What can I do?
To turn you on or get through to you
What can I do?
Life is beautiful but you don't have a clue
Sun and ocean blue

Their magnificence, it don't make sense to you

Black Beauty - Lana Del Rey


You'd think lifting a curse from someone would surely please them.

You'd think getting the chance to actually live again would manage to cheer them up.

At the very least, you'd think the prospect of not spending eternity in an underground prison, unable to eat, sleep or even walk in the light of day, would, perhaps, appeal to them.

You'd be wrong.

I don't know what goes through Erhard's mind as he is knelt there, glaring at me, but I'm pretty sure enthusiasm is a far cry from it.

The soft rasp of his breath grates menacingly through the still atmosphere. Furrows of a scowl appear between his eyes. Teeth bared. A sharp huff through his nose. Angered. "You didn't…"

His eyes bore into mine, draining my excitement and leaving confusion and meekness in its stead. I blink, reactions slow and muddled, stomach squeezing painfully in foreboding.

I shrink away instinctively, try to-

His hand closes around my arm and yanks. It roughly drags me closer, not caring how I barely manage to keep my balance, and I'm suddenly drowning in electric blue. "Tell me you didn't-"

Katrina's soft gasp, as she slumps on the ground, cuts him off. His grip loosens and I seize the chance to free my arm and rush to her side, thankful for the distance it puts between us.

Her eyes drift closed as I feel her brow, her breathing deep and strenuous. She's conscious, though. Her eyelids flutter rapidly, her small hand finding mine, seeking support as she tries to sit up.

I sweep the swish of pale hair back out of her eyes. "Easy there."

She nods softly, a faint tinge of color returning to her cheeks. "I'm all right. The spell was… quite strong."

That it was. I steal a lingering look at Erhard as I help her to her feet. He's trying to calm Daredevil, murmuring soothing words I can't pick up, his hand stroking the fidgety steed's mane. He seems gentle and patient and for a brief moment I allow myself to hope that maybe, just maybe he's not as angry as I initially thought…

But that's only until he turns to glance at me.

Yeah, he's furious alright.

Katrina's voice blissfully cuts through the heavily charged silence. "We should probably return to the house."


The walk back to the Van Tassel manor is uncomfortable at best.

I can barely feel my legs as I step over dank twigs and pools of melted snow. Katrina's timidity and Erhard's silent sulkiness hamper any chance at conversation, so I keep my thoughts to myself, fairly sure that cutting wit or sharp remarks wouldn't make the situation any less awkward. Daredevil's gait is the only sound that disturbs the quietness, its steady rhythm making my eyelids grow heavy and gritty with drowsiness.

Despite the gravity and the strain of it all, I am worn out and ready to drop.

The sight of the forlorn mansion, looming somberly in the distance, manages to boost my determination and I quicken my stride, pretending not to notice the way Erhard's hand clenches around Daredevil's bridle and trying really hard not to worry too much about how I'm going to break the news to Ichabod.

I mean, that is bound to go so well.

I steel myself, heart lurching as I head directly towards the front door in an act of pure will power. If I'm honest, I'm not sure of what I'm more afraid; being alone with Erhard, not being alone with Erhard, having to explain things to Ichabod or filing another potential flop under my 'lack-of-forethought' list. Which is pretty much replete as it is.

I reach up a hand to open the door, then falter, dispirited, my hand still hovering one inch away from the door handle as I notice that Erhard is watching me closely, looking all weary and dour and snappy and generally bummed. It's really disarming.

Ookaay. I might be mistaken, but I have the sneaking suspicion that I'm screwed.

And most probably not in the good, hot way.

My unease doesn't go unnoticed by Katrina. "There is hay for Daredevil in the stable." she lightly intervenes with a courteous dip of her head.

I swear she's an angel in disguise.

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I was holding back as he wordlessly makes for the stables. Part of me is aware that I should do something, like open the door at last or thank Katrina for stepping in, but all I seem to be able to do is hover there awkwardly, iffy and undecided. Useless.

Katrina's hand finds my shoulder, calm and composed. "I shall talk to Ichabod myself." Her voice is warm, seeking to take the edge off my discomfort. "Will you prepare a room for the… for Erhard?"

That jolts me out of my daze. I give her a nod, manage some resemblance of pulling myself together and rush inside.

Nervousness wrenches at me as I ransack my room, fiddling with my semi-organized clutter. Even when I'm tidy, I'm not… tidy. I hastily remove my clothes, throwing them in a ruffled pile on the floor and banging my knees on the iron frames of the bed as I move too fast for my brain to catch up. Root around the closet for a nightgown to change into. Fingers fumbling to tie the strings in front of the mirror.

Goddamit why the hell do they put laces on those things? Aren't they made for comfort?

And why am I suddenly unable to function?

I tell myself that I really need to calm down as I tie my hair in a side braid. That there is no reason to panic, because it's not going to help. That whatever the cause behind Erhard's frustration is? We'll go into it. I will explain. I just have to take everything step by step. I can handle this.

…Although I can't find my right shoe. Dammit. Handling it put on hold until shoe is found.

Uhh, okay. Where would I be hiding if I were a shoe? Where would I-

There! Under the bed, the tricky bastard.

All right, first obstacle overcome. Where was I?

Oh yeah, the step by step approach. Damn right. I guess I should prepare a bedroom.

I haul the drawer open, snatch some clean sheets and dash to the only spare guestroom of the mansion.

Thankfully, no one's inside. I take a moment to examine it, see what needs to be done. It doesn't differ greatly from mine. It's simple, not too big, the furnishing modest but sufficient. I just have to tidy it up a little bit and it will be snug and cushy.

I waste no time. Glad for the chance to keep my mind occupied, I busy myself with sweeping, dusting, airing, making the bed… By the time I'm done, I feel sore with tiredness, but I just can't sit down.

Maybe I should bring some food, too? He might be hungry.

I don't see anyone on my way to the kitchen. In fact, the hallways are delightfully empty of raised voices or indignant constables. Something of which I'm sure is a feat achieved by no other than Katrina.

The kitchen is dark and drafty, but I barely seem to notice. Grabbing a plate, I quickly pile it with dinner leftovers, all the while grateful that I didn't have to actually cook.

Somehow, I don't think Erhard would be impressed with my scorched omelette.

I make a mental note to work on my culinary skills as I scurry back to the room. His room now, I guess. He's still not here, though, and it makes me feel antsy with uncertainty. Is there a chance he took off or something?

I mull over the thought as I lay the plate on the desk and sit cross-legged and stiff on the side of the bed. Try not to let it set me off on a path of worry. Perhaps he just needs some time alone. To think it all through? That would be understandable, wouldn't it? Perhaps he will be calmer when he finally does come upstairs.

Yup.

Maybe bringing a beer or two, as well, would be a good idea. I could run back to the kitchen and get some. In fact, I could-

The door suddenly swings open to reveal a sullen and rather tired-looking Hessian and I realize that there's no need to bring any beer, after all, because he's already holding a half-empty bottle in one hand. The kind that holds strong liquor.

He halts at the doorway as he spots me on the bed, his grip around the bottle's neck tightening. His sharp exhale of breath has me wondering if he's going to snap at me, say something along the lines of 'what the hell were you playing at?' For a moment, it looks like he's actually going there, too, and I stiffen, waiting for it, but then something makes him change his mind and he just frowns and steps in the room.

Every part of me tenses. I don't know what to do. What am I supposed to say? He's free and I stayed and I thought we'd be good about this, but apparently… we're not. Instead, he looks pissed off.

…I don't understand this.

He leaves the bottle on the desk and turns his back on me, starting to undress. Making me even more uncomfortable. I quietly watch the way he throws his armor on the floor, the way he roughly loosens the buttons of his shirt. Eyes lingering on his muscular back. Dammit. Stop it! That doesn't help!

I tear my eyes away from him. Force myself to break the silence.

"So… how do you like your room?"

I skittishly stare at my lap for several seconds, wait for him to answer. But I'm only met with silence.

"I know it's not much, but it was the only room available…"

He just takes a swig from his bottle. Still not looking at me.

Ugh. This is getting unbearable. My hand bunches around the sheets in agitation, but I struggle to keep my voice soft and level. "I left some food on the desk in case you're hungry."

He leaves his shirt over the back of the chair, throwing a cursory glance at the general direction of the plate. But other than that? Nothing,

Nada. Nichts.

Maybe he wants me to go.

I toy with the idea for a while, but, in the end, I stay put.

It's strange. I know I could get up from my place on the bed. I could walk out and slam the door behind me and he wouldn't even try to stop me. In fact, I very much want to.

But I just… don't.

Not before we settle this.

I take a deep breath. Decide on a more direct approach. "Please don't ignore me."

At that, he finally turns towards me, casting another deep frown. My gaze snags on his tall frame as he approaches, fast, glaring down at me. "Believe me, Linda, ignoring you is not the worst thing I could do to you right now."

We're obviously off to a great start.

I cringe inwardly, every nerve in my body tingling at his closeness. God, he's close. And annoyed. Eyes narrowed. Fists clenched. Radiating tension.

It makes me want to hide under the covers.

My brain stumbles to a halt and I stare weakly at him as he snaps around, as if he can't bear to look at me.

I dig my nails into my palms, not sure how to articulate the jumble of my thoughts. I want to follow a rational trail, I really do, but there's no chance of that working while he's pacing the room like a caged beast. Forget all chance of getting a handle of my emotions, as well. It takes all of my willpower not to get up and scram.

He angrily grunts something under his breath. Couldn't tell you what. Most probably German swear words.

Ooh, crap. I fumble around for... something… anything… "Can you… can you explain to me why you're so angry?"

He halts. Raises an eyebrow. "Can you explain to me why you acted like an idiot with delusions of heroism?"

What?!

Okay, that's… that's actually quite hurtful. More than anything, because playing the hero was the last thing that went through my mind.

I give a huff of disbelief. "You really think that?"

He doesn't answer and it causes something in me to lurch painfully, my tangled thoughts finally starting to unweave around the edges.

That's what he thinks? That I gave up every hope of ever seeing my home again for a whim? That I don't understand the gravity of what I did? That his life is a freaking game to me?

It's not! I saw him. I saw how he suffered, how Lady Van Tassel's spell possessed and consumed him even after her death. How he hated it. I saw it all and I'd never be able to live with myself if I didn't do something to help him.

I just wanted to take his pain away. And I don't expect gratitude or anything, but the fact that he doesn't understand my motives sends waves of anger spiraling through me.

Because if he can't comprehend why I did this? If he can't see what's in front of him? Then he truly has no idea how I feel about him. And it hurts.

I struggle to keep my voice low, tell myself there's no need for the entire household to hear us. "I thought you wanted your life back…"

"This is not about what I wanted."

I'm up in an instant. "Then what is it about?"

He doesn't look at me, doesn't even bother to reply.

"If I had told you what I had in mind, would you have let me do it?"

He huffs in annoyance. "Enough."

"No, it's not-"

But I'm cut short, because he suddenly turns around, his fist colliding brutally with the wall. "ENOUGH!"

Shit. My heart judders to a stop, all the words abandoning my mind. I know he sees it, it was probably what he was going for, and it sends prickling quivers buzzing through me.

Some rational part of me tells me that I should find some kind of security in the dull silence that follows, but right now I can't reach it. Instead the stillness and the shadows amplify the snarl of fear and anger that courses through me, knotting me up inside.

Eventually, he approaches, a shadow that towers over me, dark and tense. And when he speaks, his words hurt so much that my hand itches with the need to slap him. "I should have figured out what you were up to."

Ugh.

I'm strongly aware of his piercing gaze, feeling it cut through my stomach. I know he's waiting for me to say something, but my jaw is wired shut, eyes wandering out the window, watching the blackness struggle to fade into a miserable dawn.

What's left for me to say anyway?

His hand reaches up to grab my shoulder. I try not to pay it any mind, but my breath catches, body going rigid under his touch. The sigh that sinks through his chest tells me that he's somewhat calmer, that this should be a good time to try and reason with him, but… I can't. I'm too bitter for that. Instead I feebly let his hand linger on my shoulder a moment longer, before sliding down my arm and back to his side. As if he wanted to say something, but decided against it.

I blink into the darkness. Try to swallow back my stupid tears.

I don't want to do this. I know I said I would talk to him, but he makes it too damn hard and I can't find the energy for it anymore.

I take a step backwards when he tries to move closer.

"Linda…" he snaps at my wall of silence. Blunt. Demanding.

I shake my head. "Goodnight." It comes out dead, laying bare my resignation. I don't even have the strength to be mad at him; I just want to go.

This time he doesn't try to stop me. There's no words, no hand yanking me back in his arms. I just walk calmly past him and out, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand and closing the door quietly behind me.

It's only when I'm out, in the watery grey of the hallway that I hear the sound of a bottle shattering against the wall.


A/N: Many thanks to Unquestionably Unhinged, gingersexfairy, TheElegantFaerie, Imitation1, LabyFan23, Slyth3rwin, noodle86, Dasha, TheFluffyBakura, Septemberfall and HessianLover99 for reviewing! Aand I'd love to see a photo of the Tree of the Dead look-a-like! :)