A/N: So after MUCH delay and fretting and worrying and panicking... I finally have this segue chapter to give you! LOL. Personally I think it's absolutely HORRIBLE... but I can't really do ridging-time type chapters very well and I don't want to bore you all with the mundane everyday blandness of their lives! But I hope you enjoy this chapter for what it is. I made sure to put some cuteness at the bottom for you. PLEASE REVIEW!
Once more I'd like to remind my readers that since I'm legally blind, catching even half of my typos and mistakes is incredibly difficult!
Again my many tanks to my virtual co-writer E.M.K.81. You're vast input is completely invaluable.
That night Erik escorted Arabella to her room. He suggested that her night things from the evening before were probably still suitable, and that he'd bring her a tea with some herbs to help her sleep easily. It wouldn't make her sleep – he'd assured – but simply allow her falling asleep to be easier. He'd been thinking only of her comfort and just how tired she'd been before sleeping decently the previous night; but Arabella had refused the offer by trying to make a counter-offer.
She invited him to spend the night with her again.
It wasn't a seductive invitation. It was simplistic. He'd slept at her side the previous evening on top of the blankets – and probably slept better than he had in years. Why not just share the bed again?
"No, Bella…" he'd refused gently. "I couldn't… I'm sorry…"
"Why not?" she asked, her entire body and face drooping.
"Do you truly have to ask me that?" he asked. "After a day like today -no I… I think I'll sleep on the divan tonight."
Very early the following morning, he was mildly startled to be awakened by the subconscious recognition of a presence nearby. His eyes opened to find Arabella standing in one of Christine's dressing gowns in front of the almost burned out fireplace. Apparently he hadn't noticed her presence until well after she'd rebuilt the fire… there shouldn't have been any fire left at all. Her arms were folded tightly across her chest. She looked pale, and was shivering even though he was careful to keep the flat warm – especially since she'd been resurrected.
"Bella?" he asked groggily, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "Are you all right, ma belle?"
The nickname just slipped through his lips without his permission, and he winced slightly before reaching out. No doubt - even if they were only friends - she would always be 'his beauty'... But he didn't like to mislead her with such gentle endearments. Not now that the phrase meant so much more to her than it ever really had to him. She turned to him, and he realized her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed.
"What's wrong?" he demanded.
"I'm fine…" she waved his concerned touch away – not like she was afraid or disgusted, but dismissively.
"You are most certainly not fine."
"Well… I will be. I just… I had a bad dream."
That was how he found out about the nightmares that had played at least a part in why she'd slept so poorly on the divan since her return. Apparently years of mental growth wasn't quite enough to help a physical body or a tormented heart get over just how horrible the past had been. He tried to convince her to start taking a tea or tonic that would allow her to sleep deeply and mostly without dreams; but she refused with a stubbornness she usually reserved for very different circumstances.
They'd stayed up, instead, which made for a very long day. The next time he woke because of Arabella's evil dreams – which was the following night – it was to hear a broken and strangled scream coming from the Louis-Philippe room. He'd rushed in and discovered Arabella so tangled in the bed linens that her legs were trapped. What seemed to make the fear that lingered all that much worse was that Arabella's hands had fallen asleep under her pillow, so that she woke up feeling paralyzed and unable to fend of whatever lurked in the dark.
Erik had sat on the edge of the bed, untangled her as efficiently and impersonally as possible, and then pulled her into a sitting position by the shoulders. Her hands had fallen like dead weights to her sides, and he'd shifted them around and rubbed his hands vigorously over them until they woke up in the agonizingly tingling way body parts always did. All the while, he was trying to soothe Bella by reassuring her that he was there, and that she was safe. He didn't resort to singing – not at that time. It was clear she was more alarmed at her apparent inability to move than the dream. That time, at least.
Singing to soothe her would come later… when the dreams apparently progressed into such violent night terrors that she sometimes awoke outside of bed and in some other part of the flat. Erik actually had to resort to putting the house on lock down so that she wouldn't wander out into the lake and drown – or worse, into the torture chamber.
In two weeks, after realizing he couldn't get any kind of reasonable sleep with the fear of what could happen to her if he wasn't there to feel her move and maybe leave the bed in the night; he resorted to finally sleeping in the Louis-Philippe room. It was mortifying for him, because sleeping in anything less than his waist coat felt utterly improper… but anything more than his shirtsleeves and trousers made him feel ridiculous. Still… it was better than the fitful sleep he got on the divan fearing for her life and sanity.
Almost like magic – as though his presence kept a terrible bogeyman away – the nightmares simply stopped. Or - more accurately - they weren't severe enough to disturb her sleep. Erik might have accused her of creating her night terrors falsely just to make him sleep in the same bed… but she rarely ever slept anywhere close enough to make him uncomfortable. Apparently just having him near was enough.
Once he'd given up on the divan altogether she would occasionally fall asleep close by with one of his arms wrapped about her because they'd been chatting idly and continuing to enjoy each other's company before drifting off. But he couldn't blame her for that, now could he? He'd been the dolt to partially lose himself in the memories of how comfortable they'd been together during their very brief marriage. More often than not, however, he would join her after she'd fallen asleep; or she would simply respect his space and fall asleep facing the opposite wall.
Once they were both getting some truly decent sleep; it became clear that having reading lessons wasn't going to be nearly enough occupation for them to pass the days. Erik was very used to living alone, and was therefore also used to spending hours on end entertaining himself. Arabella, however, didn't exactly have that same luxury. She was used to working during the day; either by dancing or helping one of her relatives with their own respective means of income. She was only just learning to read and didn't have enough education to entertain herself with the stories in his library. What was left for her, other than the typical duties of cleaning or cooking? Other than sitting and listen to him play? She was welcome to explore his house and do those things. If she felt something was dirty, then she was welcome to alter or clean it. So long as she didn't outright move something like one of his experiments or inventions; he wasn't particular about books being placed on the wrong shelf, or a statuette facing the wrong way. He was not so picky that he would turn down whatever she turned to cook for a meal, either.
But he didn't want Arabella to feel like a live-in maid. She was… well… his guest at the very least. He couldn't argue that some of these things occasionally needed doing before he was ready to do them himself – it was so easy to lose himself in composing or tinkering. But he needed to find a better way to help occupy her time – and preferably in a way that allowed them to perhaps spend more time together in conversation or activity. It was simply too awkward spending hours with Arabella sitting quietly off to one side; staring at him as though she were still an unknowable spirit. Including her as much as possible made her presence less … eerie.
So he began to teach her how to play the piano and read music. She would never be a great aficionado; but he was surprised at how quickly she did pick up on the actual playing. He had to remind himself she'd been watching him play for over thirty years. She was bound to pick up on at least a few things. It wasn't enough for her to be able to do anything at first; but she certainly had the basic concept of scales down long before he ever let her touch the keys.
In spite of her dedication to the reading, writing, and music lessons… it was her desire to learn about being a proper lady that took him off guard.
"I never thought I would be a school teacher." He murmured, shaking his head in derision when she asked the first time. "I am going to have to order school books just to help us keep track of all these things you want to learn… Figure out exactly how to even teach them to you…"
"I can't expect to go out in public with you and act like a gypsy anymore." She explained. "This is your society… I wouldn't want to embarrass you in it."
"When will you ever have that opportunity?" he demanded with a chuckle. "I live quite the solitary life, Bella. We haven't even seen Nadir in… a while…"
"I'm sure an opportunity will present itself." She stated firmly. "There are times you go above. You attend the masquerade every year, don't you?"
The idea of attending the masquerade ever again horrified Erik – after what had happened in the previous year; and how he'd appeared and terrorized the entire party in one fell swoop. He didn't think he could stand to even go above into the Opera itself again. He didn't want to come face to face with those terrible memories of Christine and Raoul. It was bad enough having to go into the Louis-Philippe room and seeing all the things she'd left behind. He could have packed them away… gotten rid of them… but he couldn't bring himself to do it.
He still hoped – just a little – that she would need these things again someday.
"And…" she pointed out – interrupting his train of thought. "If we go to the masquerade… it would probably be helpful in blending in if I knew how to do the dances."
So… while Arabella returned to the seamstress' to have her first fitting for her ordered clothes; Erik made his way to a shop where he ordered all his imported books. He ordered books on everything, from reading and writing booklets, to simple children's stories, to books on dance instruction, elocution, and proper mannerisms.
For her part, Arabella was beyond happy during her waking hours. Yes, it could be a little tedious and boring during the hours Erik would still compose… but she was positively enthralled if he was actually playing. She loved to sit by him and listen to him read as she recovered from a headache due to her own studying. Since these particular lessons were often later in the day, she would sometimes fall asleep listening to his soft voice work its flawless way through Shakespeare, William Blake, or Victor Hugo.
She'd been alive for nearly a month when she fallen asleep right beside Erik so that her head drooped onto his shoulder – briefly jerking her into a barely conscious state so that she ended up settling into a lying position … right across Erik's lap. He'd lifted his arms out of her way, his body stiffening from brow to toe for a long moment in utter shock – even though by then she'd already fallen asleep on his shoulder in the Louis-Philippe room once or twice. Later Arabella would realize it was because of her proximity to certain body parts and how off-guard he'd been to see her becoming so comfortable inside his personal space.
She certainly hadn't noticed then - she'd been much too tired because they'd spent a majority of the earlier day outside trying to do a lot of shopping; and the fresh air had started having a tiring effect on her. Instead of noticing his strain, she'd become more aware of his relaxing body as he began to read again, one hand resting very gently on her dark hair and petting it almost as though she were Ayesha. Occasionally he'd shift his hand to her shoulder, upper arm, and upper back… but by then she was floating in sleep that was gently disturbed by the images his words painted. The small giving in of physical affection was nothing but a rosy feeling that helped keep the nightmares further at bay.
She was surprised to wake up quite literally lying in the circle of Erik's arms. Apparently he had carried her to bed from the divan and not quite been able to give up on the warmth of having someone so nearby. It wasn't like having a single arm gently around her shoulders for comfort. It was… very different. She'd extricated herself as carefully as possible without waking him; worried he'd regret finding himself in that position if he woke without a chance to hide the 'moment of weakness' he'd given into.
They didn't start out having many conversations – although Erik had been burning with humiliating questions about just how much of his life and activities she'd paid attention to. There was no doubt she knew every milestone in his life – from having his own contract company, to visiting his childhood home, to being the Angel of Doom in Persia. These she all knew because he'd accepted that she'd been there to see them. But how much had she turned her back on? Had she stared at his every private moment? Did she know the depths of his depravity and the intimacy of the very sight of him? If so… she gave no clue… and he was much too mortified to ask her.
Arabella kept things in a safe place for him; reminding him of their first little dance together at Sarima's wedding celebration; or laughing about some experiment of his that had gone wrong in hilarious fashions. She asked him to explain things about cultures she hadn't been able to learn quickly enough during his time in different countries; and they discussed the books that they read together in such great detail one might have thought they were discussing philosophy.
Their isolation wasn't complete, of course. Shortly after falling asleep on Erik's lap, Nadir had finally visited once again. This time Erik was in far better spirits… and his friend was actually allowed to stay for supper without harassment. Oh, Erik still made the occasional snide remark; but this time it was easy to see that he was only playing the normal mind games he always did. It seemed to surprise the Daroga; seeing how playful Arabella was with him. By that time she'd recovered a few of her ordered outfits from the seamstress, so she had dressed for dinner in a beautiful, cream colored blouse of silk, and a brilliant royal blue skirt. It was nothing more than a house dress; but the material and craftsmanship made all the difference since these were tailored specifically for her use.
"You haven't been getting much fresh air." He noted halfway through their meal. "Erik… not everyone can live below as easily as you. Don't you ever go above for longer than strictly necessary?"
"It's all right, Daroga." Arabella said quickly; almost as though he'd done something heinously wrong in suggesting Erik wasn't making sure she took care of herself. "The weather has been foul lately or we'd probably at least be up on the roof occasionally."
Erik glared down at his plate – but not as though he was affronted by Nadir's words.
"How would you know what the weather is like?" Nadir challenged – although the usually interrogative tone he used on Erik was gentled on her behalf. It was beyond obvious that he liked Arabella. "Does he take you across the lake every day to find out?"
"Daroga – I am fine." She insisted – still speaking before Erik could get a word in.
To everyone's surprise, she reached over and covered Erik's hand with her own.
"Miri Ves'tacha does what he can."
Erik's entire body jerked as though she'd goosed him - hard. His eyes widened behind his mask as his eyes veered up from his plate to meet her affectionate gaze. She was smiling at him fondly, and this seemed to make him all the more uncomfortable.
"I'm sorry…" Nadir glanced between them, not sure if he should be amused or concerned. "What did you say, Mademoiselle? What was that you called him?"
"It's just an old gypsy endearment of sorts." Erik explained quickly. This time he was obviously the one eager to keep Arabella from saying anything first. "It's like 'my friend' or-"
"-That isn't what it means." Arabella had lost her smile. She looked embarrassed – but also upset. She quickly drew her hand off of Erik's to grip her utensils and take another bite of food. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have… I won't say it again. It was inappropriate. But you don't have to lie, Erik. You could have left your explanation at 'it is an endearment'. That's true enough."
Nadir looked at Erik with a raised eyebrow of curiosity, surprised at how Erik avoided his gaze.
"My apologies." Erik muttered in Arabella's general direction. The offer made Nadir nearly drop his fork. Erik was not the kind of man who apologized – even when he was entirely in the wrong! "You … took me by surprise…"
There was a tense moment at the table before Arabella managed to smile again.
"It's all right." She assured him, her tone absolutely genuine. She once more gently placed her hand on Erik's, and Nadir was almost thrown out of his seat in shock to see Erik release his hold on his fork in order to turn his hand into hers and give it a brief squeeze. He had never seen his friend so… so…
Not tame. Erik could never be considered socially tame. But… gentle…
Not since Reza had died, anyway.
"Erik has been acting as my tutor." Arabella offered in order to change the subject.
After supper, Arabella insisted on clearing the table and doing the dishes herself. Erik, by then, looked as though he'd had quite enough of company; but still offered Nadir a drink in the parlor. The Daroga accepted, and stood staring into his drink just as Erik did for a long moment.
"Aren't you going to scold me for snapping at a lady?" Erik finally demanded.
Nadir laughed a little and lifted his eyes.
"No." He admitted. "She seemed quite capable of standing up for herself. She's just more tactful about it than you."
"She's been taking lessons on how to behave around company…" Erik murmured a frown in his voice. "Apparently she's worried that she could in any way ever embarrass me... as if I could ever be embarrassed by her."
Nadir felt a smile tug at one corner of his mouth.
"Will you tell me what she really said?"
Erik glowered at him for a long moment, his shoulders stiffening.
"Was it really that terrible, Erik?"
"No!" He looked absolutely astonished at this assumption. "It wasn't terrible! Not at all! I … I just… I had grown accustomed to a similar nickname… it had almost lost its meaning completely and… and then she says… that…"
"And what, exactly, was 'that'?"
Erik turned his back, shoulders hunching a little as he took a sip of his brandy. Nadir steps closer so that he is just by his friends' shoulder.
"Beloved…" Erik finally confesses. His head drops and he puts his forehead into his free hand to rub at his temples. "She said 'my beloved'… "
This makes the Daroga take a step back in slight shock.
"Oh…" he manages almost weakly. "And… you don't like that…?"
"It isn't that I don't like it." Erik grumbled. "It's that I don't … I can't … I don't know how to…"
"To what, Erik?" Nadir asked; his voice carefully gentle. "How to love her back? How to respond?"
"Exactly so! I – I mean – no! I know how to love her… Arabella would be easy to love. But I cannot. Not how she wants."
Nadir slowly shook his head in dismay.
"It's Christine… isn't it?"
The fact that his friend turned his back again and refused to answer him was more than enough answer.
"You are surrounded with memories of her." Nadir said carefully. "Maybe you should attempt to find a place that is more neutral…"
"Christine follows me everywhere…" Erik sighed. "Escaping the Opera would not be any good."
"Then make new memories, Erik." His friend urged. "Don't be afraid-"
"-I'm not afraid!"
The choked voice came out so acidic that Nadir immediately quieted and stepped back, giving the man who had been his only friend – and constant thorn in his side – the room he needed to breathe and calm down. After several moments of waiting; he seated himself on the divan and was still waiting when Arabella came into the room.
"May I have one of those?" She indicated the glass in Erik's hand.
He turned to acknowledge her, and Nadir saw his body respond at once to her presence. His shoulders relaxed. He breathed easier. He even seemed to smile a little behind the mask.
"Ladies don't drink such things in company." He lectured.
"I'm not in that type of company." She pointed out with a chuckle. "Please?"
Sighing, Erik simply surrendered what was left in his glass over to her instead of pouring a fresh one. Arabella accepted it as though this were pure routine for them, and then sat by Nadir.
"What were you talking about?" she asked – although both men suspected she had heard them plain as day from the kitchen.
"Uh…" Nadir looked between the two for a long moment. In spite of Erik's sudden calm in her presence, he showed no other signs of softness towards her. She was simply someone else in the room. His mind scrambles so that he doesn't have to admit to his prodding – even if she already knows. "We were talking about the Masquerade. After all… it is one of the biggest social events of the season. Both men and women need to plan well in advance if they want their tailors and seamstresses' to have enough time to make them costumes. "
Erik turns sharply, glaring at Nadir over his shoulder. His arms are clutched tightly across his chest, the fresh brandy glass he holds in a white-knuckled grip.
"You're going?" Arabella laughed in astonishment.
"I go to every event at the Opera." Nadir winked at her. "Someone has to keep the Phantom from under some form of control."
"The Phantom is dead!" Erik exploded, placing down his glass harder than necessary by the decanter and turning to point accusingly at Nadir. "If you don't want him resurrected; I suggest you stop pestering me!"
"What will you be your costume?" Arabella ignored Erik's outburst, clearly thinking that he was merely having a fit that had nothing to do with the masquerade whatsoever. Perhaps she hadn't overheard their conversation about new memories overcoming old ones.
"I suppose you'll see for yourself when you attend."
Erik grunted, looking as though his fingers literally itched to wrap around Nadir's neck… but all he had to do was glance at Arabella's abruptly excited face… and he subsided into sullen silence. Nadir noted how he couldn't quite take his eyes off of her as she leaned towards him and smiled with brilliant hope.
"Are we really going?" she asked him. "I can have a costume? We can dance in the Opera?"
"It… it isn't as though you'd be performing on the stage, Bella…" Erik warned slowly, giving Nadir another hard and hateful glance.
The Persian Daroga leaned back into the divan cushions and gently crossed his arms across his chest. It took all his will power to keep from grinning – not so much at the trap he'd set; but at Erik's reaction to it. He'd expected Erik to completely explode with rage, denying that any such thing was going to happen while throwing and breaking things. Instead, he was subsiding under the simple eagerness of this sweet and hopeful girl.
It was the most adorable thing he'd ever seen! Erik may still be hurting terribly over his stubborn heartache involving Christine… but he clearly had a very tender fondness for Arabella. He was fond enough that he buckled under the pressure of her very gaze… and didn't have the heart to disappoint her by refusing to attend a simple party. It was unlikely Erik had been that able to surrender even to Reza!
"Well… you obviously wouldn't be going as Red Death again." Arabella stated. "Perhaps a different form of … maybe…"
"We can decide on costumes later…" Erik sighed. "Although… I think I know the perfect one for you."
"What is it?"
"We can discuss it later."
Nadir could not help himself. He laughed, covering his mouth quickly even though the sound was more than loud enough for Erik to pick up on.
A/N: So it seems Erik has a softer spot for Arabella than he thought he was even CAPABLE of having... Please review and let me know what you think!