A/N: I just want to warn people well ahead of time that this story may get INCREDIBLY dark and explicit. I'm not 100% certain, because as I have already wrned I am trying to work out a solid plot as I go - although it may end up being purely character driven. But some of the ideas running like rats in my head are very dark and sexually explicit... so yeah... warning y'all very far ahead of time so you can quit before you get further into it if you're not into that kind of thing.

Thank you to all of you for reading, and for the few for reviewing!

Also I want to send a special shoutout to E.M.K.81. She's been enormously helpful in helping me proof read. And, in point of fact, she virtually wrote the first chapter herself when I was getting stuck on how to pull it off. The chapter I posted was written entirely my own; but many of its' events, thoughts, and beats came from a draft she sent me after I requested it. So, yeah... check out her stuff!

I would also like to promote MarbleSky and her Underland Chronicles stories. She's a great writer as well, though she's way too hard on herself. She's also my #1 fan and an amazing supporter who's willing to give me the boosts I need when my confidence fails or just need to bounce ideas off of her. Thanks, hon!

Now... on to Erik's mortification...

How humiliating! As if being weak and graceless isn't enough!

Erik performed his business and then carefully pushed the chamber pot into the corner near the fireplace. It was absolutely mortifying that someone else was going to have to see and smell his bodily waste in order to dispose of it. He would have much preferred to keep his body's needs entirely to himself. But of course, that wasn't the most embarrassing thing. Now he had to worry about that damnably stubborn friend of his showing up and sticking his nose in where it didn't belong.

Why did he come? And what the Hell did Arabella tell him? Even a total fool wouldn't believe the truth!

Sighing, he slowly crawled his way back into bed. The blankets were so hopelessly tangled together that he didn't even bother trying to straighten them out and cover himself up again. The room was much warmer than it had been, with all the fireplaces lit; so at least he didn't have to lay there shivering.

"Erik?"

He groaned at the low voice that came through the door, occurring at the same time as a light knock. He would have ignored the sounds entirely; but Nadir wasn't the type of man to be ignored. The Persian stuck his head in almost instantly after calling out, and stared at Erik in concern. Those intense, hounding eyes made Erik want to squirm; but he refused to give into the impulse.

"No one asked you here."

"It is good to see you too, my friend." Nadir smiled, showing slight relief at his friends' characteristic drollness. He straightened out his body and walked much more boldly into the room until he could lean against the wall much closer to the bed. "Your pretty friend said you are ill. I expected to find you on deaths' door."

Erik rolled his eyes.

"I can recover quickly from nearly anything. You know that. I just need my strength back."

"I suppose I should be grateful for that." the Persian chuckled. "Last time I was here, you offered me a cup of tea. I should have been disappointed if you didn't take back that olive branch so you could try to stab me with it this time around."

Unable to help himself, Erik burst out in a weak but genuine laugh.

"Where is Arabella?" he asked after a moment. "Is she preparing even more of that disgusting tea she's been pouring down my throat?"

Nadir folded his arms across his chest and moved even closer, pulling over a chair by the vanity which Christine used to sit in to write.

"I believe she is making some kind of stew."

A long moment passed, and Erik could literally touch the sudden tension in his friend.

I shouldn't have mentioned her.

What does it matter? He'd bring the subject round when it suited him.

"Who is she?" his old friend asked – with far more gentleness than he'd have expected. "It's only been a month since-"

"-Don't-! " Erik began, flinching violently. His voice dropped instantly into a horrible sepulcher like rasp. "Don't say her name!"

Nadir stared at him uneasily again.

"It's only been a little over a month." He said more carefully. "Yet you have invited this other girl below? That seems unlike you."

"How optimistic of you to suggest I invite anyone into my home."

Erik sighed, wishing he could figure out how to explain Arabella to his friend without seeming like a lunatic. It would probably lead Nadir to believe that his breakdown – the one that had led to Christine's abduction and her necessary rescue - had been permanent.

A shadow appeared from just outside the bedroom, and both men turned to see that Arabella had changed into a long gray skirt and long-sleeved, off-white blouse. Being that the clothing was used, it looked rather good on her; even if the blouse was too thin to conceal every aspect of the body beneath. It probably wouldn't keep her warm, either.

In one hand she held what looked to be the same china cup she'd brought him the tea in earlier. But there was no steam rising from it. His stomach nearly cramped in revulsion at drinking yet another cold cup of the vile stuff.

"Are you cold?" Erik asked impulsively, although was instantly confused as to why he'd bother asking such a question. She had been in a much more skin-revealing dress before she'd gone shopping; and she hadn't seemed cold then. But … Arabella was his guest now… wasn't she? Shouldn't he see to her needs? And there was something long-dormant within him that seemed to be wakening; making him feel driven to take care of her in whatever way he could. It wasn't any lingering sense of love. There was no warmth in his concern for her. It was an impulse – as involuntary of a reflex as breathing.

"No." She replied, although he detected a hint of deception in her gaze. It didn't help that she was hugging her arms to her sides the best she could with that cup in one hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Better every minute." He said with a wry smile. "I'd probably feel much better if I wasn't being gawked at like a dangerous specimen."

Arabella opened her mouth, and Erik prepared himself for a scolding. After a moment, however, he was astonished that she merely shook her head and looked away. It was the second time she had done such a thing… She'd kept quiet about her feelings in the past; but rarely when she was angry with him in any fashion. Even if she was tactful about it, she'd always spoken her mind instantly.

Instead of making a comment, she set her jaw and then finally moved forward. Erik watched – as did Nadir – as she reached down to lift his head in one tender hand and bring her fresh cup to his lips. He was expecting another cup of that disgusting tea – maybe simply cold - but was surprised to taste much-too sweet milk. It was polluted with even more grains in it than the tea; making it feel like he was swallowing liquid sand. The flavor was not as bad, but the texture made him suppress a grimace of distaste.

When she had coaxed the entire contents of the cup down his throat, she put the china to the side and began to straighten out the blankets he had merely crawled onto. He was rather amazed at ow fearlessly she put her hands on his body – which had been in these particular clothes for days on end. Surely she must think he smelled disgusting, having gone unwashed for so long. He also would have thought he was at least a little heavier than he seemed to be while she handled him – even if it was mostly his legs she dealt with.

She made certain he was tucked beneath the blankets; while Nadir eyed her with absolutely amazed eyes. Erik had never seen someone so flabbergasted by such mundane tasks before. Was it because Erik lie in this bed unmasked and unwashed that the Persian found the simple scene so astounding? Erik felt he should definitely be a little insulted by Nadir's disbelieving stare – particularly since it focused more on the shabbily-clad girl-woman moving about the room in the soft glow of firelight.

"Perhaps I can finally hear the undoubtedly fascinating story about your arrival here, mademoiselle." Nadir finally said to Arabella curiously.

Erik's body went tense; surprised at how much he abruptly realized he hated his friend looking at Arabella, or how he spoke to her. It was ridiculous, really; particularly since it was simply in Nadir's nature to ask questions after being a man of the law for so long. Why should he feel uncomfortable with his only friend in the world asking her questions? He, himself, was used to being stand-offish with Nadir. But that didn't mean Nadir ever meant any actual harm.

Arabella glanced at Erik after a moment of hesitation - something he knew Nadir would instantly pick up on. The very fact that she looked so instantly to him made his irrational ire dampen slightly.

She hasn't decided what to say. He realized. She can't say she's my wife. Nadir won't believe that.

"Mademoiselle?" Nadir pressed, although his voice was gentle rather than accusatory.

"What should I say?" Arabella asked Erik; her voice low as she switched from French to Romani. She could just as easily have slipped into Spanish, but it wasn't quite as true to her nature. "I'm not sure how to explain…"

Erik managed a shrug of cluelessness.

"What do you want to tell him?" he asked. "He will chafe at the idea of you being so suddenly-."

"I beg your pardon." Nadir sat up straighter and then leaned forward until he was nearly between them. "Isn't it rather rude to speak in a way I cannot understand? Erik – are you scheming again?"

"I'm too tired to scheme." Erik sighed, waving at his friend dismissively without looking away from Arabella.

"I can say someone sent me to see if you were all right." Arabella offered in Romani, ignoring Nadir's interruption. "Someone who felt it was not safe to return themselves. Maybe we can claim she did it."

"She wouldn't-"

"-But he doesn't know that!" she insisted.

"Erik!" Nadir snapped. "What are you hiding from me now?"

"I am hiding nothing." Erik promised quickly; his voice acidic. "We are discussing our strange circumstances. They are … complicated."

"You are complicated. This is no surprise to me." Nadir spread his hands expressively. "Tell me!"

"It isn't complicated…" Arabella managed uncertainly. "It is unbelievable…"

Erik had turned his eyes uneasily to Nadir; knowing that he probably wasn't going to let things rest until he'd felt he'd been told the entire truth. But it wasn't Nadir's skepticism that drew his attention. Instead, it was Arabella finally giving up on standing tall and strong between her long-ago husband and his only friend. His head snapped back in her direction as she sank onto the edge of his mattress and searched blindly for his hand.

Erik did not reach out to take her hand and make her search easier. But he didn't pull away when her seeking fingers found his. He even curled his own around her slender hand gently; not bothering to return the strength of her grip. He was able to stay awake like this because – as he'd pointed out to Nadir – he could recover from nearly any ailment faster than most people. But he was so damned weak and tired. Thinking clearly was becoming a dilemma.

"Nadir says you are cooking something." He changed the subject abruptly; deciding he would not put Arabella through the ordeal of having to tell Nadir stories – true or false ones – without his support. He didn't have it in him just now. It was so much easier just to let them all be in this room together; since it was so obvious Nadir had no intentions of going anywhere. He was growing so tired. His body was beginning to seem all but numb – his brain was sluggish. His eyelids were drooping. He didn't want to do this now… It was just taking far too much out of him.

"Yes…" Arabella's confession was barely a whisper, but she managed a weak smile for him.

"Mademoiselle-"Nadir tried to press again, looking aggravated.

"- Erik –" Arabella interrupted; her hand flying up to her cloud of hair in sudden realization of something Erik couldn't manage to understand. "-Do you have anything that might serve as a dicklo?"

In his quickly deteriorating state of mind, it took Erik what felt like forever to process her question.

"Dicklo…?" It had been so long since he allowed himself to even think of the gypsy camp that he couldn't at first remember what that even was. His lidded eyes on Nadir and Arabella showed that his friend had finally taken Arabella's words as his signal to be silent and stop asking so many questions. The old Persian was now staring down at the mattress, where Arabella held Erik's hand so very tenderly in her own. He was watching as she slowly rubbed her thumb back and forth across his sallow and parchment-thin flesh.

"You know… a head scarf." Arabella clarified after a moment, finally realizing his brilliant mind had actually forgotten something.

Memories flooded Erik so suddenly that his body nearly jolted. It was like being struck by lightning, how vividly they flashed through his mind. He could see Arabella on their wedding day as her grandmother ceremonially undid the maiden braid his bride had almost always kept her hair in. That modest braid had been replaced with a head covering; and he had virtually never seen her in public without one from that day forward. The simple square of cloth could be all different sizes or colors, and worn in all different ways. How they were worn did not matter. But a proper married Romani woman did not appear without one.

Arabella hadn't been too strictly traditional in their youth. Her relationship with the Romani – due to her status as a half-breed and the isolating abuses of her father – hadn't been strong enough for her to retain their traditions religiously. Still… she'd kept to a few of them. She'd been proud to be a bride, and had enjoyed wearing that silly item of identity.

Arabella… a wife… my wife… he thought dizzily. Should he encourage her to identify herself as a married woman? Would giving her something to use as that symbol encourage her to feel like they could simple be what they once were. Even he wasn't the same... how could they be the same?

"The… the chest in my room…" he finally decided a tad uncomfortably. "There are fabrics… you can cut any of them you would like…"

He lifted his eyes uneasily to her face, and felt both uplifted and dismayed at the way her caramel colored eyes lit up. He knew that she was taking this as a concrete acknowledgement of their relationship. Would it mean that she would hold him to their youthful vows? Would she expect him to …?

He couldn't make sense of things anymore. Even his instincts were fading.

"I … I can't keep this up." He admitted apologetically. "Can you leave me alone, please? When that stew is ready… I'll feel better then…"

"Oh – of course!"

Arabella stood up quickly and rounded the bed, picking up the chamber pot he'd tried to conceal. He grimaced in distaste, but Arabella showed absolutely no signs of discomfort or judgment whtsoever. Once holding his waste, she motioned for Erik to precede her from the room. The look on her face was neutral… but somehow Erik deliriously imagined she was preparing to thrw the liquid waste at his friend once they were outside! A ridiculously toddler-like giggle bubbled up in him, and he just barely managed to stamp it out.

He must have made some kind of noise; because Arabella glanced at him with questioning amusement before leaving the room. He was prepared to close his eyes and fade away into blissful sleep the second the door closed … but it caught his attention that she hadn't closed the door entirely.

"Daroga… would you be so kind?..."

Erik felt his lips twitch momentarily at the hilarious idea that Arabella was passing off his urine to Nadir and asking him to dispose of it.

Never … interrogate my…

But he was lost in a sweet unconsciousness. He never finished the amused thought. When he awoke, he wouldn't even remember beginning it.

His dreams were touched with subconscious acknowledgements of little things he heard coming from the parlor. Arabella and Nadir were taking care of his dusty home, which had not been touched in a month. The destruction Erik had done to his room was being picked up and organized, although some of his despaired damage was irreparable. Music had been shredded. The bench in front of his organ was splintered and useless. The sounds of their occasional voices reached Erik's unconscious brain and tainted his vague dreams; making him see images of Persia and the gypsy camp as though through a very dark pane of glass. These memories were so twisted and vague that it was impossible to tell just how true the events were. He couldn't change what was happening. He couldn't turn away.

Just as he'd been in the beginning of his real life in the camp... he was trapped.