

She should have asked how, probably. Should have asked where. But she didn't.

"Yes."

Those fingers drifted down and found the hem of her t-shirt and dipped underneath. She held her breath, pressed her face closer to him, waited for what he would do. The pads of his fingertips sent goosebumps rising on her skin as they caressed the dip of her lower back and traveled upward, mapping the gradual rise of her back, the slight bumps of her spine, skipping over the line of her bra, and tracing around the blade of her shoulder.

How could a touch upon her back seem so sensual? For a brief second, she flashed back to when he had done something similar, right after she had bandaged his bullet wound for the first time, and the thought of his murderous hands had revolted her. Now, she sank into the touch, that time a thousand miles away.

"I love you," she murmured into his chest.

His fingers danced along her skin, lulling her back to sleep with a different kind of song.

She woke to the sound of the curtain being tossed back, throwing morning light across the room. He was lucky it was a cloudy day, the brightness muted by dark clouds spreading across the sky; otherwise, she might have thrown a pillow at him.

It was a good thing she hadn't thrown anything. He was carrying a tray of food. He had changed into his usual clothing, a bowtie at his neck today, his mask in place.

"Good morning," she said, sitting up. "What's that?"

"Breakfast for you, my dear, in bed as my thanks."

She didn't bother asking for what he was thanking her, likely knowing the answer already. She grinned at him, letting him set the tray on her lap. "This looks awesome. Have you eaten?"

"Tea, which is enough."

"Good!" She grabbed her fork and dove into her plate of pancakes. "I wouldn't want to share anyway. These look so delicious!"

She ate her way through half the stack of pancakes before she stopped to look over at him. He had settled back into his chair, watching her, at ease.

"Did you get anymore sleep?" she asked, taking a sip of orange juice.

"I did, actually."

That pleased her immensely, that she could help him relax enough to let his body heal and rest. She happily kept on eating.

Resting his elbows on the sides of the chair, he steepled his fingers. "I started a round of antibiotics, which will aid in the healing of my side."

"That's great, Erik!"

"I will let you change the bandage later, if you wish."

"And… maybe you'll take your mask off again tonight? So your skin can heal?"

He nodded, not even putting up a fight.

She downed the rest of her juice, pushed the tray aside, and climbed out of bed. She couldn't stand it any longer. She felt giddy, her body light. Was this the stirring of happiness once again within her? In any case, she knew she had a wide smile plastered on her face as she rushed to him and planted a sticky, syrupy kiss on his mouth.

At Erik's insistence she get out of the cabin, she made plans to see an abbreviated version of Shakespeare's Much Ado about Nothing in the theatre, for which she had to dress up. She put on a pair of dress pants with a silk blouse and fitted black suit jacket on top.

Outside, it had started to drizzle a little, the clouds rolling in thicker. She caught sight of some white caps outside before she kissed Erik goodbye and headed out.

The theatre was gorgeous, all rounded curves and plush red seating. Soon after she entered the room, she caught sight of someone waving at her from across the expansive room. It was Nadir, and she flew across the space to give him a big hug.

"Christine!" he said, holding her at arm's length. "I'm thrilled to see your face again. You look well."

"I am!" She hugged him again. "Thank you so much, Nadir!"

He chuckled, and the two of them found seats next to each other in the theatre. "I take it things are going well between you and our mutual friend?"

"They are – really, really well, I think. He's starting to relax more around me, and we've been enjoying spending time with each other without all the drama." She didn't want to give details. Nadir was Erik's close acquaintance before he was Christine's, and she didn't want to ruin any confidence Erik might have at their secrecy.

"He's being a gentleman, I hope?"

"Of course."

"I never had much doubt that he wouldn't be, but I am glad to hear it."

They talked for a while longer until the show started. Christine was relieved to have someone to talk to in the outside world. While she always enjoyed any conversation with Erik, he wasn't one for small talk or prolonged discussions about anything – he clearly had little practice. That was something she hoped would develop between them over time, but for now, Nadir was excellent for talking about any topic she might bring up. The Iranian was nothing but friendly and cordial toward her, a true friend she was lucky to have on this journey.

After the show, they got lunch together, debating back and forth about the quality of the performers and the shortened version of the play. They were on one of the lower decks, and sea spray kept hitting the windows, making her a little nervous. A door nearby kept opening and shutting on its own until someone latched it closed. A cart of food tried to head down the restaurant on its own.

The captain came over the loudspeaker to announce that they were closing the lowest two decks due to higher waves and faster winds. Rain began to pound onto the walkway outside.

Nadir promised to see her and Erik both for dinner at their stateroom later that evening, and they parted ways.

As she started back to the room, she had to keep a tight grip on the handrail while she walked. The roll of the ship made walking in a straight line extremely difficult, and she saw other passengers bumping into walls as they lost their balance for a moment. The ship groaned around her, the hallway echoing the pings and creaks. In her head, she knew that the Queen Eleanor was built specifically to handle rough seas like this, but she wished she'd had Nadir escort her back to the room.

By the time she reached her cabin's door, she was a shaking mess, her hair plastered to her forehead in a nervous sweat. She hadn't had a true panic attack in a long time, but this was the closest she had gotten. She darted inside and stood panting by the closed door.

Erik was at her side in a flash, clasping her shoulders and peering into her face. "What is wrong? What happened?"

"The storm," she choked out. "Sorry – it freaked me out."

Just then, the captain announced that all outside decks were closed due to the weather. It was expected to get worse before it got better, but no worries – they weren't likely to lose any time in their journey. Not that Christine worried about time right about now.

Erik pulled her to him, and she relished the hug for a moment, breathing in his unique scent. He had lost the dampness that had clung to him in Paris, and now he smelled only of sandalwood and soap and the uniqueness that was only Erik.

"No fear," he said, stroking her hair. "This ship can handle worse than this."

She laughed a little. "I don't know if I can, though."

"I will be here." He tilted her face up with a finger under her chin, and the seriousness in his eyes took her breath away. "There is nothing you cannot brave."

She swayed a little, not only from him, the floor seemingly to shift under her feet. One arm tight around her back, Erik brought her to a chair near the balcony, saying it would be best if she looked outside for a while. He was right, she knew. A view of the horizon would help settle her stomach whenever she was feeling queasy.

"What would you like, my dear? Music? Reading?"

"I would love to hear you play," she replied. But she wanted him near her more than that right now. "But do you think you would read to me? I love your voice and – and that would distract me."

He nodded and brought over one of the books she had chosen for him, a novella written by a Frenchman about traveling Europe. As she kept her gaze on the horizon, Erik began to read. She had never heard him speak so much, certainly not all in a row, and his voice slid over her as smoothly as though he was singing. She loved the hint of French accent he had, and something else, maybe a carryover from his years spent in Iran. He pronounced the French words in the novel with a deliciousness that made her unable to keep from glancing at him. He sat across from her, one long leg crossed over the other knee at the ankle.

Soon, he was closing the book and saying it was time for dinner soon, if she needed to do anything before then. She did, heading up to her room with careful steps to freshen up and take off her jacket. The way back down seemed more daunting, and eventually she decided to scoot down on her butt for safety's sake, ignoring the look Erik gave her.

There was a knock on the door, and she opened it to find Nadir standing there. Christine had already told Erik about running into the other man earlier that day, and while he had scoffed, he hadn't said anything more about it. Now, he followed her to the door, surveying the older man with cool indifference.

"Erik," Nadir said, inclining his head.

"Daroga."

Christine ushered Nadir in, and the three of them settled in the living room while waiting for dinner to arrive. She had made sure to order another serving for Nadir as well. Erik poured two glasses of wine, and swept a hand at Nadir.

"Do you drink regularly now?"

Nadir held up a hand. "The one experience was enough, thank you."

Erik said nothing more about it, handing Christine her glass and sitting next to her on the couch while Nadir sat across from them.

"I do thank you for the slice of chocolate pie, by the way," Nadir said smoothly.

Christine almost choked on her gulp of wine, looking back and forth between the two men. "Pie?"

Erik's lips twitched. "I hope it was sufficient. There was no cake to be had."

"It was as delicious as I'd hoped, though I was surprised to find it lacking in poison."

"Come now, old man. You know I have never cared for poison. The results are too messy."

Christine was a little wide-eyed, but she kept silent. She would never quite understand the relationship between these two. Despite all the drama of the past two days, they seemed quite back to their normal temperature.

Dinner arrived, and they went to the dining table to eat. Erik made sure she sat closer to the tall windows so she could look outside if she needed to, but even so, she felt the queasiness start to well up again. She often put down her fork and set her eyes on the horizon, but that made her even more aware of much the ship was tilting in response to the massive swells outside.

Rain beat against the window, the wind whistled furiously, and she closed her eyes, hearing the creak of the ship all too loudly in her ears. She really shouldn't have had that glass of wine, nor eaten this rich food. Her stomach felt heavy, like a dark bubble had settled deep inside. Her arms and legs were difficult to move, and she rested both hands on the table, trying to plant herself within the space.

She was aware that both men had stopped talking. She felt their stares on her, but she couldn't look at either of them. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see the food in front of her either.

A weight settled on one of her hands. Erik leaned over and spoke in her ear, helping her focus on his words. "Christine? What is wrong?"

"I don't feel so good," she managed to say, her own voice sounding far away.

"Are you having a panic attack?"

She pressed the back of her other hand to her mouth. "S-sorta? Not really. This feels different."

"Seasickness," Nadir said. "Even the strongest stomachs can have trouble during a storm." She heard his chair draw back across the floor as he stood. "Do you have anything that would help, Erik?"

"Unlikely," the other man replied.

"Have her suck on the lemon from her drink, then. I will see what drugs I can find. I will return as quickly as I can."

Opening her eyes, she shot Nadir a thankful glance, and then turned her gaze to the horizon, trying to stabilize herself. Sensing her intent, Erik helped her face the window and handed her the slice of lemon. Both of his hands settled on her shoulders from behind, his thumbs massaging slow circles along the base of her neck.

The ship pitched back and forth. The line of the horizon itself was difficult to find, the dark clouds blending into the gray, white-capping swells. Christine had never seen waves that huge before, as tall as a building. At the bottom of a wave, the lower deck must be completely underwater. The wind whistled past the balcony - one of the chairs flew against the far wall. She was caught on a rollercoaster that she could not get off. A cold sweat broke out across her body.

Over the loud speaker, the captain announced that all passengers were confined to their cabins for the duration of the night, for safety's sake. They would announce in the morning when anyone could venture forth, but they should all plan to have breakfast in their rooms, so please set out their menu orders on their door handles.

That was when Christine felt the bubble in the pit of her stomach rise up, and she vomited.

Only 2-3 chapters left on the ship, if I've estimated correctly. Poor Christine!