A/N: I want to dedicate this chapter - although there is nothing at all special about it - to the late and great Alan Rickman. He was one of the most present actors in movies while I was growing up. And - love or hate him - his Severus Snape was irrefutably one of the best portrayed characters of all time. I will miss him terribly. In fact; I heard about his death WHILE editing this chapter; and lost most of my brilliant edits after the scene change. I keep having to come back to edit now; because Alan's death has distracted me so badly...

R.I.P Alan Rickman... the man who touched my soul as Col. Brandon; made me laugh as the Sheriff of Nottingham... and both moved and scared me as Severus Snape.

"Bella?"

Erik watched her eyes snap away from the flames that had entranced her; having drifted off into her own thoughts during a long conversation between Cassimir and Anton about when the tribe would move on.

Their supper had been enjoyable; but hardly anything that rightfully constituted a celebratory feast. There had been no toasts to the bride and groom; no teasing about the upcoming wedding night or their future together. No one had taken out an instrument so that people could dance. If anything, Anton's family (his wife, son, and daughter-in-law the only other people present at the fire other than Tsifia and the newlyweds) seemed discomfited in their presence. They tried to be polite and warm; but even Sarima – who clearly had a history with Arabella and seemed more than willing to welcome the other gypsy girl into wondrous conversations and ruminations, couldn't quite seem to make herself totally comfortable with the situation. She would begin to ask questions about the relationship between her friend and the strange Freak at her side; but would trail off or quickly change the subject when she realized how rude or misconceived she was about the entire venture.

Apparently, she'd been under the false impression the marriage was some sort of publicity stunt; in spite of the irrefutable reality of the ceremony itself.

From his understanding – although she was obviously happy and loved Cassimir very much – Sarima hadn't had that same luxury. So; the fact that Arabella and Erik shared such a bond was beyond her. In spite of his own surprise over Arabella's genuine love of him - and his own personal feelings of unworthiness - his pride was badly insulted by Sarima's initial assumptions. He'd made certain not to take part in any portion of that conversation. He'd sat gritting his teeth and bunching his Phoenix cloak in his hands to keep from bringing the underwhelming festivities to a screeching and possibly violent halt. He was still too happy due to the day itself to let himself get swept away any further than silent indignation. He didn't want Arabella to be disappointed if he ruined what should be the happiest day in any young womans' life.

She was easily silenced when both Tsifia and Arabella managed to make quite clear that the whole thing had been nothing but an arrangement between two people in love.

Now things had been rather boring and quiet for a while. Tsifia had gone off to her own tsera nearly a half-hour earlier and neither of the newlyweds had spoken a word since. Erik couldn't take the monotony anymore; even though his hands actually trembled at the concept of taking Arabella home.

Home...

A canvas tent in the middle of a field was not what he'd have wanted to bring a wife to… but Arabella knew of no other life. The concept clearly didn't bother her at all. He found himself wondering briefly – as a way to distract himself from other thoughts involving a night in that tent – if she would ever be open to leaving the tribe with him and starting a new kind of life. It would be interesting to see how their life together progressed. He wanted to offer her a solid roof with more than a few square feet inside. He wanted to give her luxuries; to introduce her personally to all the things she'd asked him about over the past months; and give her a soft bed and warm blankets to cover herself with when they retired for the night in each others' arms.

He shook his head briefly just before saying her name, bitterly disappointed that even his distracting thoughts would lure his mind in the direction of a marriage bed.

Her eyes met his curiously, and he offered an apologetic smile for apparently having startled her out of a deep reverie.

"Should we retire?" he asked formally, uncertain how she might react to any other terminology.

"Oh!" She looked around a little anxiously, realizing that Sarima had long since given up talking at her and turned to her mother-in-law for conversation. Anton glanced in their direction briefly, having apparently overheard Erik's comment, and gave the smallest of knowing smiles along with a wink of acknowledgement. Then he went right back to talking with his son. "Yes… yes; of course."

Erik tilted his head at her slightly, frowning beneath the mask.

"Are you all right?" he asked; beginning to feel like a total idiot from how often he had been asking that as of late. "You look utterly exhausted."

"I'll be fine." She sighed airily, reaching for his arm as she stood with the slightest of efforts. "I'm a little tired. I have been ever since… well… ever since we started planning today. But it isn't anything I can't handle. I'm not going to let it ruin the night." She murmured as he began escorting her across the camp.

That immediately distracted him. He nearly missed his next step and stumbled.

"Ruin the n-night?" he asked, wincing at the nervous stammer in his voice. "What is there to ruin, Bella? You aren't ready for – for –for-"

She stopped and pulled at his arm until he had no choice but to look at her. In his anxiousness over her mere implication; he dearly wanted to avoid her eyes... but hewasn't quite desperate enough to insult her by using resistance.

Her gaze was solemn as she eyed him.

"Don't you want me to try?" she asked in a breathy whisper. He could see the mixture of hope and ill-ease on her face; and the combination tore him in half.

"Bella, I – I…" He looked her over from head to foot, muscles stiffening at the thoughts she'd inspired; licking his almost non-existent lips anxiously. He finally let his gaze lock on her stomach. He took his arm from her grasp and placed his hand over the spot where she'd stabbed herself. "I want you to heal. If just dancing could hurt you; I imagine doing... that... it can't be any better for you."

Her eyes widened slightly at his touch, but she didn't flinch or seem to be frightened. He almost could have sworn he saw a tiny candle light from somewhere deep within her - one that normally blazed like the sun whenever she was happy. Was his touch something that actually pleased her?

"But tonight-"

"I know what tonight is." He interrupted almost gruffly. "And you know I already have no intention of simply demanding something from you. Especially when we both know you aren't ready! Not physically, and not mentally!"

"What do you mean?" she demmanded, narrowing her eyes at him slightly.

"All those nightmares you've been having… You've told me enough about them that I know what you're actually afraid of. I mean… you can't still be afraid of Adnah or Yaakov! They can't hurt you now! So what else is left for you to fear but me - at least in the context of that?"

Biting on her lower lip, Arabella looked away.

"I don't have to let my nightmares control me." She whispered. "They don't really mean I'm afraid of you. When I'm awake, and I think about... that... you aren't what I worry about at all."

"Ma belle…" Sighing, he reached up and took the back of her head in one large hand so as to pull her against him into a soothing embrace.

He was startled almost after the fact that he would be bold enough to grab her so firmly... but he didnt loosen his hold. It wasn't as though he were trying to hurt or frighten her. Arabella seemed startled too; stiffening briefly against him and reflexively placing a restraining hand up on his shoulder... but then she relaxed and let him pull her close.

"I understand you've never been comfortable with the thought of denying me anything." He admitted in a whisper. "But until I know you are fully healed – and ready in every possible way – I am not going to be making demands of you. I will be the one to deny you; because I'll be damned before we do anything just because you feel obligated to fulfil your wifely duty."

He released her just as suddenly as he'd pulled her to him. He was able to be noble and deny himself whatever pleasures were considered a husbands right; but it certainly wasn't easy to continue doing so while standing around and talking about it. It was even more difficult feeling her body a breath away from his. Every time the subject even remotely came up - or she pressed near to him - his mind tortured him with fantasies and visions about what it might be like to hold Arabella in his arms and-

He gnashed his teeth in irritation over his own inability to control his body; before turning to stalk toward their now shared tsera.

If she weren't so attuned to him; she might have taken his sudden departure as a personal rebuff. Instead; she merely began walking the moment he did, reaching up to place her hand on his bicep as they continued on in silence. The short walk allowed him to appreciate her remaining but quiet stubborness. She was still trying to prove that she wasn't afraid to touch him - or be touched by him - just without arguing over it verbally. She was taking every possible opportunity to make herself accustomed to him; so that one day she really would be ready for their special night.

He couldn't bring himself to go directly inside once they reached the tent; preferring to pause just outside the flap to look at her once more.

"Most of your things were moved in this morning." He told her. "You should go in and get… get comfortable…"

"What about you?" she demanded.

Erik waved a distracted hand; trying to clear his suddenly spinning thoughts as he realized he wasn't about to offer his friend to enter his tent against all possible rules of decorum. He was about to bring his wife across a threshold. It was amazing; hw all day this thought had neve really occured to him until the moment came.

"I'll fetch clothes; and change outside. There's plenty of privacy behind the tent."

"But why should either of us have to-"

"Because the mere thought of changing in the same room - or being in the same room as you change - is more temptation than I can stand!" he admitted in a surprisingly angry moan. He shrank away from her pressing hand on his arm, shaking his head almost miserably. "Please, mira kom… Let me do what I think is necessary… at least for now. Once you are better… once you are healed, then perhaps I can withstand how the very oncept makes my head spin!"

Taking a deep breath, he forced his taut body to turn and face his new wife once more. It was anaged to look her in the eye and reach up to cup her lovely face in his hands. He adored her strong-willed determination to be a good wife to him; and to take as casual approach to the new living arrangements as possible. Her bravery after all she'd suffered astounded him… But her innocent pestering was driving him mad.

"When you are in no more danger of harming your recovery… then I will no longer fight whatever demands you might wish to make on me."

She stared at him a long moment, and he could see the pain in her eyes; pain that he had caused by denying her the ability to try and fight through her fears. But he wasn't ready any more than she was for a night of unbridled passion. He needed time to become accustomed to having Arabella in his tent and personal space. He needed to watch her gain more and more trust in him; so that the next time the subject came up he wouldn't worry that his every touch might make her flinch. She'd been growing less fearful of his touches and embraces every day… but he'd been so careful not to push her boundaries that he wasn't sure just how far she could handle him taking her.

He would break each of those barriers; one by one. He would ease her into every caress, every touch and embrace… every kiss.

His mouth grew instantaneously dry at the thought of actually kissing Arabella. He had yet to brush his lips across her cheek or lips; still terrified of her revulsion if he dared try such a thing. It wasn't as though she were immune to his ugliness after all! She'd admitted many times that there was nothing attractive about his physicality. His lips hardly seemed to be the type that might be cooperative during a sweet, soft, warm, romantic…

He shuddered; closing his eyes tight.

"Let me get my clothes." He rasped, desperate to make a little space between them so he might calm his thoughts and body. "Then you can go in and wash up and change. I have put fresh water in the basin; and everything you will need to change your bandages and care for the injury…"

The injury… He couldn't bring himself to call it her wound. A wound subconsciously implied actual violence to cause an injury. He never wanted to think of that desperate night again.

"All right." She whispered, backing away a little so that he might precede her into the tent that was now their joint home. "I… I had to try… you understand…?"

"I do." He admitted not daring to look her in the face as he ducked into the canvas doorway and strode quickly toward his trunk of personal clothing.

He heard her enter behind him, and had to clamp his mouth shut to keep from instinctively scolding her. This was, after all, her home now too. Traditionally she would have lived with her in-laws as well as her husband – just as Sarima was doing – until her first child was born. Given, however, that he had no in-laws in which he'd ever dare bring her home to… they were thrust into an entirely alien situation to her. They were to be truly alone from moment one… and in spite of his resolve he found it difficult not to cave in under the pressure of that thought.

Had he been a much older man, with a much longer life of frustration and chastity behind him, he might not have been able to withstand it.

He collected the cotton trousers and shirt he often wore in the evenings when he was alone, and turned to hurry outside. He was careful to maneuver so that his back was to Arabella the entire time; murmuring that he would return in just a few moments. All she would need to do was call to him when she was finished changing – as he was certain caring for her injury would take longer than it took him to swiftly change garments.

Arabella sighed as Erik made his escape from the tent, and turned at once to the large water basin he'd so thoughtfully filled well ahead of time. At least she only planned on a quick rinse of her body, or she'd have felt obligated to trudge through the dark until she found the nearest stream in order to bathe. As it was; all she really needed was enough water to carefully wash off her wound.

She'd known that Erik would be too anxious to take her offer. She'd known… but hadn't been able to keep herself from trying. The offer had terrified her; knowing just as well as he did that she wasn't quite ready for that just yet. But she would have felt like the worst wife on the Earth if she'd just taken him at his word and pretended they weren't both made of flesh and bone, with dreams and desires like any other person. Still… his barely restrained rejection managed to leave her feeling a little cold and let down.

How odd that even when knowing what the outcome of her offer would be; she could still find it in herself to be hurt by it.

Slowly she peeled off her dress; shivering as she stood by the basin and began to splash cold water over herself. She was utterly relieved when she saw that whatever had happened with her stitches earlier that afternoon, there was no sign that she'd badly re-injured herself. There wasn't even any sign that she'd bled a single drop. Perhaps her pain wasn't even from a popped stitch at all… although she knew so little about medicine that she didn't know what else the sensation could have been. All she knew was that there was a tiny stain on her silk dress – probably from something like a drop of sweat. She didn't know… it was just there. All she knew for sure was that it wasn't a blood stain.

She stood over the wash basin for a long time, daydreaming as she examined the pink skin around her sutures; wincing each time her cloth came into contact with the barely-puffy injury. It was going to be a long time before she felt completely well again – particularly if she kept on pushing herself so hard.

With a deep breath she slowly turned from the wash basin to examine the tent. It was the first time in weeks that she'd been inside Erik's home; so there were a great many new things he'd acquired. He had a large trunk of his clothing; which sat beside her own trunk from Tsifia's tent. He had put together three makeshift shelving units that held all the things he tinkered with when not performing – including a large stack of what looked to be quite expensive paper, and several jars of ink.

Where there had been nothing but a pallet for sleeping on the floor, there now stood an amazing set of two things that looked like wooden hybrids of fold-away cots and stationary gaje beds. No doubt Erik had gotten hold of (or made) those two particular items since settling down in their present encampment, because he'd surely need a wagon to pack all the things they now owned together. In fact, the two beds, a new stove, and a table with two chairs, took up so much room in the tent that they would need to think about getting hold of a larger one – probably before her baby was born.

It was unusual to think – as a gypsy – of essentially needing a larger 'house'.

Her eyes were drawn again to the two separate beds as she began to dress her aging injury. She should have been searching her trunk for something to wear for the night; but she could barely think beyond the beds. Either was wide enough for two people – although it would be quite a tight squeeze for any two people even remotely close to adult size. Still… there were two of them. Clearly, Erik had made or bought these items fully intending to keep to his promise of demanding nothing from her.

What – exactly – would he propose they do to change their sleeping arrangements once the marriage was finally consummated? Would they get rid of one – or both – and replace them?

"Bella?"

She jolted slightly, pulled from her reverie once more by his voice. At least when Erik startled her; she no longer felt her mouth go dry in abject terror of what might happen to her.

"Just a moment." She mumbled, hurriedly striding over to her trunk and digging through until she found a sky blue nightgown that would hang almost to the ground from thin shoulder straps. It really wasn't anything but an elaborate and thicker-than-usual slip… but why should going to sleep require anything fancy? As long as she was warm and covered modestly enough… she couldn't think of anything better.

"All right!" she called, annoyed with her dicklo caught in her nightgown - having forgotten she was wearing it. She shook her head quickly; trying to dislodge it, and winced at the harsh tug it gave almost every strand of hair. "Erik! You can-"

She turned towards the doorway, the dicklo still half caught between her hair and her gown when she saw Erik was already there. She paused, color suffusing her cheeks as he stared at her. He must not have heard her earlier mutter; and taken the apparent silence as consent to return.

He'd never seen her in something so revealing, she realized (if you didn't include the day she'd been wearing a half-torn-off blouse or comparatively miniscule vest due to absolute necessity). For all her alluring dancing, he'd rarely seen her with mostly bared arms and shoulders; or in anything thinner than coarse cotton with undergarments helping to hide the figure beneath. She impatiently yanked at her headscarf and tossed it into the trunk behind her, one hand quickly passing like a clumsy comb through her thick tresses.

She was having just as hard a time looking away from him. He'd changed into what looked like incredibly soft and luxurious trousers and a loose fitting tunic shirt suitable for the warm summer nights. The cloak and mask he'd been wearing most of the day were bundled under one of his arms, no longer restricting her view of him.

Just as he'd promised on the day he'd given her the ring; he was not going to hide his face from her when they were alone. His modest nakedness gave her a clear view of his every expression – however twisted by deformity those expressions might be. Right now his face was the softest she'd ever seen it. There was no strain around his eyes. His mouth smiled slightly with lips that were so relaxed they barely pulled taut enough for the action. Even the fingers of his free hand dangled loosely at his side as he stared at her. Only the tension in his shoulders – and even his torso and thighs, as though he'd locked his muscles to keep himself still – showed any hint of tension whatsoever.

After a long moment, he placed his discarded clothes to one side of the tent, never taking his eyes off of her. Then, with a growing smile, he swept her a bow.

"Welcome home, Madame…" he greeted quietly.

His term made Arabella frown a little in concentration; although the actual greeting made her stomach seem to fill with butterflies all over again. It was ridiculous to feel so giddy and nervous when she knew that there was nothing to be anxious about.

"Erik…" she murmured uneasily. "Do I have a new name?"

"No. Of course not." Erik furrowed his own brow right back at her in confusion. "Why would you?"
"So… I am still Arabella Lyberia?"

Understanding seemed to dawn on his face, and his taut shoulders sagged miserably.

"I… I have no family name." he muttered, eyes dropping to the ground at his feet.

It startled her that Erik didn't know his own last name. Pain filled her chest as she thought about all that ways his mother had managed to keep him from feeling like a complete and deserving human being; no matter how many good things she'd done for him. She hoped they never came across the woman in the future… because she might actually have more than words to exchange with the woman that should have made Erik know just how perfectly special he was. With her hands clenched into loose fists at her side, she stepped closer until there was only a small space between them, and stood until he lifted his eyes from her toes to her face.

He looked at her, eyes widening ever-so-slightly. She wasn't sure what he was reading on her face; but she knew that her anger and hurt toward his mother was probably visible.

"We could use Lyberia…" she offered uneasily, unable to help the grimace that marred her face. The last thing she wanted was to continue using her father's name.

"No." he protested gently. "No, that isn't necessary. We don't have to use any name."

"But… how will people know who we are?" she challenged softly. "We must have some kind of a name to connect us."

Erik stared at her a long moment; as though he felt like the greatest fool in the world for never thinking of a last name – either for himself or for his new wife and eventual family.

"Then… then I will take any name you can think of." He murmured. "If we are to simply invent one; it should be one you like."

Arabella nodded and began to slowly circle the tent, head bowed in concentration. Erik merely pivoted in one spot, eyes constantly on her and offering absolutely nothing as a suggestion.

"Tell me… is there a French name that fits what you are to me?"

He raised his eyebrows quizzically.

"Your… husband?" he asked; tongue dancing over the word with such pride and possessiveness that she shivered a little in delight.

"What you vowed to be." She corrected. "My place of safety; my shelter and my protector. Because we promised that we do all together now. I want to be those things for you; too… even if I cannot be that in quite the same ways."

"You are those things." He objected, motioning briefly toward his bare face. "You are the only one I can stand before like this and feel like a human being."

She nodded briefly in grateful acknowledgement.

"Is there?" she pressed after a long moment.

Erik leaned back on ne heel and seemed to think a long time on the subject.

"Surnames were not something I researched…" he admitted reluctantly. "But on my maps I saw a town called Sauveterre… which means exactly what you are asking for."

"Which meaning?" she insisted.

He smiled at her gently.

"It means 'safe haven'." He admitted in a hushed voice. "There are many who have surnames based on where their ancestors came from. We could adopt it."

Warmth filled her and she found herself grinning brilliantly.

"Erik and Arabella Sauveterre sounds perfect." She whispered. "I mean, it might be a little ridiculous in terms of sentimentality… maybe a little too literal…"

"No." Erik shook his head, quickly taking her hands. "If you like it, then I have no objections."

He took a step even closer to her and she found herself holding her breath as he leaned down to kiss her forehead as he often did as of late. She leaned into the gently intimate touch; trying to pull her hands from his grasp so that she could wrap her arms around him… but he was holding her too tight.

"Bella…"

"Erik?" She jerked away suddenly at the tone of his voice, her eyes wide with concern. "Erik – are you crying?"

Shaking his head, Erik shifted until he could sit on the nearest cot-like bed, gazing up at her with eyes that nearly glowed. She could see that he hadn't been crying… but he had certainly been close to it. It was amazing just how close he was to tears; when days beforehand she'd thought her own death would be hard-pressed to wrench one from him.

"You've just made me more than a shadow of a man." He choked. "Ma belle… mira kom… You have given me an identity. You've made me a true human being!"

Touched by his relief and new sense of belonging, she shook her head and lightly brushed at his bare face with her fingertips. He tilted his head back as though her touch caused the most exquisite type of agony; closing his eyes and relishing the sensation.

"Erik…" she sighed. "You always have been."

They stood and sat like that together for a long time. Erik stared at her so intently; with so much love and adoration; that she actually began to squirm with discomfort. She wasn't just a woman he loved in that moment; and that unsettled her. It was almost like he was staring at a divine appearance of the Holy Virgin Herself. It was as though her touch was a miracle healing exposure to the divine.

"Well…" she managed after a few moments, glancing anxiously around the room. "I see that you've made arrangements for two beds…"

Clearing his throat, Erik rubbed his palms down his thighs as though to clean them of dirt; and nodded.

"Yes. I thought you'd be more comfortable if I didn't sleep too close."

"At first, you mean." She prompted. "I won't be banished to my own bed your whole life, Erik."

"I don't expect you to-"

"-And I don't want to be told where to sleep tonight."

Erik stared up at her so dumbly that she almost laughed. She took his shoulders in her hands and smiled.

"I know we aren't ready for… certain things." She began delicately. "But I trust you, Erik. Surely you can let me try to overcome at least one thing tonight… one fear that doesn't even seem to have ever included you in it."

He tilted his head at her, malformed lips twitching in uncertain amusement.

"What fear is that?" he asked curiously.

Arabella blushed hotly, but refused to let her slight embarrassment silence her.

"Can I try and sleep with your arms around me? I know I've done it once under much different circumstances… and I thought…"

"You thought it would be a reasonable first step." He finished for her, nodding as he slowly rose to his feet. "Yes… o-of course… We can… we can try that… Or would you rather we put the beds close together so we might just get used to each other being close, first?"

They ended up compromising; because Erik's progressively alarming color made Arabella realize that he wasn't just trying to protect her from things she wasn't quite ready for. It was clear that he was just as nervous about sharing space (particularly a bed) with her; as she was about sharing it with him. But they managed to fall asleep on beds that pressed together side by side.

Although they lay under different blankets and slept on different pillows, they fell asleep with hands lightly clasped with little smiles on their faces. It was well after midnight by that point; their conversation having gone from nervous twitters of laughter due to the newness of the situation; to much more relaxed and less self-conscious discussions that felt no different from their many meetings on the edge of his stage.