A/N: Hope you all enjoy this next chapter! I won't lie, it may be the last one for a while... my plate is filled to overflowing with other projects and it's getting in the way of my creativity with this one.
Erik grunted as his body jolted awake. Instantaneously, his eyes searched the room to be certain of his location. There was heat suffusing his face. Deep down in the most intimate part of his body, he felt nothing but a throbbing tightness that could only be caused by one function. …It wasn't a sensation he was entirely unused to... but the only two times that jumped into his memory just then were times best left unexamined. One of his hands had been resting over that uncomfortable strain, and he jerked his hand away as though he could scald himself by keeping it there.
Just resting... that was all his hand had been doing. Thank God… just resting…
Erik gasped anxiously for breath. Acidic bile rose in his throat over just how much control he'd lost in his sleep as his eyes scoured the room.
He was alone.
Oh, thank God! His mind moaned in relief.
It wasn't that his body was… well… how it was. Arabella was no utterly pure virgin that had no real education on the sexuality of men. If anything, she'd suffered an education of it by people even worse than he himself had ever been. But he didn't know how comfortable – or uncomfortable – she would be seeing him in such a state.
To think she'd been around all these years, watching him.
He hoped that she had been kind enough to leave him alone when under such similar predicaments in the past. He hadn't always been so scrupulous as to leave the 'itch' unattended. One of his only reasons to fight it back even now was that she could walk in on him at any moment and see what he was up to. The other reason was due to the strange cause… the one he couldn't bear to tell her about if she asked.
He had to control this before she came back! He had to!
Instead of concentrating on his horror of the nightmare – and his mortification over his aroused state – he concentrated on the sounds drifting in from the parlor. There wasn't much to go by, really. He could hear logs cracking softly in the hearth, and the tiniest hint that Arabella might be back to humming. She was doing something, certainly… but he couldn't identify exactly what.
How had she kept herself occupied all the hours he must have been asleep? He didn't feel as though he could go out into the streets of Paris and attend every party of the social season… but he did feel much rested. As a matter of fact… he felt strong – although he knew it was only in comparison to how he'd felt that morning. He had to have been sleeping for a long time.
Is it even the same day? There was no clock in here to tell him the hour.
He finally felt some semblance of control, even though his body still ached and throbbed. It wasn't noticeable through all the blankets she'd piled on top of him, though. Not anymore. Maybe it never had been; and he'd simply been too self-conscious about his condition. He hadn't even looked to see; allowing his humiliation to let him assume Arabella would walk in and instantly recognize his condition. Now, at least, he felt he could be seen by other eyes.
"Bella?" he called; with a touch of remaining trepidation. Part of him was half-convinced the nightmare had followed him into reality. He was also ridiculously anxious that her entire return - and Nadir's visit - had all been part of a different dream.
It was only seconds before she stepped into the room. She was dressed as she had been when he last saw her, in that long worn skirt and nearly opaque blouse. But she'd added something… not only a dicklo, but a vest made of the same material. It seemed to be from some of the orange crushed velvet he'd purchased while living in Brussels. At the time, he'd thought the fabric was beautiful... but had never found a good use for it. It was nice to see Arabella wearing it. It was the type of material most would see as ugly - but the color seemed metallic in the light of the lanterns and candles, shimmering over her dark hair and light blouse. The light reflected beautifully off the texture… making her look a little like a walking flame.
Always ... she's always a living flame...
His eyes took her in from head to foot as she stared at him in astonishment and curiosity with a steaming bowl in her hands. She didn't seem to realize how desperately his gaze devoured her. All he could read in her gaze was simple concern. There was nothing at all to suggest discomfort – or as though she were avoiding him due to witnessing (by ear or eye) what he'd just endured in his dreams.
"Erik?" she asked quickly as he continued to drink in her clean and unblemished skin. "What's wrong? Are you all right?"
"Are you all right?" he entreated, his voice raspy and raw.
"Yes, of course…" She looked utterly puzzled as she lowered herself into the nearby seat. "Erik… what's the matter?"
"I…"
She's all right! You didn't hurt her!
He'd never betrayed her...
How could he have? He'd always done everything to keep her safe in the past. He'd taken care of her. His short-lived and tragic affair with Christine had been years afterward. A widower falling love decades after the loss of his wife wasn't a betrayal at all; now was it?
Is that was what your dream was about? A wicked side of his brain whispered impishly. You think that was about how much you loved Christine? Are you so sure about that?
Damn you! He thought, finding his inner argument ironic and annoying. He was fighting with himself, for God's sake! I never denied wanting her! Want doesn't negate love!
There was a long moment of silence as he tried to think on what to tell her. He knew he could tell her the part of his dream that involved Christine – although he'd never go into detail. He'd only recently lost his beloved angel of music. She probably wouldn't blame him too much for dreaming about her. As for the rest of that horror, though? He didn't want to see her face twist in the kind of pain he'd seen in his dream. He never wanted to hurt her like that… even emotionally… It didn't matter that it had just been a dream; or that he wasn't entirely sure how to feel about her existing in his home after so many years after he'd moved on.
This was Arabella… she deserved better than that. Whatever else he felt... he knew that he could never allow himself to indiscriminately hurt her.
"I wanted to make sure you were still here." He managed weakly, deciding on a partial lie. The heat and color had finally begun to drain from his face; and the excitement of his body had gone down completely now that he was finally in control of it again. It hurt – physically hurt – but he didn't care about that. It wasn't an entirely unfamiliar feeling. He could withstand it.
He watched as she smiled at him, beginning to slowly stir the contents of the bowl in her hands with a fine silver spoon. It was a simple, indulgent smile that showed she was pleased with his desire to know she was nearby - but was trying to keep it to herself.
"I'm here." She assured. "And the stew is ready, if you feel up to eating. I'm sure it will taste better than the drinks I've been feeding you."
The color began to rise into his cheeks again; but this time it was a much milder embarrassment.
"You heard that…?" he muttered.
"Yes." She laughed then, and the bleakness of his dream - and its aftereffects - seemed to dissipate at the sound. "You aren't nearly as quiet as you think, sometimes. Besides, I can't blame you. It's been a while since I've made anything. Maybe I've lost my touch."
Erik's eyes were drawn to the bowl in her hand as the scent of the stew reached his nostrils. Finally, he was fully distracted from his nightmare... but he did wonder just what she meant by his not being quiet. Had he spoken or cried out in his sleep? Did she have even the merest inkling of what had just happened to him and was simply a master at hiding it?
"Only one way to find out…" he sighed; forcing his voice into a low and obviously false grumble..
"Good." Arabella pulled the chair she sat in even closer to the bed, and leaned toward him with the bowl and spoon. "Can you sit up more? Do you need help?"
It turned out that he didn't need help. He forced himself into a more upright position that allowed him to be held up by his pillows and the headboard. He definitely could have been able to feed himself just fine, but neither of them suggested it. For some reason, her tending to him in this specific way wasn't bothersome at all. It actually… well… felt nice. At least this he knew he could have done on his own, if he had chosen to. Having an excuse to keep her close was enough for him to endure the typically shameful sense of being babied. He could continue staring at the proof that he wasn't as vile as his dreams hinted just by sacrificing a tiny bit of pride.
As Arabella cooled off spoonful after spoonful of mushy but adequately tasty stew, he stared at her calm face. Now that he was stronger and rested, taking her in wasn't so bewildering. But he wasn't noticing how the child fought for purchase on her womanly face this time. Instead he noted the softness of her cheeks and arms; all the tiny things that showed she still wasn't completely woman. She might have been endowed with curves a woman in her twenties would envy… but they almost didn't belong on her.
She's so young… Were we really that young?
After a few bites, he found himself uncertainly reaching up to touch the cloth covering the majority of her head. She'd pulled her hair back into a braid at some point, and now he couldn't enjoy the waterfall it had made over her shoulders earlier. Although he'd told her she could have it… he almost wished he hadn't.
For so many reasons…
"I don't understand why it's so important that women keep their hair up or covered, depending on where in the world one lives." he mused - more to himself than to her. His relief over weeing her there and well was giving way to something so much more somber that he resented it. "I've often thought hair to be one of the most attractive qualities in some women… I don't see how bearing it or letting it be touched could be considered improper."
Arabella's eyes flashed open - having been focused on blowing cooler air over the next bite of food he was meant to take. When she realized how close his hand was, she jerked violently in surprise - obviously not having sensed his movement. The stew sloshed out of the spoon and down onto her skirt, causing her to curse quietly. Erik pressed his body into a slightly more upright position, his hand still extended – except now he would have offered assistance.
"Are you hurt?" he worried.
"No, not really." she sighed heavily, rubbing her thumb over the drops left on her skirt after picking off the soft food. Then her palm smoothed over the material, and he could imagine how the action was meant to soothe away the heat that had gotten through to her flesh.
"I'm so sorry..." His voice was strained, and he mentally kicked himself.
He still wasn't in complete control of his emotions.
Damn this body's weakened state, and its' side effects!
"I won't try to do that again." he promised quickly.
"Don't be ridiculous, Erik." Arabella scooped up another spoonful of stew determinedly and met his eyes. "I just didn't realize your hand was there. As my husband, you've every right to touch me if it's what you want to do. I don't mind."
Erik's eyes widened and his mouth again went dry. It was obnoxious, how easily she put him off his guard.
She brought the spoon closer to his mouth, but he was so busy gaping at her that he didn't try to accept it. He couldn't remember a single time when Arabella hadn't at least stiffened slightly while he touched her – although she'd tried to remain still and endure it many times. Was he remembering wrong? Had he misinterpreted something back then? He couldn't remember her simply not minding.
Not until the very end, at least. It must be easy to throw your usual reservations out the window when you're dying.
"Did I say something wrong?" she demanded worriedly, although his lack of attention to the food seemed to puzzle her more than it made her nervous.
"Bella..." Slowly he pushed lightly at her wrist to make her take the food away. He didn't want it hanging over the blanket all day. That risked staining it. He was no longer hungry, anyways. A side effect of starvation, no doubt.
I knew if I gave her leave to make a dicklo…
Maybe I am as vile as in my nightmares. How could I encourage this… even for a moment?
"I honestly don't know what we are right now." He confessed.
His words hurt her; he could tell it instantly. He'd known he would before even speaking; but he hadn't been able to let her believe life was simply going to start where they'd essentially left off… He hadn't been honest in order to hurt her... but so that he couldn't hurt her far worse in the near or distant future. It would have been a terrible way to repay her goodness.
She didn't turn away, in spite of her pain; and her face didn't fall in dejection. Instead, she managed a pained smirk that made him immensely proud of her. She'd always had a certain amount of steel in her before; but it had almost never been useful in self-preservation of any kind.
He respected this growth in her beyond measure.
"Death doesn't negate marriage." she murmured. "I realize you've been a widower for a very long time… but I'm no less a bride… Your bride… It makes you no less a husband, either, Erik. It only means that things are complicated... and complications are nothing new for us."
Now he felt something toward her… something so much clearer than anything else since her arrival... and he welcomed it. It certainly wasn't as terrible as the guilt his dream had evoked; so he embraced the sensation he could feel toward her – as he was unable to embrace direct feeling for her.
It hurt so much!
She wasn't at fault for it. He even deserved it, after what he'd said to her moments earlier. But that didn't stop it from hurting.
All these years... staying by me... watching as I became a monster...
Slowly he passed a hand down over his face. His fingers trembled as they hovered over his quivering mouth.
Now she's nursing me back to health again when she knows I still love Chris... and... and...
He felt Arabella lightly touch his wrist; and it became his turn to flinch while making certain his hand continued to hide some of his face. He was ashamed of his inability to instantly open his arms and welcome her back the way she deserved. He wanted to. He really did. But that would simply be cruel; considering the selfish place it would be coming from. He didn't love her now the way he had… and he still loved Christine. She deserved better than to be treated like a pretty distraction.
What kind of perseverance she has! Why couldn't I be so stubbornly loyal? Why did I forget what I once had? Why did none of it matter once the Khanum tested me with that little slave girl… and gave me that first taste of innocent blood? How could I spend all this time feeling as if no one has literally ever…
But… but even remembering doesn't change things!
Very slowly, he lifted his eyes from his hand to stare at Arabella with watery eyes. He couldn't ask her to stay under any false pretenses that their status was anywhere near what it had been.
He reached out, his fingertips brushing one of her cheeks before the heel of his hand cupped her jawline.
It was the most unconscious action he'd ever taken in his life; and even realizing he did it didn't stop him. Her face was warm to the touch, and smooth.
And she didn't flinch away this time... She leaned into his touch this time - even if only a little.
To see Arabella's eyes light up from his touch as though an enormous furnace had been ignited within them almost warmed him. Nothing like that had ever happened before; not even with her. Not to such a noticeable degree, at least. He'd seen her happy, and seen her eyes light up… yes… but never because of his touch!
There was such hope in those eyes... Such a painful and fragile hope!
Although he wanted to share that hope with her – the idea that she might be more than a loving distraction after enough time allowed him to heal - he couldn't let her exist with a false sense of it.
Put an end to this. He scolded himself. Stop thinking in circles!
He shouldn't have told her to make that head scarf. In that moment, the hair covering was a taunting lie to both of them.
…But he couldn't very well ask her to remove it! He was certain it would feel – to her – like his mask being forcibly removed felt to him. He could be selfish… and cruel… but not so outright sadistic. Not to her.
"I'm so sorry, ma belle..." he breathed, removing his hand from her soft skin.
"Why?" she asked.
"I'm not the man you deserve."
"Hmmm…" She turned her face away a little, as though thinking his words over very seriously. It carried her soft cheek away from his palm, and he drew back. When her eyes shifted back to him, she gave another mild but almost impish smile. "Don't you think it's up to me to decide who is worthy of me and who isn't?"
"But I don't feel-"
"I understand that." she interrupted quickly. "Erik… I know you don't feel like I do... and that we can't be what we once were. But it's all right."
"How can it possibly be all right?" he demanded, feeling the partial lie she offered all the way in the depths of his soul.
"I don't know." She admitted. "But I want to try to find out… After all… you must still feel something good for me.'
He couldn't help it. The glint in her eyes made him roll his eyes and offer the tiniest of sarcastic smiles.
"Where's your proof of that, ma belle?" He demanded.
"Firstly, you wouldn't have called me in here to make sure I hadn't disappeared if my whereabouts didn't matter to you." She stated.
It surprised him when she leaned in far over the bed; so that her face was only a few inches from his. Erik almost shrank back into his pillows; not certain what she was up to and thus uncertain as to whether or not he liked it. He couldn't think of the last time they'd been this physically close while both of healthy mind and body. It made his choked-up throat suddenly go painfully dry.
"Anything else?" he challenged – almost weakly. Arabella had not been quite this bold in her past.
To his shock, she leaned even closer. His hands, resting on either side of his body, pressed down convulsively against the blanketed mattress.
Who is this woman? he thought in bewilderment as her lips parted very close to one of his ears. His eyes closed and a shuddering breath escaped his mouth. Her simple action nearly undid all his careful self-control of minutes before. His body almost… almost… rebelled against him.
One does not have to be madly in love to be inspired by lust...
He forced his mind into still quiet. He couldn't afford such thoughts! Down that tempting road was nothing but pain and disaster. Arabella deserved far more; and he had absolutely no reason to believe she understood how she affected him. She could have been being playful rather than seductive, and not even realized what her body was inspiring. Yes, she was aware of sexuality - uncomfortably aware - but that didn't mean she completely understood how easily he could be affected by her closeness alone.
"Only a very lucky woman could make you forget that you haven't been wearing your mask the whole time I've been here."
His eyes snapped open again, and he simply stared at her. One hand lifted to touch his cheek again, as though only noticing his naked skin for the first time.
Good God… she was absolutely right. He hadn't even questioned the absence of his mask when Nadir had been in the room! He'd thought nothing of it! Even Nadir's common flinch at the sight of his old friends' naked face had inspired absolutely no self-disgust.
"And…" she continued. "…maybe we can find something stronger and better to share."
Swallowing thickly, he forced himself to nod.
"Maybe…"
Arabella seemed quite pleased with herself – although he was still trying to figure out exactly who this gypsy siren was. She certainly wasn't the wilting flower of a wife he'd known! He was just beginning to move from blank shock to hard suspicion that maybe she did have an inkling of what she was doing to him.
"Will you eat a little more?" she asked, reaching out to place a hand over the stew bowl as she pulled away. Erik was tempted to reach up and cover his face with his hands now that he'd become conscious of its absence… but he forced himself to keep his hands still. He could only watch as her softly pleading eyes fluttered briefly in his direction. "Please?"
Good God! Thirty years has certainly emboldened her! Did she learn how to bat her eyes so prettily from Christine? Or one of the ballet girls?
Maybe there's another woman between us… but that's apparently not going to hold her back from... from...
Honestly; he couldn't blame her. He would have never let anything hold him back if he'd been given this chance within the first few years after the loss of her. She'd been with him all these years. She hadn't moved on. Of course she wouldn't let anything hold her back now that she could interact with him again.
"I think I can manage a little more." He conceded, reaching out to gently take the bowl and spoon from her hand. "Then; I would very much like to clean and change - after I use the water closet."
Arabella smiled at him softly; and handed over the bowl.
"I'd like to have my mask-" He admitted reluctantly, taking a bite of the stew he wasn't really hungry for.
"-Erik-!"
"-Just nearby…" he clarified quickly, looking at her carefully. "…In case of other uninvited guests."
"Nadir didn't seem to mind."
"Nadir is good at covering his discomfort." Erik chuckled bitterly. "That doesn't mean I should make him squirm."
"Oh, please, Erik." Arabella laughed. "You love to make that man squirm!"
"Ah, well, I'd rather it be under different terms. Something physically deliberate on my part."
We both know… he thought with another pang. We both know it isn't Nadir's appearance I want to be prepared for.
Sighing, Erik forced down a few more bites of food before placing the bowl to the side and beginning to throw off the blankets. It was painful to realize the restoration of his strength was also bringing back a vague but renewed hope of Christine's impossible return.
He didn't know if he could really handle himself in a deep hot bath. But it had been so long since he'd washed that a good long soak was desperately necessary. A simple wash in front of the basin would be worthless to him, especially with all the leaning over he'd need to do under those circumstances. It would be almost guaranteed to give him a concussion or other injury in the process. He knew he could stand and walk by now – he could feel that much in his rested and fed muscles – but not for long periods. Even sitting up in the bath would prove tricky enough.
But he probably shouldn't be left alone in case something happened… if his tired and strained muscles tried to give out on him, or he fell asleep…
It wasn't so much embarrassing as awkward – given their uncertain status and past history – but it seemed like he was going to have to ask Arabella to stay nearby, at the very least. The last thing he wanted was to stubbornly insist on being alone only to injure himself and require an even longer period of being laid up in that infernal bed.