Disclaimer: Phantom of the Opera owns me (not the other way around).

Author's Note: Okay... here's my next little bit of nonsense to add to this little thing that started as a drabble and became the novel-length fic that is consuming my already too-busy life. I wrote it during a school board meeting so... yeah... some pain and agony I was feeling might have crept in. Oh! And I just HAVE to tell you all that I have TOTALLY figured out not just generally but EXACTLY what is going to happen next and then next and then next, and all you have to do is wait for me to type it all because it's totally DONE in my HEAD! (Sorry... I know I'm entirely out of line here, but it's exciting not to have to worry about what's going to happen when anymore.)

For those who don't like to click back, when we left off last chapter...
Only then did she drift off to sleep and she slept peacefully until he suddenly roused her by pushing her away.
She reached out protectively but he was not frantically thrashing about with nightmares. He was awake and looking at her. She peered into his golden eyes and they were clear. Was he still angry then? Fearful? But his eyes looked more... confused? "Erik, it's all right," she began.
"What—" he began looking around, and he seemed absolutely horrified, "am I doing in your bed?"

Oh, was that all? she thought. If she wasn't mistaken, he actually sounded a little better, too. Keep it light, she reminded herself. "Sleeping," she replied. "Or so I thought. Apparently not, though; your eyes are open. It is what I was doing. Until a moment ago. Honestly, Erik. It's early. Go back to sleep." She closed her eyes but she could feel his stare boring into her. She opened her eyes and looked back at him. "Is something wrong?"

He didn't answer as he slowly stood and looked down at himself. She propped her head on one hand, leaning casually on her elbow. She could feel him trying desperately to remember how he'd gotten into the pajamas and for some reason that she could not quite place, she rather enjoyed watching him wonder. When the tension in the room was so thick she felt he could likely stand it no longer she said flatly "I don't know how you got into them either. I wasn't here when it happened."

He relaxed visibly and she could not contain a short burst of laughter. He took a step away from the bed and steadied himself by placing a hand on the bedside table. "Erik, please. You still need to rest." He seemed to be trembling.

"Obviously," he responded sinking back onto the bed. He turned slowly toward her. "This will not do." He pointed to the bed.

"Oh, don't worry about it. I was just getting up anyway," she said.

He looked at her tired face, the lines around her eyes more prominent than usual, and darkness creeping in beneath them. "Somehow, I doubt that," he said.

She folded both arms across her face. "All right. I admit it," she said, her voice muffled beneath them. "We have a problem. We need to find you a place to stay."

She moved her arms away as she could feel that stare again. Tired flames flickered in his eyes. "Perhaps you have forgotten. I have a place to stay. Rather larger than this. And have it entirely to myself at present, actually."

She rolled her eyes. "Perhaps you have forgotten that last night you were dying." She snatched up one of the bottles and waved it before his eyes. "At least, that's what you told me. Remember?"

He did seem to remember some strange conversations, holding someone's hand, trying to keep someone from leaving, staring out a window, falling onto the floor. Had that been just last night? He looked at her. He remembered some other terrifying things. He looked quickly away and sighed. Wait. That didn't feel right. He took another deep breath, looked back at her, then back at the bottle in her hand. He coughed experimentally. The sound was deep and wet. It startled him.

"Erik," she said softly. "I know it's home to you, but it's cold and moist down there. Please don't go back there yet. I'll find you another place."

Another place indeed! She would find it for him? Did she think him that incapable of providing for himself? He was insulted—except he didn't have quite enough pride left to be entirely insulted. It was more like feigning insult while beneath it he felt humiliation. After all, it was true. He wasn't providing for himself at all. She was. And had been. And had seen weakness in him. This would not do. It was not safe. He glanced around the small room at the pile of papers on the table, the pile of clothing on the floor and the enormous heap of blankets upon the bed. "How long…" he swallowed down a cough, "have I been here?"

She rolled her eyes skyward, calculating. "Well, I haven't been keeping track, really, as I've been a bit busy," she smiled at her understatement, "but… best estimate… a little over a week, maybe… if you count—"

"A week—" he burst out but interrupted himself coughing, then fumbled about for a handkerchief, and, finding the pajamas had no pockets, swallowed hard and trembled disgustedly. Elizabeth put her hands over her face to cover her smile. There was nothing funny at all, but as relief washed over her—for this was decidedly not a dying man—she suddenly felt entirely given over to nervous laughter. She held her breath until it passed. "A week," he began again, this time in a much more subdued voice. "In that bed?" he pointed.

Elizabeth could only nod, one hand over her mouth, trying desperately to look serious, concerned. Before she could begin to explain there was a heavy knock at the door and they both jumped. Erik stumbled to the other side of the room as Elizabeth stepped to the door and called through it, "Yes?" It was only a message that a package had been delivered for her. "Could you… could you just leave it outside the door, please? I'm dressing just now," she called. She sunk to the floor beside the door, much as she had the night before outside it. Had that been only last night? The conversation outside the door returned to her. Especially a certain part of that conversation. Christine has stared at her… astonished. Don't be foolish, Erik had said. Foolish. Indeed. She stood and carefully opened the door a crack, then a bit further and looking both ways, then she slipped out, grabbed the package and slipped back inside quickly.

Erik was leaning against the door to the bathroom. Somehow, despite the black mask, she could tell he was looking pale. "Oh, sit down and rest," she said, setting the package on the table. "Or have you something urgent planned for today?"

Why was she keeping him here, he wondered. He eased himself slowly into the chair she'd placed beside the bed last night. It was rather uncomfortable against his bones, which, he noted with consternation, seemed more pronounced than usual. Indeed, what had happened this past week? He felt rather sore, and it hurt to breathe deeply. His legs felt weak. And the pajamas clung to him. He looked at them again. These garments were not his. This was most absurd.

"How are you feeling?" she asked from across the room as she picked the package back up and sat on the edge of the bed fumbling to open it.

He looked at her. Was there a correct answer? "Rather tired, actually."

She stood and held her arms out to indicate the bed. "Let's trade then. The chair goes better with the table anyway." She walked over and put her hands upon the chair leaving him no real choice but to vacate it. He shied away from her and even as he did so, he wondered why he did. She was tall for a woman, but not nearly as tall as he. And even in this state, he could surely overpower her if he wished to. Why did he feel so timid? But he was too tired to consider it for long. He eased himself onto the bed sorely and tugged at a blanket. Just one, he thought. Why were there so many? Who sleeps like this?

He was asleep again in an instant. She opened the package and drew out a book and a pile of papers. The top one was a letter.

My Dearest Elizabeth,

May I still call you that? It is rather strange, having not seen you
in so long. I do hope you are enjoying Paris, though I can't help
but wonder about this 'interesting case' of which you wrote. In what
regard is it of a personal interest and how did you come to be involved?
I thought you were vacationing. As I recall, you said you needed a
break from the madness, yet it seems you have sought out more of it,
perhaps of another sort. You never were the type for rest and relaxation,
were you my dear? Since you offered, here are two articles, which I
would not dare publish without your proofreader's eyes perusing them
first. And as you requested, here is your copy of Dr. Freud's book,
though what you can possibly want with a copy of your own I cannot
possibly imagine as I willingly share all my materials with you. I
enclose also some information regarding another individual. Though
not a patient of mine, I thought you might have some interest
inlearning more about him due to your interests in, well, you shall
understand when you see. He is in England at present, at the London
Hospital. I know you have said you wish never to return to
England and I would never ask that of you. Still, I would not withhold
information from you that might be of interest. Frederick Treves is
highly respected in his field and this is quite an interesting case, though
out of my realm of study. I imagine you may wish to write to Dr. Treves
yourself. But when shall I see you again, Elizabeth? I ask both
professionally and personally. You know I enjoy your company. It is
dreadfully dull here without you.

With all my love and affection,

Wilhelm

Elizabeth folded the letter, opened the book to the middle, tucked the letter inside, and glanced at Erik. When will you see me again, indeed, Wilhelm! she thought. There was first the matter of Erik and Christine. Christine was—well, Christine was expecting her, actually! She cursed under her breath and rushed to the bathroom to make herself presentable.

A short time later she emerged. A glance in the mirror told her this was not good enough, but it didn't matter for what she had to do. She sat at the table for a moment and scribbled a few words, tucked the letter into an envelope and sealed it. She stood at the door, undecided. She opened it, then closed it again without leaving. She crossed to the bed and tapped Erik on the shoulder. He was sleepy and cross. "I'm going downstairs," she told him. "I'll only be a moment."

She woke him for that? "Go!" he thundered. Or, tried to, but his voice broke and his chest ached. He waved her away disgustedly.

She went, but only as far as the lobby. She considered asking the staff for assistance then thought the better of it. She stepped outside, looked around, found a young boy in rather shabby clothing who appeared to be simply standing there. She offered him the letter and a few coins, told him the address, promised him more if he returned the same time tomorrow with proof that he had delivered it. She hurried back upstairs. Now what had she been doing when she remembered that? Ah, yes… Wilhelm wanted to know when would she return. It was first necessary to arrange some type of meeting between Erik and Christine. She glanced at Erik. That would still be some time away. In the meantime, what of this Dr. Treves? She had never heard of him. Outside Wilhelm's realm of study, she wondered. Due to her interests in… She would understand when she saw? She could not contain her curiosity.

But this case had nothing to do with psychoanalysis. This case was—Oh! And there was a photograph! Elizabeth cupped her hands over her nose and mouth as she stared at it her eyes wide and almost, but not quite, fearful. Then she carefully folded the documents, put the photograph between them and slipped it all back into the envelope which she folded down and carefully then placed inside the pocket of her valise. Yes, it was of interest to her for a variety of reasons. There was something she desperately needed to do, had planned to do for years, that she lacked the confidence to simply do. She had discussed it with no one, not even Wilhelm, for she feared that the men would not take it seriously. She had put the idea aside, but had never abandoned it. Erik had simultaneously inspired her and distracted her, but this solidified her resolve. She would have to return to Germany to make it happen, so it would have to wait until the matter of Erik and Christine reached a conclusion. She looked at Erik's sleeping form. As soon as he was well, she thought.

It was not long before Erik was awake and complaining of hunger. Elizabeth pretended to be annoyed but was secretly delighted he had any appetite at all. She saw the way he looked at her as he dragged himself to the table and she knew he would not remove the mask in front of her. She grabbed a nightgown and headed for the bathroom. "My turn to sleep," she said lightly. "I was up late last night you know. She entered the bathroom and returned quickly. "I'm sure I'll be asleep a while. Your clothes are in the closet if you wish to freshen up." He glanced at her, down at himself, and up at her again. "Well, they're yours now anyway. You may not recognize them, though. What you had at the house on the lake didn't seem so comfortable for being sick in bed." She climbed into the bed and turned away from him so he could eat. She pulled the sheet over her head to be doubly sure. "There's another set of pajamas in there, too," her voice said from beneath the sheets. "At the very least, you should let me have that set laundered. You've been in them a week you know." And with that, she drifted off.

Okay... so what are you thinking NOW? I didn't alienate anyone, did I? Reviews please? You know how I love the reviews, right?