There was an unbearable pain in his chest, an unbearable ache in his head, and a familiar voice calling his name. With an immense effort, Erik opened his eyes. There was something on the periphery of his vision, a flash of white above his right eye. He tried to lift his hand and sweep aside whatever that was, but his arm was heavy, as if made out of lead. It barely moved. Something hovered over him. He slowly focused on Nadir's features. What was Nadir doing here? And where was here? Where was he? The feeling of panic swept over him, closely followed by nausea. He turned his head, wincing at the pain. He recognized the ceiling and the upper parts of the walls in his room.

He heard Nadir's voice, dim, echoing:

"Shhh. Calm down, Erik. You've just had a. . ." Nadir's words died out.

Erik's eyes closed for a moment. The blink lasted an eternity.

"What?" he asked, but he couldn't hear his own words. There was greyness, and the sound of the pulse in his ears. And then the greyness darkened, and he faded away.


When he woke up again he seemed to be doing slightly better. He was warm, and the pain in his head and his chest had receded. His arms didn't weigh as much as before. He opened his eyes and tentatively moved his head to survey the room.

Things were odd, out of place. His clothes were heaped on the back of his chair, by the desk. One of his shoes was under the chair; the other was nowhere to be seen. The washbasin half filled with water and holding a piece of cloth was on the floor, beside the bed. The nightstand was full of flasks and glasses. Light filtered between the half drawn curtains. Nadir, deep shadows under his eyes, was dozing on the armchair.

The strange glimpse of white above his right eye was still there, and Erik gingerly touched it. It was a thick bandage, wrapped around his head. Where was his mask? He tried to lean on his elbows to peep over the nightstand and see if it was lying behind the mess. He winced as nausea washed over him at the movement. Nadir's eyes shot open, and his face was swept alternatively by waves of joy and concern. Nadir stood up and leant over Erik.

"Nadir, where. . ." Erik's voice cracked. It was hoarse and sounded strange.

Nadir took a glass from the nightstand and lifted Erik's head. He put the glass to Erik's lips and Erik drank. Then Nadir let his head back gently on the pillow.

"Welcome back, my friend," he said.

Erik closed his eyes for a second, gathering his bearings.

"Why do you have to be so dramatic, Daroga?"

"Because you almost died on us, my friend. You had. . ."

"A heart attack, I know," Erik interrupted him. "When?"

"Yesterday. In the morning."

Erik nodded, his eyes slid shut again. Everything was still foggy. He was exhausted. He needed to rest. But his inner voice, the part of him that always had to have everything in check, told him he couldn't just abandon himself.

"My mask?" he asked.

There was a silence. Erik opened his eyes to meet a hesitant Nadir.

"Eh. . . Huh. . . It broke. . ."

"What?"

"You fell and hit your head against the coffee table. The mask broke."

Under the bandages, Erik's forehead creased. His headache was getting worse.

"And you. . . How did you. . ."

"Gracie found you. She came to my apartment."

Erik's chest constricted with a new pain when he began to understand the implications of Nadir's words. No, God, not that. Not that. It wasn't possible. It couldn't be possible. And yet. . . Memories came back to him. Clear, merciless images: him lighting the fire in the sitting room; him standing up and feeling inexplicably sore and exhausted; the coffee table approaching as he fell; Gracie's face, streaked with tears, bending over him. The pain knocked out the air of his lungs. Oh God.

"Gracie?" he managed to whisper.

"She's in the kitchen, with Darius. Do you want me to. . .?"

Nadir's voice trailed off, at the sight of the incredible sorrow that surfaced on Erik's ravaged features.

Erik stared at the ceiling, in a desperate effort to rein himself in, to gather the courage for what he would have to do. It was so unjust. They had lived together. . . How long? Little over three years. He had not been given enough time to be with her. There was still so much he had to teach her, to share with her. So many things to do together. He had dreamt of watching her grow up. . . But it was all over. She had seen the horror that was his face. She would only recoil from him now.

"Her dresses are in the wardrobe, in her room," he started, in an even, monotone voice that betrayed all his heartache and despair. "Her shoes are stashed under her bed. Her toys are. . . In the bunk, at the foot of the bed. Make sure she takes Lily with her. It's her. . ." The knot in his throat got unbearably tight. He cleared it, breathed in, and continued: "Her favourite doll. The one in the lilac dress. She can't sleep without her. She might also. . ." he faltered.

No, she wouldn't want to take with her the mobile that hung by the window, though she had liked it so much. He had made it for her, and she would now detest it. Any memento of him would only be a source of nightmares. Erik grasped the blankets, in an effort to contain the dejection that was drowning him like a tide.

"But Erik. . ."

"Take her to your place, Daroga. Find her a new. . ." His voice broke. He tried again: "Find a. . ."

Suddenly, the door opened, and a timid, high-pitched voice called:

"Papa?"

Erik's head jerked away from the door, in an attempt to hide his face.

"Go to your room, Gracie," he ordered, but his voice was but a cracked moan, barely understandable to his own ears.

She came into the room, filled with wonder.

"You awake?" she ventured.

Erik opened his mouth to answer, but found himself at a loss for words. He was staring intently at the wall, his shoulders already quivering, his rigid self control crumbling under the pressure. Gracie looked at Nadir, a questioning look in her face and the Persian nodded towards his friend. He knew the little girl didn't need too much encouragement to go to her papa.

Gracie's footsteps approached, and Erik closed his eyes, unable to face the humiliation. Why didn't the Daroga take her away? Gracie's little hand grasped his forearm. She climbed onto the bed and before he could snap at Nadir, her other hand was upon his cheek, his scarred cheek, trying to make him turn his head and look at her. He resisted. She leant over him, and kissed his good cheek softly. She then curled beside him, using his shoulder as a pillow, just like she had done countless times when she had had a nightmare and sought his bed. Erik could no longer fight the tears.

"Papa? Are you getting better?"

The sweetness in her voice was more than flesh and blood could stand.

"Oh, Gracie," he sighed.

The weight of her head lifted from his shoulder.

"Is he, Uncle Nadir? Is he going to be all right?"

Nadir's warm, thick accented voice downed on him.

"He will, Gracie. As long as. . . As long as you stay with him. Will you let her, Erik?"

Erik nodded, eyes still tightly shut. Nadir's footsteps retreated towards the door.

"I'll be in the sitting room."

And the door closed. Gracie's head rested again on his shoulder.


Author's notes: Thanks everybody for the reviews. Keep them coming! They keep me going, you know.