A/N I tried REALLY HARD to edit this one so... again... apologies for remaining mistakes.

And please read all the way through to the bottom for a request from the author!

Erik stood close to the wall with his hands clenched on the back of the chair. This was the second time he'd ever stood simply staring at a woman while she slept. The last time, the woman had been heavily drugged to help her sleep from such an irrational terror that Erik hadn't been able to understand it completely. On that night; his body had pulsed and throbbed and ached with the need to abuse her sedated state, in spite of his confused compassion over her terror. No doubt it had not helped mow much her terror had managed to affect him.

He still didn't know how he'd resisted that primal and violent urge. He'd never been so close to becoming so utterly unredeemable.

In spite of his relief at not feeling those same demons clawing at him now... he didn't understand why they didn't. Arabella wasn't drugged – true – but she was a beautiful young woman lying in a night shift on a very inviting bed. Why didn't he feel a drive of the same lust under the existing conditions? Was he somehow broken now? He hadn't thought so, based on his reactions to her blatant flirtations a few days earlier. Was it her emotional state? Was he more afraid of taking advantage of that than of taking advantage of a simple body? Was it in knowing that she was nowhere near as insensible as Christine had been; so that she would be able to fight and judge him for it - and be truly permanently affected by it? Given her drugged state, Christine would never have even known what had happened to her. Maybe it was the mental trauma he could cause that kept him under such tight control?

But this wasn't just controlling his desires. There practically weren't any.

Why was he so numb?

She was still awake. She had to be. Even when she'd always tried to be quiet and still, and make the tent they lived in seem perfectly tranquil in their past; he was always aware of when she was awake or asleep. There was always that subtle shift in the air around her that spoke immediately of life and vitality and consciousness.

Bella was lying awake while he stared at her; not getting the rest she needed... because of him...

I shouldn't have said anything to her.

That; or he should have said more.

He'd thought his honesty would be the best way to keep from hurting her. But it seemed no matter what he did… his little Gypsy Princess was somehow hurt by his thoughts, feelings, and actions. Just like earlier in the day; when he'd told her she was replaceable!

Where had that thought even come from? He'd never felt such a thing before - not even back in Italy! How could he spout such rubbish and hurt her like that? It was the clumsiest he'd ever been trying to express himself in his life!

Why can't I even hold her? He asked himself desperately. She wasn't asking for much – no matter how much more she truly wants. She just wants recognition… that's all… Why can't I give that to her?

Taking a deep breath, he edged forward again and knelt next to the bed. He reached out, tracing the air over her shoulder, down her arm, above her hip, and along her thigh to the inside of her knee before abruptly pulling back. He was nervous of actually touching the bed clothes; not wanting her to know what he was trying. He didn't want her thinking his attempts to become closer were nothing but a social experiment. The very fact that he allowed himself to experiment at all was enough to disgust even him.

He just… he didn't understand why he couldn't touch her. He'd touched her on the first day of her return; and without any self-consciousness. He'd very boldly touched her cheek. He'd touched her hair - which, to him, seemed so much more intimate. Today, they'd brushed hands. Why was this so difficult?

"Ma belle…" he breathed, knowing that she was still awake; but knowing his silent thoughts and actions were only going to drive him slowly insane. He didn't know what else to do - but he couldn't just let her lie there in mental agony so much worse than his own. And it certainly wasn't as though he cared nothing for her. "Mi princesa gitana…"

Somehow; he was surprised when she stiffened and then sharply looked over her shoulder at him. There was uncertainty about the response, her large caramel eyes clearly not believing that he would use such an endearment – particularly in one of her Native tongues.

Erik drew his hand even further away from her before she might see it still hovering somewhat near, but forced himself to stay still and return her gaze. His stomach was twisting in painful knots, but it wasn't nervousness. It wasn't like the fluttering of moth wings that suggested giddiness, elation, or a rush of sudden love. Instead, he was resisting the urge to run… to get as far away from her as possible before something happened he couldn't take back. He was so afraid of hurting her again just because he still wasn't ready to love her the way she loved him. He didn't know if he ever would be… but he didn't want to keep hurting her, either.

"Mi marido." She whispered; a hitch in her voice. "Mi amor."

Slowly she rolled to face him, and her birdlike hand reached out to him from under the blankets. The night shift she wore was a warm one, so the sleeves were so long that he couldn't even admire the shapeliness of her wrist. Still; that simple silent plea had his heart thrumming harder than it had since her return. It was pounding harder, even, then when he awoke from that terrible nightmare…

Taking a deep breath, he forced his hand up and into hers; allowing himself to be pulled slowly but inexorably closer as she propped herself determinedly onto one elbow. Her other hand came free of the covers and the quilts dropped toward her waist.

There was absolutely nothing about this tableau to give him thoughts of desire… but the tenderness he'd been trying so hard to find finally swelled in him as her free hand rose toward his face. He knew it had absolutely nothing to do with desire … but plenty to do with sheer gratitude. He couldn't honestly tell her "I love you"... but in that moment, he could have easily said "I love your heart" without ever batting an eyelash of guilt. The warm affection wasn't all consuming – or even particularly noticeable. It was just a gentle swell like a wave rolling to shore from a tranquil lake.

In spite of that, he wanted to seize the wrist of her outstretched and shove himself backward… but he forced himself to remember the ease with which he'd dealt with her being so near the first night of her return. He forced himself to remember that this was not Christine… This was Arabella. He didn't have to be afraid…

He'd been leaning toward her in spite of all his apprehension; and suddenly her fingertips were against his mask and stroking the material as though it were his very flesh. Even though he felt nothing but slight pressure pressing his face more securely against him, he felt a little shudder run through him. He was horrified at having his mask touched. It didn't matter – in the least – just how easy it had been to sit without it a few days earlier and have a full-fledged conversation with her. Regaining his strength had apparently also made him a prisoner of his self-=loathing once more. His eyes tried to keep her stroking hand in view; but it was nearly impossible. Things became even worse when her fingertips trailed directly over his eyes and gently pressed them shut.

"Erik…" She whispered. "I love you."

"I know you do, Bella." He sighed, allowing his eyes to remain shut as he sensed her hand pulling back. "I don't know how else to tell you how sorry-"

"-Don't say it, Miri kom." She murmured –with astounding gentleness. "Just… let me love you."

He shook his head slightly.

"How?"

"Aside from the obvious, you mean?"

She sounded a little more awake again, and his eyes snapped open so that he could see as she began pushing herself into a fresh sitting position. She was smiling a little – the pain he'd caused throughout the day still in her eyes. Still… she was trying so hard to find it…

"Will you let me try something?" she asked.

"I…" Given the slight glint in her gaze, Erik grimaced slightly in hesitation. "Bella; you're exhausted. Can't you worry about whatever it is you want to try after you've had some rest?"

"It won't take long." she promised. "And I promise it won't make you vastly uncomfortable. I just can't sleep when things are like this."

"What if … whatever it is… doesn't work out the way you want?"

Arabella shook her head slightly.

"Then I'll try again another day."

Erik chuckled helplessly, closing his eyes.

Still as stubborn as ever…

"What is it?" he allowed.

"I just want to… give you something I meant to give you the day I died… Something that Christine should have never been given the chance to give you first."

Erik's stomach nearly dropped down to his toes and onto the floor. He knew – he knew – what was going to happen before she could scoot her body any closer to his - or reach up to gently take his face in her hands. He couldn't breathe. His heart skipped so many beats that he feared he was having another seizure; like the one that had gripped him on the day Christine took his mask. A kind of panic he had literally never known seized him, and he felt utterly paralyzed.

She didn't take his mask. That he might have been angry about, or even hurt, but he'd never have directly held it against her. Not with their shared past, and how used to being around her unmasked he'd been once upon a time. He wouldn't have liked it at all, no, but he wouldn't have hated her for it, either. His face wouldn't have been a shock that chased her away as it had – to some degree – with Christine.

Instead, Arabella leaned forward and pressed her mouth not quite to his. He could tell she'd have rather placed her mouth on the corner of his – almost like she were kissing a close relative rather than a lover – but his mask was in her way. Instead, she kissed the flesh just beneath the left corner of his mouth, where he would be certain to feel it. It was almost nothing more than the softest of velvet pressures against his skin… but it was warm and real.

He gave a nearly inaudible whimper and felt his hands suddenly closing over her shoulders. He didn't push her away, or pull her closer, and he didn't pull back himself. He didn't lean nearer. He simply didn't know what to do. It was almost he knew just as little of how to react as he had to Christine's far more… personal kiss.

After several seconds, Arabella slid her lips up and to the side just enough for him to feel her mouth caress his lower lip. His fingers - already gripping her shoulders – tightened; and she grew still, as though as uncertain of his reaction as he was. He could sense the abrupt resurgence of her timidity; waiting for him to discard her. No doubt that was exactly what she expected - considering his reticence so far. He knew it was probably one of the smarter things he could do – no matter the insult it would be for the time being. He had no business being kissed by any woman when…

Damn it!

He simply… couldn't ignore Arabella's need of him anymore. He didn't have to be in love with her. He didn't have to mend his heart within a single moment for her benefit. But he couldn't ignore her, or her needs. He couldn't keep her at arms' length until he'd worked things out

With a sigh he closed his eyes, released her shoulders… and very cautiously wrapped his arms around her while also shifting from his half-crouch to sitting on the edge of the bed. The motion caused Arabella to necessarily shift as he continued moving, and their constant rearranging without totally separated – almost certainly by accident – brushing her forehead against his lips before she could settle it onto his shoulder. One of her arms went under his armpit and around his back, while the other crossed his chest to rest on the shoulder opposite her. Both of her hands locked around entire fistfuls of his shirt fabric – straining it tightly over his already well-tailored clothes.

He was leaning back against the headboard with his legs up on the bed with half of Arabella's body draped against his side and shoulder when her breathing evened out. She'd tucked her head up under his jawline, making him shiver slightly with each of her small breaths that fanned his exposed neck. Carefully, he shifted the arm cradling her until he could press strands of her hair between his thumb and first two fingers. He felt an intense desire to run his fingers straight through her hair; but was afraid of disturbing her rest if he did anything too noticeable.

He lay there for over an hour and a half, coming close to dozing several times before a tiny creak caught his attention. His eyes snapped completely open, and he peered toward the bedroom door – which had opened a few extra inches. His eyes scanned down toward the floor as a dark blur made its' way across the carpet, and he smiled faintly as Ayesha leaped lightly onto the foot of the bed. He'd have verbally reacted to her appearance as she stared at him while licking her chops; but, again, he didn't want to waken Arabella. Instead, he lifted the hand not holding up his gypsy princess, and reached for his little furry companion.

Ayesha narrowed her eyes slightly as him, whiskers and tail twitching slightly. It wasn't hostile; but she was clearly looking down her snobbish feline nose at him. After a moment of consideration, the little Lady stuck her head forward and sniffed at the lump that made up Arabella's toes beneath the blankets. He knew that his cat had made herself scarce after Arabella's strange appearance in his home; but she'd been poking around for most of the day, keeping to the shadows and trying to figure out this new strange intruder.

She didn't show the same hostility she always had to everyone else. She merely crept her way slowly up the bed, using Arabella's body as a balance beam instead of working her way around the lump of the bed.

"No." he scolded; warmth in his voice as he waved his hand at her without letting his fingertips make contact. "Let her sleep, Ayesha…"

Arabella shifted against him; but didn't wake. Erik and Ayesha both grew very still – a rather amazing thing on the cats' part, since she was on suddenly shifting ground. As the human female settled down, the feline one again crept forward to sniff at the face of the woman leaning against her master.

Erik held his breath; knowing how hostile his little Lady could be to strangers. Instead of showing any further aggression, however, Ayesha seemed to decide that there was no longer anything worth noticing about her fresh competition. She looked up at Erik, precariously leaned over while still on Arabella's side, and rubbed her face against Erik's chin. Unable to help himself, Erik chuckled slightly and began using his hand to stroke behind her ears and under the jaw. This brought Ayesha's front paws up onto his chest, until he teasingly pushed her face aside with his palm.

"Little minx…" he murmured affectionately before placing the hand toying with Arabella's hair completely but very gently upon her head.

With a little sound that was half-pure, half-mew, Ayesha stepped back and off of Arabella's body. Erik watched as she curled up right behind Arabella's curled knees. If the woman moved, the Siamese would find herself rather unceremoniously crushed by the weight of the thighs currently providing her warmth.

Sighing, Erik reached up and finally took off his mask to place it aside. His skin nearly gasped in relief as once again they were able to breath, and he found himself leaning his head down in order to nuzzle her skull with his bare cheek.

"You've been approved of." He whispered in amusement. "By quite a harsh critic, too…"

As he drifted off again; he tried to figure out exactly why it was so much easier to touch her when she was sleeping. He had gotten onto this bed and held her while she was still awake; but he hadn't felt particularly easy about it. Now he could have touched her… could have caressed her, held her, and even kissed her – although there was no drive to outright do so.

I will never understand human emotion…

The following morning; Erik was scribbling on paper at the piano when Arabella came out of her room. He could sense her instantly; but was too involved in his paper to look up.

"How long have you been awake?" she asked after patiently waiting a long two minutes for him to look up. Her hand snuck into his actual vision, lightly lifting the corners of the small pile he'd managed to amass since he'd sat down. "Well… a while, apparently…"

He took a long enough break to glance up at the clock over the mantle and suck in a deep breath. It was as though he were preparing to plunge into the lake for a long period without his usual breathing apparatus.

"About two hours." He admitted. "I slept surprisingly well, honestly. Did you?"
"Y-yes…"

He frowned briefly down at his newest work of music at the hesitating tone in her voice.

"Surprised that I care?" he challenged, forcing a wry smile.

"No!" she objected instantly. "No… it's just… a very sudden change. Yesterday, you-"

"-Yesterday was yesterday." He interrupted a touch impatiently and waving at her dismissively. "Why don't you enjoy the bath for an hour or so? I've set out a fresh outfit for you – although it's another one of my mothers. I tried to pick something that isn't too old-fashioned.… It might be a little loose…."

He was terribly distracted – but it was still amusing to feel Arabella's confusion over his change in demeanor.

"We don't usually bathe in still water." She told him quietly. "It's why I always found a river…"
He glanced up again, irritated not only by the fact that he couldn't concentrate but also because this was something he had known decades earlier.

"Well… there aren't any rivers here where it would be wise to bathe." He argued with forced reasonability. "Besides… you were never particularly strict about what traditions you chose to follow before. Is this a new sense of superstition?"

"No…" she admitted hesitatingly.

"Then the scented oils should be quite enjoyable." He leaned back, rolling his shoulders to loosen the ever-tightening muscles there. "You should hurry, though. We're going above today."

"We are?"

He stood, outright laughing at her astonishment now. He felt her eyes simply staring at him as he moved over to the tea tray he'd prepared himself earlier and made a fresh cup of the by then lukewarm liquid.

"Yes." He stated simply. "I'm running low on many supplies – including food. And I seem to remember that last night I promised you more clothing."

He sniffed at the tea before taking a sip and grimaced.

"I think I'll starting purchasing coffee as well. I don't know what is the matter with it as of late… but there's something terribly wrong with this batch. It hasn't tasted the same in over a month."

Although his back was to her, he still heard a sniff of indignation that made him smile.

She knew he was teasing her… although it was true that he felt a bit put off by tea ever since those saccharine sweet cups that had been made to help him survive.

"Go on." he urged in a gentle tone as he carried the tea back to the piano. "You have an hour or so. I'd like to be finished shopping before the streets get too full."

"All right…"

He was already absorbed in his writing again before she was gone. He glanced up at the clock frequently, forcing himself not to get so involved in his composing that he scribbled away the entire day. He knew just how capable he was of that… and he'd promised himself that he wouldn't let it happen today. He'd woken up with a sweet melody in his head – and certainly didn't want to risk forgetting it before it was put to paper. But he didn't want to be consumed by it, either. There was absolutely nothing intense in this song… but he found himself loving the sheer simplicity of it, and wished he could figure out exactly where it had come from. He doubted if Arabella would pull him out of his own imagination if she came out of the bath and found him completely consumed by his work. She used to enjoy watching him work far too much to ever interrupt him unless it was absolutely necessary…

But, then again… she had changed these past decades. He didn't know what being a spirit had done to her… but she certainly wasn't the exact same girl he'd once loved.

After twenty more minutes, he moved from composing to playing; closing his eyes to hear what this new inspiration was creating.

It only took a few bars of hearing it out loud to realize where this inspiration had come from. He couldn't stop thinking about how Arabella's hair had smelled, and how it had felt under his fingers. The memory was such a simple pleasure… but the acceptance with which she'd allowed it… He found his fingertips trembling ever-so-slightly by the time he was done and stepped back from the piano.

He turned to realize that – this time – Arabella had snuck up on him. She was standing just behind the divan in a severe navy blue blouse and a skirt of deepest, richest cranberry. She'd foregone the dicklo today – no doubt due to how terrible it would look with his chosen outfit – choosing instead to pin it back from her face and give it the slight illusion of being up instead of free.

Considering how he'd just been thinking of her hair – fantasizing, if he was being honest – it was almost impossible to take in the rest of her appearance. Still, he forced himself to take in the rest of her as she shifted uncomfortably and waited for his reaction. He made his way around the furniture to take her in from complete head to toe, seeing that she'd managed the boots he'd also left out quite well.

"Are those too small?" he asked worriedly. "Your feet look like they're going to fall off from blood loss."

Arabella blushed.

"They'll survive the morning." She assured him simply.

He nodded briefly.

"Do you want a hat? I'm sure I could find material for another dicklo if-"

"-No." she insisted quickly. "It's all right. It's already getting late. We should leave now if you want to get off the streets before they get too busy."

Erik took in a slow, deep breath.

"All right…"

He strode over to the door and lifted yet another project he'd already gotten done that morning from the singular hook. He turned to Arabella with a flourish, offering to help her into the long coat of cobalt blue that he'd made from one of his mothers' remaining winter dresses. It had taken very little time – but enormous ingenuity given the fabric.

"Where did you-" she began to demand as she shrugged into it.

"-Never mind." He interrupted quickly. "We'll find you a better one while we're out today."

Arabella turned toward him as he put on his own cloak and hat. Her hand was working at the complimentary but otherwise mismatched buttons he'd sewn on and then smoothing her hands over the soft fabric.

"This is beautiful…" she told him in a low murmur. "Can't I just keep this one?"

"Of course…" he smiled faintly. "It will only keep off the chill of the lake, though. It will do very little good in other more frigid or damp circumstances."

Arabella shrugged, her brow still furrowed as though he had run her brain into a permanent state of confusion. Once he was settled in his own outerwear, he opened the door and offered her a playfully sarcastic bow of gallantry.

"Shall we?"

A/N: I guess Erik has a… hair fetish? Sorry I don't know where it came from exactly, but I don't think he'd obsess with a kiss so utterly pathetic compared to the one he shared with Christine.

All right, ladies and gents... (But let's face it, mostly ladies. . ) I have one or two very specific things I'd like to play out. Unfortunately with no way to get to those moments, it's going to be a while before you hear from me again - it won't be very often at the very least. I've got the next chapter in the works currently... but after that I'm sort of a blank. I'd really appreciate your feedback. Please leave me suggestions... I may have to make the logic leap that they spent a whole lot of time getting to know each other again and falling in love; but what a major cop out. I hate that.

Help me, my dedicated readers, PLEASE! Every one of you is AWESOME, even if you've never once reviewed!

Mi Princesa gitana: Spanish – My Gypsy Princess

Mi Marido, Mi amor: Spanish – My husband, my love