"Anywhere you go

Let me go too.

Love me-

That's all I ask of you . . ." – All I Ask of You

Chapter 11: All I Ask of You

After the chandelier was set up, Erik scooped up Nasrin in his arms and brought her down to the labyrinth, wary of her head injury. She wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling into the bottom of his jaw. He lay her down gently in the boat, taking his cloak off and gently putting it under her head as a pillow.

"We're almost home; when we reach my lair, I'll dress your wound." Erik grabbed the oar and pushed off from the dock, weaving around the dark lake expertly, his eyes never straying from Nasrin.

She lay on her back, her waterfall of black hair curling on the bottom of the boat. Her eyes were glassy and her lips were slightly open. The slash on her head was slowly clotting, but still glistened with wet blood. The skin around the wound had swelled to twice its normal size, the parts not covered in blood were black and blue. The hair around the wound was sticky and matted, mangy looking.

"How are you feeling now?" he asked, seeing his lair emerge before him, a grimy personification of misery and tormented salvation.

"The pain does not quell," she answered in a strained moan,

Erik turned back to his lair, watching it grow before his eyes. He alone could make anything out of the miserable lake Garnier left underneath the Opera House he built. And now, it was his sanctuary: his miserable, solitary, damp sanctuary. He tolerated it only because he had nowhere else to go; he was stuck in the prison he had built for his mind forever. The grungy tapestries he put on the wall were now moldy after years in the dark, humid climate. His swan bed peered at him from beyond the slimy portcullis, its alabaster neck arched regally. Its marble eyes, in the dim light, seemed to glitter at him in recognition. His organ was pressed into a small alcove in rock, the keys yellow with decay.

"Erik? You seem awfully quiet. Is something the matter?" Nasrin asked in concern.

"I'm just looking around at my home," he muttered in discontent.

"Oh," Nasrin replied quietly, stung at how he called it his home, not their home.

"We're here," Erik said, lifting her up in his arms and carrying her off the bucking boat. When they were once again on the sturdy floor of the lair, she nuzzled into his chest, breathing against his neck. She felt him shiver slightly; his head dipped lower to nuzzle her head. As his rough stubble pushed against her head, her wig fell off, landing softly on the floor. Nasrin gave a cry of dismay and thrashed in his arms, forcing Erik to drop her to the ground. She squirmed over to the wig and yanked it over her scalp, wincing as she adjusted it.

Erik kneeled down beside her and looked at her with compassion. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as his hand reached out to her.

"Fire Rose, I have told you, you're head couldn't bother me less." He smiled and ran his gloved hand over her cheek.

Nasrin's cheeks darkened. "Matter of habit I'm afraid. It will take a while before I can feel comfortable about leaving my wig off."

Erik pointed to his mask and smiled. "And who would know better about a situation like that than I?"

Her lips curved upwards and her eyes twinkled in dormant affection. She placed her hand on his mask and ran her fingers over its smooth surface. "We are both a mix of two perfect paradoxes; the beauty and the beast. What a pair we make."

Erik stopped to examine her. Her face was so serene, gentle. At the moment, she reminded him so much of Christine, the way her eyes sparkled and the way her smile was innocent and pure with youth. He found himself moving to kiss her, his body eagerly awaiting the inevitable. But as his lips brushed hers affectionately, he felt her sigh and give a pitiful whimper. He pulled away slightly to see her fall forward, her blue-green eyes rolling up in their sockets.

"Nasrin!" he cried as he caught her. He was alarmed to feel how cold she was. Her copper skin bereft of warmth; her head lolled lifelessly against his chest. "You're injury must be worse than I originally anticipated." He removed her wig quickly, examining the wound on her head. Her skin was stained with crusting blood and the gash had begun to fester.

He pursed his lips and carried her over to her pile of sheets and blankets, which had succumbed to entropy and had become strewn everywhere. He laid her down gently, gathering a bundle of blankets to put under her head. She didn't stir and his forehead creased in worry. He grabbed the cleanest cloth he had and dipped it in some of the water he had boiling from the morning. The cloth began to steam and Erik walked back to Nasrin, who hadn't moved since she passed out.

"I hope this helps," Erik muttered, pressing the hot cloth against the wound. He began to clean the infected area free of blood and milk white puss. Her eyes snapped open and she yelped in pain, tears wetting her eyes.

"Ah!" she cried, her hands flying up to battle with the cloth. Erik caught them both in one of his fists and restrained them.

"This is for your own good; hold still or it will hurt more." He was relieved to see her settle, surrendering to his will. Her eyes were glassy with new tears and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. He finished cleaning the wound and quickly wrapped a long piece of cloth around her head, scowling as the blood started to seep through the layers.

"That is the best I can do for now. The best thing for you to do at the present is rest. We have set up the chandelier for the performance; we don't need to manifest ourselves until the actual opera begins, and that isn't for three weeks yet. Just lie there and rest, focus all your attention on convalescing." He touched her cheek tenderly, smirking as she fell asleep.

She snuggled up to the pillows and Erik draped a sheet over her. An idea struck him. He walked over into the darker confines of his home and took out a stuffed monkey with cymbals. He had made it in his solitude years ago as a child in the gypsy fair. It had always entailed a savory comfort for him. He walked back to Nasrin and fitted the monkey in her outstretched arms, smiling as she embraced it in her slumber.

Nasrin's sleep lasted for a few days; though she didn't move from her bed nest until three days after that. Her head had ceased throbbing and she was extremely lucid. She stood up, almost falling back as her legs failed her. When she reclaimed her balance, she saw Erik composing music in the alcove where his beloved organ resided. She paused, feeling something weigh down her arms. She still held the stuffed monkey he had given to her days before. She hadn't relinquished it in her sleep. Clutching it to her breast, she walked over to him, her feet making no noise on the cold floor.

Erik was so absorbed in his composition that any sound was impervious to his concentration. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked down at the score, perturbed. Something was missing in his music, and he couldn't quite place it. Irritated, he cast the parchment aside and buried his head in his hands. Perhaps he needed a break from working; he paused. He needed a break? He never needed a break before. He quickly fell into a state of unsettlement. Perhaps I should simply check on Nasrin, he thought, then, I'll resume my work. Don Juan Triumphant must be finished as quickly as possible. He turned around.

He was met with a familiar pair of glowing eyes, bright with youth against shimmering copper skin. "Fire Rose," he murmured inaudibly.

"Good morning," she said, holding the monkey affectionately in a cradle of her arms. "Or." She looked at the water of the dark lake. "I should say good evening."

Erik looked at the water and smiled at her. "Yes, good evening." He took a few tentative steps towards her, his arms slowly opening for her. She fell eagerly into his embrace, still holding the stuffed monkey. He wrapped his arms around her and held her securely.

"How are you feeling, my little Fire Rose?" he asked, his lips brushing against her ear lobe. She shivered. He pulled away slightly. "I know; I'm always so cold."

"No, that wasn't it. You're not cold at all," Nasrin assured, pressing against him again.

"Oh, are you still feverish?"

"No, and my cut is healing just fine," Nasrin answered, pointing to her clean white bandage that Erik had put on yesterday.

"That's good to hear," he said, embracing her again. He removed his glove and caressed her cheek, which became taut with her smile. She turned her head to the side so that his thumb touched her lips. She closed her eyes and planted a chaste kiss on it, nuzzling into it.

He smiled at her sweet innocence; she was still just a small girl, no matter what her intelligence portrayed. She even looked like a small child with the monkey cradled in her arms.

Seeing him look at the monkey, Nasrin held it up in her arms, holding its hands. She gently hit the cymbals together, making a soft note echo between them.

"You made this," she conjectured, "when you were younger, I presume?"

"Yes, when I was with the gypsies. It provided a childish haven for me. I . . . thought you might have needed some comfort while you recovered." He touched the monkey's familiar head.

"Thank you for your concern. I am sure you want this back." She held out the monkey to him, the cymbals still ringing.

He held up his hands as a barricade and pushed it back into her chest. "No, you keep it. You should have seen the way you held it when I put it in your arms. I couldn't pry it from you if I needed to."

"All right." She held it affectionately. "But let me know if you want it back."

He narrowed his eyes mockingly. "Don't worry. I won't bother you with something so trivial."

"However," Nasrin said, drawing closer to him, "sometimes I need more than a stuffed monkey to hold close in the night."

Erik's heart thrummed in his chest, breath fleeing him as she drew closer. His control over himself was quickly waning, and his darker, more carnal instincts began to cloud his normal elegance.

Nasrin could see his chest rise and fall quickly, his eyes darting from her body, to her head. She approached him and put the monkey down; she put her hands on his chest and began to kiss the column of his neck, moving up to his jawbone and working her way down to his chin before finally planting a kiss on his lips. She coyly opened her mouth, allowing him to deepen the embrace.

His lips trailed from her mouth to her neck, and he nipped gently at it, his eyes closing. She gasped as his trail of kisses found her collarbone. She felt herself shiver in heightened anticipation.

Suddenly, he stopped, his lips hovering right over her chest. His eyes snapped open and clarity began to beat away the forces of instinct. "I . . . It is time for Christine's lesson. I must go to her." He looked up at her shattered expression. "I'll return in a little while."

Erik pulled from her quickly, allowing the space between them to increase. He walked away from her, grabbing some sheet music and leaping into the boat.

"Be careful while I'm gone," Erik said as he rowed off across the lake.

When he vanished from view, Nasrin broke down, falling to her knees and sobbing. She beat against the floor, tears cresting from her eyes and raining on the stone.

"I hate her," Nasrin spat, picturing Christine's pure, angelic face. "I . . . HATE . . . HER!" she stood up and roared, tears streaked across her face. Erik's face flashed in her mind. "And now to punish you, my negligent specter." She looked around Erik's lair.

Immediately, she upset a few candelabras and threw papers of sheet music everywhere, tearing some musical scores to irreparable scrap. Grabbing at the tapestries on the wall, she tore one down and threw it in the lake, watching with twisted satisfaction as it floated aimlessly out of view. She glared over at his swan bed, and the beautiful diaphanous black canopy surrounding it. Mad with rage, she ripped down a canopy, tearing it into thin wisps of cloth and scattering it around the lair.

As she gazed around in triumph at the mess she made, there was a sound like a river in her ears. Her head began to throb again, pounding against her skull, and she grunted. Falling to her knees, she watched as the world spun in front of her. She could feel blood run down the side of her head. In a moment, she collapsed on her side, her eyes glazed over.

On the far side of the room, the leaden monkey dressed in Persian robes began to play the cymbals softly.

When Erik returned from Christine's lesson, he was shocked to find his lair in a state of terrible discord. He leaped out of the boat as quickly as he could, eyes darting to the horrid butchery of his art.

"Nasrin!" he cried, both furious and concerned. He looked around frantically for her, first looking her sleeping area, then in his swan bed. She wasn't there. "Nasrin!" he called again, looking at his organ. It was the one of the few things left unscathed by this unnatural destruction.

Suddenly, he spotted a slender hand lying over a small puddle of blood. A wrench twisted his heart as he ran over to it. His breath fled his lungs, leaving him gaping like a fish out of water.

Nasrin lay in the blood, her eyes wide, yet unseeing, and her mouth hanging open. She was breathing steadily; Erik could see that clearly. He kneeled by her side, lifting her bloody body off of the floor.

"Nasrin, what in the name of Hell did you do?"

She didn't answer him. He knew the wound on her head had reopened, but he wasn't sure if it had stopped. He removed the bandage that had long since been soaked crimson. He touched the injury itself; it was scabbing well to his relief. Sighing, he carried her over to her bed and laid her down carefully, watching her head with the utmost care. As he turned to walk away, he heard her voice, quiet and shaky.

"To love me is all I will ever ask of you," she said.

However, as he turned to face her, she was still, her eyes closed in slumber. He turned away and began to pick up the papers that were carelessly strewn everywhere, reflecting on the look of utter dejection in her eyes when he said that he had to leave her side for Christine.

Mademoiselle Justicia: Lol, I know how bad computers are so not yay. I understand. (nods) Having people say they love your work never really gets old, so don't worry, I'm not sick of hearing it. LOL, you are only fueling my vanity. (nervous laughter) But thank you for saying it, it brightens my day like you cannot believe! (is pitifully addicted to reviews) And protective Eriks . . . (sigh) Who doesn't love protective Eriks? They are just . . . so . . . adorable and hot I guess. LOL. I'm glad you love the story so far, while we're on the topic. I don't think there are many instances where I let Nasrin stray from the story . . . (checks) No, I don't believe so. Anyway, thank you for your review! Here is your update! I hope you like it!

Maidenhair: It's perfectly understandable. You brought up a good point. Don't drown! (saves) Allergic reactions are not yay, I agree. And tastes for oddness are all right. (nods) I like EC if it's well written. (notice I have an EC story on my favorites list) And RC is the most logical, seeing as though that's how the story ended. I don't find it probable that Christine would leave Raoul to go to Erik at random, so that puts me in a quandary. I do like EOW stories, but the girl being another dancer or singer is too overused of a cliché and ergo it makes it difficult to find good types of stories like that. (shrugs) I try to make my characters different than the norm so that anyone like me can find somewhat of a solace. (that is if they like my character) Thanks for the review, here is the update! (and if there is any sexual content in any chapter, I will give a big warning ahead of time so that you won't read anything you won't want to. If your parents don't want you to read after a certain point, I will understand; I just thank you for sticking with it so far.)

xxXGoddessXofXdeadXloveXxx: I'm so glad they liked it! (claps) It makes me happy! Here is your update, thanks for the review!

DragonheartRAB: Thank you for the review! I find Nasrin's stubbornness very cute; she is very much like me in that sense. There will definitely be some romance soon; that I can promise you. But the pattern of their affectionate encounters are erratic, and it's almost like a tease for most of the story. Don't worry though, this chapter had some in it, and others will too. Here is your update!

Ethalas Tuath'an: In the movie, yes, the chandelier falls during Don Juan. But in the play (where this was taken from), the chandelier falls during Il Muto after "All I Ask of You (Reprise)." I did use all of the same events including some where the block of time is missing (after Il Muto). Don Juan will be in there, Track Down This Murderer, etc. And of course, Masquerade, AKA: the part that will either make or break your hopes for Nasrin and Erik. Mwahaha! Thanks for the review, and here is your update!

Maska: Glad I was able to clear that up. I got a few reviews talking about Nasrin's singing. I can assure you, she sux, lol. Yes, I never really liked Buquet . . . though I found it hilarious during the play when he described his deformity as Leroux did, when really the deformity was much different. Silly Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, great composer, leetle messed up on the lyrics. Yes, Erik's opera ghost voice is very yay. (drools) It's hot.

Nasrin: (knows)

Shade: Glad you like the chapter! Yay! (dances) And don't worry, Nasrin will be just fine. Her head's gonna hurt for a little while, but she'll be all right. I promise. Thanks for the review and here is your update!

Videociraptor: Yes, Nasrin doesn't much appreciate being hurt on the head. But she'll be all right, don't worry! I made her with a hard head! (knocks on Nasrin's head)

Nasrin: OW!

Shade: O.O Oh, sorry. Ahem, anyway, I liked you little musical interlude. It made me laugh . . . ha ha ha ha! Ha ha ha ha ha ha! (in Carlotta's voice)

Carlotta: You stealah ma voice!

Shade: I'm sorry, I didn't catch that.

Carlotta: YOU STEAL . . AH! (is silenced as Shade shoves a toad in her mouth)

Shade: MWAHAHA! Anyway, here is your update! Huzzah!

LadyofLegends: I love Nasrin too, though I don't know how well Nasrin would deal with (insert town name here) She might be scared . . or worse . . . curious. O.O Oh boy, I'd best go contain her. Thanks for the review!