A/N: I know I ALWAYS leave mistakes no matter how hard I try. But I really don't have the eyesight to even review this and edit it. I'm sorry guys but I've been having daily headaches and eye issues. Stress, y'know? *Sigh* Anyways, I hope you'll forgive me, and I hope you enjoy this chapter! And don't worry, a little sweetness coming up soon(ish)!

The visit with Nadir took place over less than an hours' time; and when Erik returned him to the world above he was gone for a long time. Arabella did the only thing she could even think to do with herself – keep house – while eventually agonizing over what could be keeping him for so long. She wondered if, perhaps, the news of Christine's continued status as an unmarried woman encouraged his continued pining for her. Or, maybe, just discussing her had been enough for Erik to need time alone to mourn her again - and not just miss her.

Adnah's voice had returned; giving his typically skeptical remarks about Erik; but she ignored him the best she could. She found it so odd how he could read her thoughts… something she'd never been able to do with Erik – or anyone – while she was in spirit form herself. But she didn't want to linger on any thoughts of the man who'd died to trying to assault her.

When Erik did return, he was covered in sweat and nearly stumbling in order to move.

"Next time we have a visitor… I'll let you take one of the trips across." He murmured when she demanded to know what was happening. "At least until I'm at full strength again. I'm exhausted."

She'd insisted he lay on the divan. Then she'd talked briefly about what to make for supper that evening, and hurried to begin preparing it. Erik was not quite as easy with her as he'd been before their odd fight had started… he wasn't looking at her face or into her eyes – again. This time, it was worse… but she simply took into account that they had a quasi-fight, and that he was physically exhausted.

It was evening when she accidentally awoke Erik from his impromptu nap. She'd been trying to pull a small roast from the oven – one of the portions of meat she'd bought on her brief journey out - when the small pot of whole potatoes she had burning on the stove top started to boil over and sizzle everywhere. In a moment of panic, Arabella had tried to set the roast beside the pan and remove the potatoes from heat, but her skirt had caught in the oven door, her wrist had burned on the side of the roasting pan, and boiling water had splattered up her arm. It had made her whole body jerk – all before she could even let go of the roast – and the whole thing had gone crashing to the floor as she gave out a helpless scream of dismay and pain.

She was just barely recovering her senses when Erik burst into the kitchen with only his shirtsleeves on – looking rumpled and haggard. His eyes were bleary, blood-shot, and red-rimmed. He might have been crying in his sleep and she simply hadn't heard… but the sight of his half-wakened concern broke her.

She was so tired… and she just wanted to make Erik his favorite foods and earn him back just a little. Would Christine have cooked for him, or remembered his favorite things? Of course not; so why shouldn't she start by using such a simple advantage? All she wanted was to belong in this place… and the closest she'd been to feeling that way so far had been during Nadir's visit. There had been moments after Nadir's first visit… but only moments. None of them had been repeated, in spite of how he'd lightly brushed their hands together earlier.

Without knowing it was going to happen, she suddenly burst into exhausted and frustrated tears and sank down next to the fallen roast – turning her back to Erik as she did so. The door to the kitchen creaked quietly as it closed behind Erik, and she wondered if he had simply decided to let the seemingly insane girl living in his house be alone. But it only took moments for the door to creak once more. She didn't hear him take a single footstep; but soon he was crouching beside her and reaching tentatively for the arms she'd folded on top of her knees to use as a weeping pillow.

"You're hurt." He said gently. There was absolutely nothing else to betray emotion in his voice – nothing but the gentleness he'd once been so painfully capable of and had mostly lost over the long stretch of years. Even since her return, that gentleness had been made slightly gruff. But now it was back again; and the sound of it made her cry even harder. "Let me see, ma belle. I know you were burned."

She didn't resist him – but she didn't help him, either. She merely let him take her wrists to examine them; and felt his ministrations as he began to put salve over the wound and then bandaged it. He held her arm for even longer; perhaps searching to see how much other damage could have been done. She could remember the potato water splattering on her; but imagined the damage done by it wasn't as severe as direct contact to a hot roasting pan.

"T-The… potatoes…" she managed, hating how childish she sounded. She had learned so much about how to behave as a woman by watching the world around Erik over the years. But here she was, curled up on the floor and crying like a stupid child because her meal had become a disaster.

"I've already taken them off the stove." He assured her. She couldn't imagine when he'd done it – his care for her had seemed to take up every second. After a moment, she was startled by the sound of Erik chuckling. "You have a knack for burning yourself around food, don't you, my dear?"

Angrily, she jerked her arm from his grip and made to stand. Her reaching hand was snagged out of mid-air by the man leaning over her, and her eyes jerked up to realize he was saving her from grabbing the hot stove all over again. He said nothing to reprimand her. He didn't tease her anymore. He simply repositioned himself, released her arm… and then suddenly his arm was under her folded legs. The other was supporting her back and he was lifting her with almost no effort high up from the ground.

"Erik!" she objected through her continued tears. "What are you-"

"-You're exhausted." He stated simply as he began walking her from the kitchen. "I knew you weren't sleeping very well; but I'd no idea you were this tired."

"But I have to finish – I have to clean-"

"I will take care of it." He promised. "For now it's not doing any harm. Aeysha is lurking around here, somewhere. I'm sure she'll enjoy the feast while it's still on the floor to be had."

"But it was for you!" she objected again.

"I realize that." he assured. "But I'm really not all that hungry, Bella. You know how little I usually eat – even when I'm feeling completely myself. It would have been a fine surprise for my first real meal in a while… but that's all right."

By then he'd pushed open the door to the only real bedroom in the house and was looking about trying to figure how to pull the covers back for her.

"Erik… your bed…" she protested; much more weakly this time.

"It's not my bed. It's my mothers' bed." He retorted simply. "You need some real rest, ma belle."

By this time he'd set her on the foot of the bed, making sure that she would remain sitting upright before taking care of the blankets and top sheet. When it was all prepared, he returned to her… but hesitated with his hands hovering over her.

"You've been wearing that this entire time." He realized, eyeing her blouse and skirt uncertainly. "I need to arrange more clothes for you…"

Arabella said nothing; not caring about her clothes. She didn't even care about the bed in site of how soft the mattress was just under her butt and thighs. It nearly beckoned to her; and she could almost remember what it had been like to sleep on a bed like this. It had been in a doctors' house, and she'd been severely injured by her own hand… but she could remember wishing she could stay there forever. It was better, even, than the beds Erik had arranged for them to have once they'd been married.

After another moment of hesitation, Erik turned to the wardrobe, where all of Christine's clothes had been compounded on top of the clothes his mother had left behind. She didn't even know why he'd kept the clothing – although it had certainly come in handy after he'd met Christine and brought her below for the first time. Arabella watched, her weeping slowing down to regular sniffles as he sorted through the clothes and eventually pulled out a simple and inelegant nightgown with no particular adornment whatsoever.

She found herself sighing in relief when she realized it wasn't something he'd purchased for his soprano.

"You should change into this." He suggested.

"I…" She bit her lower lip anxiously.

"It's all right." He promised quickly; thinking her reticence was due to whom the gown had belonged. "It looks like something that she never really wore too often. I had to get rid of some of the other clothing after I handled affairs at her house. Some of the clothing was in atrocious shape."
"A-all right…"

Erik held the gown out to her, but she still hesitated.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"I …" After a moment she shook her head and snatched the night shift from his hand. "It's nothing. I mean… I don't know. I'm just… just… being ridiculous, I guess."

"Ah…" Erik nodded as though he understood, but she knew he couldn't. "I'll leave you to it, then. I'll come back to check on you in a minute."

Arabella took a minute to further calm herself before removing her by then rather stale clothes and putting on the much cleaner nightgown. It, too, smelled stale… but at least it wasn't from light body soil. It was simply a thing that had been shut away for too many years. Afterward, she also reluctantly pulled off her dicklo and sat it on Christine's vanity. She considered running the brush through her hair; but decided it could wait a few more hours.

She was staring at her reflection in the vanity mirror; trying to assess whether or not the white slip suited her, when Erik knocked gently at the door. It wasn't unlike other things she'd worn before; but it was so shapeless and modest that it made her feel simply prudish. She had never worn clothes as revealing as some other Romany women… but she did have standards.

"Come in." she called, turning to him as he reentered with a mug of steaming liquid in his hand. Although he didn't hesitate at the door, or freeze in any other fashion, she somehow sensed he had had a strong reaction to the sight of her. She wondered if it was the sight of her in a sleeping gown that did it, or seeing her again without the scarf covering her hair.

"What's that?" she asked, rubbing under her eyes with one knuckle to wipe away any excess tears that might have been clinging to her face.

"Something to help you sleep."

Her eyes widened, and she stared at him mutely for a long time. Erik shifted awkwardly; but seemed otherwise unable to place her shock. His brow furrowed in confusion as he stepped even closer.

"I don't want help sleeping." She told him abruptly. She couldn't place why… but her heart was hammering in her chest at the thought of drinking the tonic he'd created. "I don't need the help. I'm sure the bed will be more than comfortable enough by itself."

Sighing, he placed the mug on the vanity; apparently not wanting to argue with her. He didn't even offer up any token resistance to her refusal. It wasn't like Erik to not fight tooth and nail to have things turn out his way.

"Why didn't you tell me you weren't sleeping?" He demanded quietly. "I'd have taken the divan."

"Because you needed the bed more than I did; you deserve it more."

"Nonsense." He waved a dismissive hand aside, as though swatting away flies. "From now on, you take the bed."

"Where do you think you will sleep?"

"Exactly where I just said-"

"No, Erik!" Arabella sighed, closing her eyes in frustration as a whine entered her voice. She really was exhausted… and she hated being turned into a whiny brat over something so simple just because she'd had a few nights of bad sleep. "Why can't we both be comfortable on the bed? It's large enough."

Erik's fingertips - which had been rapping on the rim of the tea cup he'd placed down - instantly grew still. He hadn't been looking directly at her while they talked, and now it appeared he was trying very hard to keep from simply gawking at her. Arabella's eyes opened slowly, and she peered up at him in sudden apprehension.

"I… I don't know…" he began uneasily. "That would… No."

"Why?" she demanded.

"Bella…" He sighed. "I told you… I don't know what we are…"

"Iknow!" she burst out. "We're husband and wife!"

"Bella-"

"-No!" she interrupted heatedly. "No, Erik! You can't say that we aren't husband and wife! I don't care how long you were a widower! I made my vows; and I intend to keep them. If anything, I want to keep them more now than I did on our wedding day!"

"But-"

"-No." she repeated insistently, forcing her voice down a few levels. "Erik, miri kom… I'm not asking you to pledge eternal love to me again – not soon – not ever, really. I … I just…"

She grew silent, staring at him. She could see just how uncomfortable she was making him. It made guilt tug at her. Her mind was spinning, and her heart was squeezing painfully, remembering how carefully Erik had managed to keep exactly who she was from Nadir. It didn't matter that Nadir had been very clear about how obviously she cared for Erik. He hadn't treated the fact like something that deserved serious consideration.

"I need you." She found herself whispering, inwardly berating herself as the words wrenched a few more tears from her eyes so that they clung like tiny crystals to her eyelashes. She was just grateful they didn't spill down her cheeks. She deplored being such a wreck in front of him; having thought she might be beyond all that. "I need to hold you, and touch you, and be held by you. I need to give and receive everything that I've been denied the ability to give you for so long. Please… Erik… Since the first day, I've felt almost like I'm still not really here. I mean… you talk to me… but …you barely look at me… and you never touch me - unless it's from sheer necessity."

Erik closed his eyes; the expression behind the mask one of a man who realizes he is the world's greatest dunce. There was no horror… just… resignation. Was he deciding that he'd let some overbearing shrew into his home? Did he regret surviving?

She whipped around, almost tripping in her eagerness to sit on the bed Erik had arranged for her. He'd been right to bring her in here to rest. As he grew stronger, it was almost as though she grew a little weaker. No doubt this was nothing but coincidence – it made sense that she was not allowing herself to rest properly so was losing her health slightly. But she was beginning to shake – overwhelmed by her fatigue and her overwhelming, confusing emotion.

"I know you're hoping that Christine-"

"-Please." Erik interrupted softly – not an ounce of heat in his voice. He actually sounded just as watery and weak as she felt. "I've heard enough of that name today. I can't take any more…"

Arabella bowed her head, and then finally let her body sink completely onto the mattress. She searched blindly for the blankets to bury herself in; pulling her knees up toward her chest.

"Yes, you can…" she whispered. "You can survive anything, Erik. You just… you'd… you'd rather be alone and miserable … than happy with anyone other than her…"

She didn't hear him move, but suddenly there was a light pressure on her head. It was so unexpected that she nearly flinched; just barely managing to hold herself still. Instantly; although the touch to her hair was so light, she felt warmth spreading from her. Just that simple touch meant so much to her. Even when he didn't love her, his touch healed her. It made no sense, and she wished she didn't know just how little the touch meant to Erik. It took away a great deal of the warmth and joy the soft caress should have truly given.

I'm so much more pathetic than he is…

"Bella…" Erik's voice reached her in a sad sigh. "You knew I needed time."
"Time to lick your wounds," she muttered, "over someone who never truly cared for you the way you needed and deserved."

"She had every reason not to." He pointed out mildly.

"So did I." She stated, a little ice edging into her voice. "Remember our first meeting? Remember all the hell I'd gone through in my past? I had every reason not to trust you. But I chose you over my own people. I did what little I could to protect you – especially after you killed one of them."

"That man was trying to-"

"-You think I don't remember?" she scoffed. "I remember, Erik. I've been given little other choice in that."

There was a moment of hesitancy.

"What do you mean?" he asked, shifting his hand just slightly on her head.

Sighing, Arabella shook her head and drew away. The touch was so very nice… but it meant nothing. It took nothing to place a hand on someone's head. Even her father and mother had done such things without any hatred or violence at times. Erik was giving her what he thought she wanted in the most non-physical way possible. He didn't want to get too near her. He didn't want to touch her too much. There was only one woman on the planet that he wanted to touch.

"Nothing." She forced herself to say through the sudden lump in her throat that tried to hold in the lie.

I won't use Adnah as a way to draw Erik closer to me. I won't manipulate him like that.

"Get some rest, Bella." Erik pleaded gently. "We can talk more about this when you've gotten sleep."

No we can't. I know you won't let me. You've spent the last three days putting up walls. They aren't as strong as you want them to be – otherwise you wouldn't have touched my hand when Nadir was here. But you've shored them up higher and stronger even since that minor moment. You said you care… But you don't want to. You don't want to care about anything anymore… unless it's Christine.

Why bother trying, then? Ask whatever sent you back to take it away.

She didn't deign to reply to that particular comment.

Erik might not want to care… but she still did care. She couldn't just turn it off.

She'd survived worse situations. At least Erik wasn't abusive. It was almost crueler in some ways… but… she could survive it… for a time; at least. But Erik was so stubborn. If he was building walls again even now… how long would she have to fight for him?

She was just too tired to fight right now… She didn't want to give up… but she had to stop. Maybe tomorrow she could try again… maybe a different way… But she couldn't imagine how.

"Bella?..."

She said nothing, pretending that she'd drifted off.

"I'm sorry…ma belle…"

Arabella's eyes snapped open; but Erik must have already been turning away. He didn't see it – or at least didn't comment on it.

Did he just… apologize? Has that ever happened?

Surely he must have… Yes. He'd apologized for not feeling what she did, on her first day there. But… he hadn't done anything actively wrong then. He'd just felt like he had fallen short. He'd also been very weak and in intense shock. This time, it had felt like he believed his had been in the wrong somehow.

Erik didn't admit to being wrong… Not since his far younger days, at least. Not aloud. Admitting that he was wrong in any fashion was admitting weakness.

She lay there for a long time, fighting off the sleep she so badly needed. But he said nothing more. Because she didn't want him to realize she was still awake and had heard what – perhaps – he'd meant to be a secret confession; she didn't turn to see if he was even still in the room. But something instinctive told her he was still there; and her entire body ached all over with the need for him to touch her again… to hold her…

No matter how much it hurt.

I suppose you are just a little more pathetic… Even Erik has his pride.

People like you took my pride away. Why should I have any now?

Gaje – a person of Non-Romany (gypsy) blood