A/N I still haven't gotten back into this story fully. But I have to say it's going to start feeling CO-WRITTEN with E.M.K.81 pretty soon. *LOL* Lots of love to her, and my readers. Please review! I'm starting to get a bit uneasy that maybe you all don't like me anymore *LOL*. Just teasing, of course. But reviews are always highly appreciated.

I still had trouble editing this chapter. Please excuse my mistakes.

At first, Arabella had been frustrated that Erik would leave her after saying something so flirtatious.

True… a person didn't have to be in love in order to flirt. They had to be attracted to you in some way, shape or form, yes; but not in love. Erik had already admitted to loving her – in some way. He'd also never denied that he found her attractive. Not even in their past.

Still… he'd been so devoted to Christine… He'd needed her to promise that she would give him time to soothe his aching heart. Then he'd said something so flatteringly flirtatious.

How was she supposed to respond?

It was frustrating… but she'd decided not to pursue it at all. Because Erik had raced so quickly away, she knew it had probably been a confession he regretted.

Instead of chasing Erik and forcing him to explain himself, she stayed in the kitchen and began to prepare their lunch. The bread was already in the warmer… so while it heated she only needed to cut some cured meat, a few vegetables, and a block of cheese. It might have seemed meager – if there hadn't been so much food on each plate!

She was pushing her way into the parlor with a tray full of food when there was a lucky lull in Erik's energetic playing.

"Do you want any lunch, Erik? I can pour us some wine to go with this."

His eyes lifted from the piano, looking almost stunned by the interruption. He'd barely even started playing. Still… he rose slowly and walked over to where she placed the tray where one would usually put tea and sandwiches.

"This looks good." He offered lamely, snatching up a piece of meat before moving towards the liquor cabinet. "I suppose anything will look good once you have gone several weeks without a truly decent meal. But I think that this calls for some red wine."

"I told you that I would get the wine…" Arabella objected mildly.

"There's no need." Erik smiled faintly at her as he began to pour. "You do not need to wait on me, Bella. I am feeling far better than I was when you first arrived."

"That isn't the point-"

"I understand." Erik pressed. "But I can pour us the wine just the same. Is red all right with you?"

"I don't know…" Arabella chuckled. "I haven't really tried too many wine options before."

"Oh!" Erik ducked his head in embarrassment again. She was amazed just how easily she was able to throw him off balance. She was used to seeing Erik so much more in control; so much more confident. "Why do I keep forgetting things like that?"

"I suppose it must be a lot to get used to." Arabella smiled, watching as he carried over two goblets and passed one into her waiting hands. She was about to take a sip when he quickly pressed his hand over the mouth of the crystal.

"Wait!" he warned. "Here… let me teach you how to properly appreciate wine."

"What?" Arabella had watched his taste for wines and alcohols grow over the years… but she'd never really understood what he was doing. She hadn't been paying particular attention. Now, however, she lifted an amused eyebrow at him. "This isn't complicated, Erik. It's wine… you drink it."

"Well… to appreciate it…." Erik objected, looking more embarrassed by his knowledge of this art than he was by her simplistic response. "Here…"

She still had one eyebrow raised in bemusement. She was certain Erik was right that appreciating wine is probably a fine art. But she wasn't trying to appreciate it in that way. For her… she just wanted to have her drink with her lunch. Was it horrible to only want something to wash down her food?

Erik was halfway through his brief lecture when he realized that she was being attentive… but wan't really all that interested. He hesitated, holding the glass up to peer at the liquid intently.

"Never mind, Bella." He finally chuckled. "Drink it how it pleases you."

"Oh, I intend to." She giggled; before taking a larger sip than Erik would probably consider decent. After a moment she gave the tiniest moan of happiness. "That is excellent."

"It probably is not as strong as what you might be used to." Erik realized before taking a careful sniff at his goblet and allowing himself an almost dainty sip. Arabella watched him as he enjoyed first the flavor… and then presumably the lovely heat as the liquid went down his throat.

"It's been over thirty years, Erik." She reminded him drolly. "I'm not used to anything anymore."

Erik looked mortified that he had somehow forgotten – yet again – that Arabella had not actually experienced the past thirty years; and thus might not recall what everything was like. The look in his eyes was so priceless that it made her burst into spontaneous laughter… which he eventually responded to with an easy, self-deprecating smile. He sat down on the sofa not too far from her side, and began to pick at the food on his plate one piece at a time between luxurious sips of his drink.

After several easy moments, Arabella rose with a piece of bread in her mouth and moved to Erik's bookshelf. She began perusing the spines, as though examining their titles. Erik; after simply watching for several bites of his own food; came to stand where he could peer over her shoulder. He was clearly curious about her curiosity. But it still took him a few moments to realize she was examining the many titles in all their many languages with no sign of understanding.

"I never did get around to teaching you how to read." He murmured pensively.

Both eyebrows raised, Arabella smiled and turned to look up at him. She could remember, after their marriage, that Erik had on occasion tried to begin teaching her letters. But he hadn't really been able to decide what language to teach her. French was by far easier for him – but she barely knew a word of the language at all. Spanish they could both speak fluently… but as yet had very little experience reading until recently. He'd settled for merely teaching her the beginning of each alphabet… but within weeks she had been gone…

That Erik was remembering their past again… Arabella felt thrilled… but she dreaded the horrors he would recall, too. Even she had tried to block out most of those over the years.

"Would you teach me now?" she asked simply.

"Yes… of course." He was smiling as he motioned towards the book shelves. "You speak French well enough now to learn its' alphabet."

"It can't be that simple…" Arabella argued.

"Oh, it isn't." Erik chuckled bitterly. "But pick one anyway. I do not have any children's schoolbooks in my library, and teaching you the letters in a full novel will challenge you to find them and remember what they look like."

Arabella perused the covers a moment, shifting books from one position to the other until her hand rested upon a thick purple cover.

"Will you read some of it to me as we go?" she asked curiously.

"I will read to you from something." Erik promised, frowning at the book her hand was trying to coax from its place between two others. "But not that one, if you please. I thought I had gotten rid of that."

After a moment of being stared at in confusion, he shifted uncomfortably.

"It is not in French anyway…" he said quickly, skimming his fingers over the spines of his books before pulling down one with a dark navy blue cover. "How about this one instead? It's a French volume of fairy tales. If I recall; you have always been a bit enraptured by those."

"Why would you think that?" Arabella smiled up at him challengingly.

"Did you not teach me Spanish and Romani by telling me fairy tales?"

Her brow narrowed in confusion as she tried to recall the memory he'd picked out. It was strange… all the memories he seemed to have shoved aside; but he'd still picked up one she had trouble remembering herself. She tried to remember their first one-sided conversations. But she'd shoved the images of Erik in a cage so far back into her mind that she only recalled bits and pieces. Mostly it was what she'd seen and heard in those days that she recalled. Not anything she'd said or done herself.

Even memories of Erik in pain were too much for her soul to bear.

"If you would prefer something else…" Erik began, watching her struggle to recall the darker parts of their beginning.

"No." she objected simply. "Fairy tales sound fine."

"Very well then." Turning, Erik offered her choice of seats, and then took his own perch when she made plenty of room for him on the chaise longue. It allowed them to sit more-or-less side by side while still not forcing them closer together than necessary. "Should we start with The Groac'h of the Isle of Lok?"

Two hours later, Arabella had more-or-less mastered the first three letters in the alphabet. Erik had pulled half a dozen French novels from his shelves and had her hunting down letters she recognized. She knew it would get more complicated – as did Erik – but he considered it to be a good start. Still… due to the slow hunting for letters often given all sorts of different embellishments, her head had started aching.

"That is enough for today…" Erik told her when she paused to rub at her temples.

"You cannot expect me to start learning on so little." She objected instantly, forcing her shoulders straighter.

"You cannot learn anything with a headache." He explained. "Your stamina for the writing will get better. As you improve, we can study for longer."

"But…"

Erik had been straightening the books in a pile, preparing to return them to their assigned places. At her inarticulate objection, he grew very still and tilted his head toward her in open curiosity.

"… Yes…?"

"This is the longest we've done anything together since I came back." She admitted quietly.

The silence that followed was so thick Arabella found herself squirming in nervousness. Surely Erik had not been unaware of this. Had she said something wrong? Did he want to distance himself from her now? She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, gnawing on it while she waited for his response.

Suddenly, Erik's shoulders relaxed and he dropped his chin, chuckling almost soundlessly as he shook his head.

"Ah… a rather pathetic pastime for two friends..." He realized. "I think we can do better than that…"

She should have been insulted by the term friends… Instead, she appreciated Erik's effort. At least she knew his different love for her – compared to his love of Christine – came to at least that much. Friendship… it was a good start. She… just hoped to God she could restrain herself from trying to push for more too soon. It might have been a good place to start... but feeling like she was his wife made the term 'friendship' feel insulting.

He rose abruptly; putting down his third glass of wine since their reading lesson had begun. Arabella watched him make way for the piano, his motion loose and languid and relaxed. Wine was a very light alcohol for Erik… and considering he'd had three elegant glasses in two hours, he wasn't exactly drunk… but he was certainly feeling its effects.

"What do you have in mind?" Arabella smiled broadly, standing and following him until she could rest her elbows on the black, shining surface of his prized instrument. She watched as he settled himself once more on the bench and experimented with a few chords.

When his eyes met hers, she almost melted…

It was that look… the intense gaze he'd always marked her with in their past. The stare that looked so deep into her soul that it felt like a caress. It was the look of a man who knew he could do almost anything he wanted just by putting his musical skills to use. It wasn't a look of love… but still a look of deep and intense passion that only his music could summon.

"Does this sound familiar?" he challenged, before bowing his head and launching into a … very strange piece. It was beautiful – as all Erik's music was. But it was very, very clear that it hadn't been meant for the piano. No… this song would have done better on a guitar or violin… It needed percussion of some kind… but Arabella doubted very much if he had a tambourine tucked away anywhere.

"Where should I recognize this from?" she asked curiously, needing to almost shout over the music as it built. "Is this from our old life?"

It certainly felt like it had come from their old life. There were Romani and Spanish overtones that simply couldn't be denied; and the momentum of the music had her lightly beating one of her heels to the floor before her knees tried to join the harmony. Her waist twitched from side to side, and her eyes rolled upward at the realization that Erik's music was trying to command her again. Her body wanted to move to his melody. Even though it sounded off due to the fact that it was being played on an entirely inappropriate instrument… Erik's musical power still held true to itself.

Erik glanced at her, and shook his head as he continued to play.

No… it wasn't something he'd played for her to dance to.

"Then what?" she demanded. "Erik… you've never played this before."

His fingers froze over the keys, causing the last chords to reverberate through the room – through her entire body it seemed – before fading into nothing. His eyes returned to her, slightly widened behind his mask. She could see the thoughts in his gaze, running frantically around in his mind and trying to pull themselves together. She instantly wanted to beg him to continue; her muscles aching with the need to dance for him once again.

"I haven't?" he asked uncertainly; sounding amazingly young in his self-doubt.

"Not that I can remember… When did you write it?"

He continued to stare at her, making her squirm slightly with discomfort. She loved Erik. She actually liked having him look at her because it made her feel wanted in the safest of ways… But sometimes his stare could be disconcerting.

"Thirty years ago… It played in my head endlessly. I couldn't escape it… I thought I played it at least once at Gi-"

He closed his eyes, bracing himself with a deep breath.

"At Giovanni's…"

Yet another important person that Erik had lost. Arabella sucked in a sharp breath of her own, realizing how much loss Erik had suffered in quick succession. His home, his freedom, his child – although Aria hadn't truly been his – his wife, and then the young girl who had reminded him of his lost wife… and the man he'd undoubtedly come to think of as a Father. All had happened within two or three years of each other. It was no wonder he had hardened himself so much.

It hadn't passed her notice that Erik had never called another man 'Sir' after the stone masons' death. Not that she had heard, at least.

All that pain. How had Erik survived the death of Reza? She knew Erik had all but come to think of the child as a son… or at least a nephew. He'd adored that little boy. To be the one to grant the child mercy… how had Erik's soul survived?

"Well… that was… a very different instrument…" she forced herself to say. "Maybe that's why I do not recognize it…"

Erik caressed the keys of the piano for a long moment. He opened his mouth… closed it… opened it again. Arabella held her breath, her body going rigid.

What is it, Erik? She wonders. What do you want to tell me?

"Anyhow…" Erik clapped his hands brusquely, surprising Arabella as he closed the piano. "You do not want to sit and listen to me play unnamed songs all evening. What do you want to do, Bella?"

"Erik… what is it?" she pressed hopefully. "Why play that music for me; if you won't tell me what made you compose it?"

"It's no use." He pushed himself to his feet quickly. "I am not discussing my miserable past with you tonight, Bella."

Coward. Adnah sniggered softly in the back of her mind.

Can't you just leave us alone?

You said so yourself, Bella… thirty or more years of isolation isn't something a person likes going back to.

"But it sounded like a Romani song!" she objected; doing her best to ignore her invisible tormentor.

"Of course it did!" Erik gave a forced chuckle. "I borrowed some aspects of it for myself. Now… what do you really want to do? I could start supper. You left out sausage, I do believe?"

"Yes…" Arabella sighed heavily. "I was going to cook them with tomato and pepper."

"Ah… lovely…"

This reaction is a little overstated… but she accepts it. As Erik returns to the kitchen, Arabella is sure to not be far behind. She feels as though no matter what she does, she winds up doing or saying something that makes Erik shut down. But he's still babbling, busying himself to keep from being interrogated.

"I hope you will allow me to do the cooking. I have never truly cooked for a guest before. Not even…"

He doesn't say Christine's name. He doesn't have to. But at least the mention of her doesn't seem to leave him in yet another state of melancholia.

I don't understand… why would he play music for me and then not want to talk about what it is?

Didn't he tell you only yesterday that you were still in his mind during that time?

It seemed Adnah was completely incapable of just going away or keeping quiet. What did he want? Why was he going over her thoughts with her? Was he trying to tell her anything useful? She thought so… but… this was Adnah. He'd never been useful to her…

Well… except for when they made a deal to keep Erik fed and reasonably healthy.

You should have just danced for him. He'd have forgotten about Christine quickly enough.

Arabella moaned as she walked into the kitchen, causing Erik's eyes to jerk in her direction.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yes…" she sighed again. "It's just Adnah… trying to have a conversation with my inner thoughts."
Erik glowered instantly.

"Adnah…" he growled. "I suppose I should start doing research of how to solve that problem as soon as possible."

"Erik… he's just a nuisance." Arabella frowned, not wanting his mood to change again so drastically. The mood has shifted so many times lately that it has exhausted her. "I don't want you worrying about him. Save your research for sleepless nights or..."

Erik looked to her again, giving her the oddest expression. Even through the mask, she can tell that he has heard something … strange. Embarrassing?

"What?" she demanded. "Why did I say?"

"You anticipate that I will have much insomnia?" he asks teasingly, causing her to relax at once. He's deflecting her question – not wanting to admit the real reason for is reaction. But this is done far more smoothly than other times he's refused to give her a straight and honest answer. "Or do you have some other theory why I may have sleepless nights?"

"You don't sleep very often." She pointed out rationally; deliberately ignoring the sudden tension of the suggestion in his last words. Her face warmed at the concept that Erik had allowed his mind to go in that direction. Was this because she was his siren? Was it because he was so deprived of physical love that his mind entertained such thoughts regularly and she just wasn't privy to them because he didn't normally talk about them?

She watches as Erik begins to prepare their dinner. He slices the sausage into long strips, just as he does the peppers. The tomatoes he dices into fair-sized chunks – chopping more than she would have before beginning to pull out spices and herbs. She thinks for a long time about how amused Erik was by the thought of long sleepless nights. Was he… interested in…

A man would have to be a eunuch not to be interested in you, Bella.

If Adnah meant for that to be flattering… he'd failed miserably. She didn't want just any man to be interested in her. She actually much preferred just one man being interested in her.

She fascinated herself with this line of thought; wondering when the idea of being touched – even by Erik – had stopped being so frightening. Yes, they'd gotten physically comfortable with each other before her death… but she hadn't entertained thoughts of consummating their marriage since their wedding night. She'd assured Erik she wouldn't refuse him his rights… but he'd insisted she wasn't ready. He had insisted she must heal before he even thought about letting himself do such a thing.

She'd returned to life fully aware that she was more than willing to be with Erik… she actively wanted to be with him.

But… of course… she had to have the same patience Erik had always shown with her.

"I was mourning."

This statement came so apropos of nothing that it took Arabella off guard.

"I beg your pardon?"

Erik turns slowly to her once more, smiling sadly. It was an absolutely heartbreaking expression that made her step closer to him.

"The music… I wrote it in Italy… while I was still mourning you. I call it Phoenix, Arise."