His jaw tightened and he swallowed. There was no help for it. He'd have to tell her. It wasn't right to keep evading the truth. "Yes." He released her hand and looked straight at her. "Look at me."

His voice was soft, almost hypnotic, she couldn't resist. "Your eyes…two different colors." Taking a step back away from him, she shook her head, avoiding his eyes. No. It couldn't be. Not him. Not after all these years. Not in this place.

"Look. At. Me." His eyes locked with hers. Yes, they were the same as he remembered, brown with gold and green flecks. He saw them widen with sudden recognition and he grinned. "Hello, Girl."

"Boy? Oh my lord. Boy, is it you?" He nodded and she rushed into his arms hugging him tightly. "Oh God, I can't believe this." She closed her eyes against the tears threatening to fall, leaning her cheek against his chest and feeling the quick rhythm of his heartbeat. His arms tightened around her.

"Yes," he said, his voice breaking. "It's me."

They stood there, holding each other, until Erik swayed and she pushed him back down to the sofa. "Sit," she ordered. "I'll get us some tea."

"No," he said, glancing at the bar. "Something stronger, I think. And this time for drinking."

She nodded in agreement. Yes, she needed a good stiff drink, and he looked like he did, too. She poured a generous amount of brandy into two snifters and brought them back to where he sat. Then she sat down beside him, holding out a glass. "Cheers." She swallowed too much at once and coughed. "My…that's strong. And good."

He just nodded, taking a small sip, not able to take his eyes off her. He still couldn't believe that after all the years, she was sitting beside him.

"I came back to that place," she said. "I swear I did."

"I know. I heard you last night."

To think he was there, just a few meters away and she hadn't known. "What happened to you?"

Oh, that was a very long story, and most of it he found he didn't want to tell. "The caravan moved on to another town."

"That man, the one who was yelling." She found the bits of memory she hadn't included while telling her story suddenly as fresh as the day everything happened. "Did he hurt you?"

"No."

She looked into his eyes and knew he was lying. "I'm so sorry."

He looked away, blinking rapidly. There was nothing to say. It was a long time ago, no one wanted to dredge all that up now, least of all him. He'd made a new life for himself, again. No point in looking back. The bridges were crossed and well and truly burned.

She took a drink then reached for his free hand, clasping it gently. "You kept the ribbon. All these years, you kept it."

He nodded, taking another sip of his drink. "As I said, it was a talisman for me. Reminding me that sometimes, people could be kind."

"Did you find many kind people, Erik?" Her hand moved from his grasp to his bare cheek and he pulled instinctively away. Silently she acknowledged his reluctance to be touched and instead slowly laid her head against his shoulder. She couldn't imagine what he'd been through in his life. What paths had he walked that brought him to that alley in San Francisco?

"Some," he admitted, answering her question. He rested his undamaged cheek against her hair, marveling in its softness. "You are so beautiful," he whispered.

"You flatter me." She rubbed her face against his shoulder then looked into his two-tone eyes. "I know what I look like. I have heard the words 'a handsome woman' bandied about some, but 'beautiful?' She grinned a bit ruefully. "No."

"They're blind." His hand lifted of its own accord and gently touched her hair. "You are beautiful."

Lightning flashed and the electric lights in the apartment flickered and went out.

"Oh, my." Lillian looked at the candles on the bar. "It's a good thing you had the foresight to light those." The room was growing darker as the storm approached and the first drops of rain hit the windows.

He moved to the candles, taking one for himself and offering another to her. Their hands touched and a wave of dizziness crested over him.

She saw him sway and hesitate. "Come on, let's get you into bed for a proper rest."

"What?"

She sighed pursing her lips. "In case it slipped your mind, you hit your head rather hard and," she gestured toward him, "you were shot."

He looked down at the bandage around his arm. He'd forgotten for a moment what brought them together in his apartment in the first place. "Oh. Yes. I remember now."

"You need a proper bed; that sofa can't be comfortable to lie on for hours at a time." Taking his arm, she turned him toward the darkened hallway. "Bed. Now."

He knew there was no use arguing. "You're a bully, you know that?"

"So I have been told." Holding her candle out in front of them, she pulled him gently down the hall until she found his bedroom. She hadn't really noticed much about the layout of the apartment or this room when she went for the needle and thread to stitch him up earlier. Now she had a moment to really look. It wasn't what she expected at all. She knew he was a rich bachelor and she expected his room to reflect that. Instead it was almost stark.

A four poster bed sat against a wall opposite the windows with a thinly padded bench at the foot. A reading lamp and armchair, a book resting on the cushion, sat in a corner near the window wall alongside a wall consisting entirely of bookshelves. A single glance told her that most of the books had already been read and some showed signs of being favorites based on the wear in their bindings. A simple walnut dresser rested against a fourth wall with a pitcher, basin and washcloth on top. The only piece of luxury in the room was a vibrant Persian rug.

Moving on to his small dressing room, she found it to be almost as spartan as his bedroom. He didn't have many suits, but her practiced eye saw they were of excellent wool and impeccably tailored. A single ensemble of formalwear hung off to one side. His boots were highly polished and lined up on the floor under the suits. She noted several changes of shirt, but they were all the same: fine white cotton or linen with a jacquard stripe. He came up to her just as she pulled a long garment and robe off a hook. "Nightshirt?"

He shook his head. "Caftan." He'd gotten into the habit of wearing them years ago in Persia and had them custom made whenever possible. He found the loose light cotton garment with its deep armholes and full open sleeves more comfortable than the heavier more embellished and cuffed nightshirts men often wore.

"Well then, here you are." She walked around him, laying the garments on the chair. "Do you need help changing?"

"No." He looked down at himself. He thought he could manage the trousers and if he sat, the boots and stockings were no problem. The shirt however, could prove a bit difficult. His left hand strayed to the buttons, fumbling to work them from the buttonholes.

"Here," she said briskly, pushing his hand away. "Let me do that." She had the buttons undone in a few seconds then looked at him. His shirt, as most men's shirts were, had a button down bib front that opened a little more than halfway down his torso. She started pulling his shirt out of his waistband when he stopped her.

"I can do this." His left hand pulled at one side, freeing the fabric to blouse over his waistband. Moving his right arm hurt more than he was willing to admit but he needed it to finish removing the garment on his own.

She let him fumble for a moment, then moved his hand away. "Stop that. You don't want to pull out those finely placed stitches do you?"

"No, but I don't want to be undressed like a child, either."

When he reached for his shirttail again she slapped his hand away. "Honestly, Erik, why won't you let me help? I'm forty-three years old and I've been working around hospitals for half my life. I've been married and widowed, and I've had my share of lovers. So unless you're hiding an extra appendage, there's nothing you have that I haven't seen."

Extra appendages, no. Just scars, lots of scars. His arm started throbbing again and he gave up the fight. "All right. Thank you." He sat on the small bench and let her help him remove his boots and stockings. When she reached for his trousers, he slapped her hand away.

Getting the shirt off was proving problematic. It was too painful and too much stress on the stitches to lift his arm over his head. Lillian stepped back considering the options. Finally she pulled a small pair of scissors from the drawer where she'd found the needle and thread and cut through the bottom of the bib stitching. Then she yanked with both hands, ripping the shirt apart so it slid off his shoulders leaving him bare to the waist. "There." She nodded in satisfaction, grinning at the look on what she could see of Erik's face. "You'd already torn it and bled all over the sleeve. It's not as if you were planning to wear it again."

When he didn't respond, she pulled him up from the bench, deciding that the trousers could wait. The she took him by the shoulders and spun him around towards the bed. "There, get yourself in there while I-" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Oh gods, Erik." She couldn't say any more. The sight of his ravaged back cut off her voice.

"It's all right, Lillian." He pulled in a shuddering breath. He knew what she saw and he felt ashamed. "I wasn't always the most obedient child."

"No one. No one has the right to do that."

The vitriol in her voice surprised him. "It was a long time ago. I'd almost forgotten they were there." That was a lie but what else could he say?

She was quiet for a moment, then gave him a gentle push towards the bed. "Go on, get into bed. Here." She tossed the caftan onto the bed. "See if you can get into that and then we can pull off the trousers. And Erik, you can take off the mask if you'll be more comfortable. I do remember what you look like. It doesn't frighten me. It never did."

Erik turned, gently touching her chin and tilting her head up. "I remember. You were the only one who looked at me and didn't scream."

His words almost brought her to tears. She heard the emptiness in his voice and the longing. What has his life been like? Cruel, no doubt. She saw that in his scars and in the eyes of other patients at the Foundation's hospitals. He was the reason she'd fought so hard to start the Foundation and keep it running. He was the reason other disfigured children found help and new lives. She'd done it all for the memory of one boy. And now the boy stood before her, a man scarred and broken, what could she do for him? What did she want to do for him?

"Erik," she breathed softly, looking into his eyes. He stood still as she gently removed his mask and wig. She could see the tears forming in his eyes, his jaw clenching against the unwanted emotion. She'd stripped him naked emotionally, torn him to pieces, and now all she wanted was to rebuild him, stronger than before. Reaching up, she pulled his head down to hers, her lips barely skimming his.

"No!" He pushed her aside, stumbling back a few steps. "No. Get away from me." Lightning flashed and thunder roared, shaking the building. The storm outside vying with the storm within him. The day he set foot in America, he swore he was done with feelings. He wouldn't allow his heart to rule him ever again. Ruthlessly, he'd stamped down on emotion, on desire.

"Erik." She took a step back, stunned at his reaction. "What's wrong?"

Rarely, when the pressure became too great, he availed himself of a prostitute willing to overlook the scars and the mask for the money he left on her bed. He hated himself for his weakness, but knew it was better than succumbing to the madness of before. If she'd been a stranger, not someone who'd touched his life deeply, maybe he would have given in. But he couldn't. Not now. Not with her.

"Leave me alone."

"Is that what you really want?" She saw the confusion in his eyes. She slid her arms around his neck, reaching up on her toes and kissing his mouth gently. "I don't want to leave you like this.

"Erik, I'm not asking for a commitment, or a promise for tomorrow, I'm not asking for anything." She shook her head, knowing she'd have to be careful with her words. She wanted him. She knew that. "Nothing beyond here and now, and only if it's what you want, too." She kissed him again, touching his lips with the tip of her tongue, seeking permission. "Do you?" she whispered.

They weren't a boy and a girl with cage bars between them now. They were a man and a woman with nothing barring them. Desire rose within him. Gods, how he wanted her.

He opened his lips, allowing her seeking tongue entry and meeting it with his own. He tasted brandy and something else, some undefined sweetness. The kiss deepened; he didn't think about tomorrow. His arms tightened around her pulling her softness against his body. Once, just once, he wanted to know pleasure without shame. Was it too much to ask?

Lillian broke the kiss, pressing her hand to his chest. She stepped back, catching his hand and turning toward the bed. "Come with me, Erik. Come to me."

He looked at their joined hands and surrendered. Everything faded, all the sorrow, all the anger, all the pain. There was only this woman, this moment. She wanted him and he wanted her. It was that simple. "Yes."

. . .

Lillian lay contented in the crook of Erik's arm, her head resting against him, hearing the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he slept. Their coupling was beautiful, touching something deep in her soul. The storm of their passion matched the storm raging outside. And now both had passed and the world was once again calm.

She never thought she'd see the boy again. And now, to have him beside her like this felt like the fulfillment of years of unspoken wishes. She kissed him lightly and he stirred. Then he jerked awake, breathing hard.

"No. Oh, no." His eyes widened as the full knowledge of what they'd done and how she controlled their joining returned. "Why? Why didn't you let me…?"

She covered his mouth with her hand. She knew what he was asking. "Withdraw?" She felt him nod, seeing a flush creep up his neck. "It's all right. There's no harm done."

"No!" He fled from the bed, ignoring the dizziness and pain, quickly picking up his scattered clothes and pulling them on. "No. It's not all right!" He trembled in anger. "How could you let me—"

"Because I wanted you there, inside me at that moment." He looked shocked at her words. She threw off the coverlet scrambling for her drawers and camisole and pulling them on. "I'm not some fragile girl in the throes of first love, Erik. You're not the first man I've had and you won't be the last. I liked it."

"I'm so glad I could please you, milady." Sarcasm dripped like venom from his lips. "Did you not give any thought to what could result?"

"You mean, what if I get with child?" She shook her head. "That's nothing for you to worry about."

"Why? I may not have as much experience as your former bedmates, but I do know how children are conceived." He pushed past her into his dressing room and pulled on a clean shirt, ignoring the flare of pain from his arm. "And I do not want to create one."

"And would it be so bad if we did?"

He looked at her, then shook his head, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "How can you even ask me that?" He walked from the room, leaving her to dress alone.