A/N: I would like to say that I may be changing the title of this story. I do not know how you recieve that particular notification, so if things change, just look for the same summary if things get kooky. Most likely, I will be calling it "Mira Kom" Or maybe not... I haven't decided. "Second Chances" works very well but it feels off.

Thank you to my readers, and as always to E.M.K.81 for all the support.

(replaced with same chapter to fix an imperative typo. Thank you Child of Dreams for pointing it out to me. Typos are one thing - the wrong message is another!)

He had not liked seeing Arabella out on that ice.

At first he'd been just slightly confused – trying as he was to trick her into running directly into him when he began throwing his voice. When she never emerged from the grotto, he'd gone in careful and silent pursuit of her. He'd never expected her to take such a risk… which had only gone to show how high-stakes she thought this game was.

He'd wondered what could be so important that she'd risk her own life just to win a silly game of cat and mouse. But then he'd seen her go through; and all thoughts of play had fled from his mind. He had not instantly panicked; for he'd seen she was in shallow waters and could touch the ground. He'd instantly understood that he needed to remain calm and in control, so he could help her through the undoubtedly instant shock and talk her back to shore without risking his own life as well as hers. If he could have guaranteed her life, he'd have risked his own… but knowing that his risk also continued to risk her… no … he couldn't just run out after her.

Considering there had been no instant panic, but only heightened concern, he'd managed to remain calm enough to remove his outer garments so she would have something warm and dry to wrap herself in when she came out of the freezing water. He'd removed his mask as well for better visibility, and carefully climbed over the railing and anchored himself to the grotto with one of his lassos. The longer she stood in that water without seeming to move at all closer made his heart squeeze painfully in his chest and refuse to relax, though. The intense concern formed a ball of dread to lodge in his throat.

Arabella hadn't been in the water for very long; but her clothes were heavy, and she'd kept falling through the ice and submerging herself during her escape attempts. Each breath she took shuddered violently in and out of her panting lungs, and he feared if she continued to hyperventilate that she would faint and he would be forced into the frigid water with her. The worst moment was when she'd gone down with her entire body all at once for the first time, and came up choking and sputtering. She'd been breathing, though… so he'd forced himself to remain still and wait a little longer. As long as she was breathing - even if she was sputtering desperately - he knew she was not going to drown.

He hadn't known when he slipped into Romani or Spanish. He'd been completely oblivious to the endearment that suddenly came pouring from his lips as she became clearly exhausted and a little confused. She'd started to wander away from him as though thinking the Temple and grotto were off to one side. It had been a true relief when he finally saw that the ice was holding her feebly struggling body again. By that point he'd worked his way a short distance out onto the ice and was waiting for an opportunity to pull her free. It was almost to the point when he feared she had been too long in the water. She was clearly exhausted trying to move in all those soaking wet winter garments.

He had thought he was going to lose her for a moment - when the lasso he'd tossed tore free of her arms and slipped down towards her hands so fast and hard that the noose bit visibly into the flesh of her one bare hand. Thank God she had such bony wrists; and that her remaining glove had a cuff that kept the lasso further locked into place. Her hands certainly weren't much good to her by then, even though she'd clearly tried to listen and wrap her fingers around the rope so he could pull her closer. He'd known she didn't have a solid grip, but given up with yelling commands when he saw her almost injure her face when her head fell to the ice in sheer exhaustion.

He leaned back against the railing of the grotto for a few precious seconds, panting for breath and cursing the muscle spasms and pain in his lower back and shoulders. He hadn't needed to do such hard labor for this long in quite some time. He was out of shape… and the fact that his teeth were chattering with cold and his fingers were going numb had not helped his efforts. It was a relief to have Arabella lying so close to him. For only a second or two, he gathered himself mentally and emotionally so that the panic that had turned into a coppery and steely sickness in his stomach during the rescue settled down. Around him the world was almost completely silent.

"Bella..." he panted, reaching down to place a hand on her back. He was feeling for the rise and fall of her ribs as she breathed. "Look at me, ma belle…"

She hadn't stirred since he'd pulled her to safety, and he prayed that it was not already too late to save her. When she felt his touch, Arabella rolled her head to one side ever-so-slightly. Her lashes lifted slightly, and she managed to look at him with dull curiosity. Her lips were a faint bluish color as they tried to pull into the most pathetic smile he'd ever seen.

"Who… won…?" she asked in a breathy whisper.

"You, ma belle." He promised, thinking this was what she wanted to hear and knowing that it was technically the truth. "Now hold on."

She was more or less lucid. That was good. It made him feel just a little calmer – and saner. But it was clear she didn't have the strength left to hold onto him the way he needed her to. Groaning, he slowly and laboriously rose to his feet using the grotto railings for support. It wrenched nearly every one of the shivering muscles of his body… but he managed. It took far more effort to put her down gently on the inside of the grotto without dropping her than it had to stand with her in his arms.

She was so still… She didn't curl up on the ground and huddle into herself for warmth. She just lay on her side as he'd placed her, her eyes open only ever-so-slightly as he vaulted over the railing and back into the grotto. He crouched over her, hands hovering up and down her body in indecision. He knew that he had to get her warm; but in a moment of panic he couldn't decide where to start.

The clothes… the wet clothes… he needed to get those off of her.

"Bella?" he touched her shoulder, almost flinching at the coldness of her heavy cloak in spite of already having held her up in his arms. "I'm taking some of your clothes off; all right?"

She moaned quietly, her eyelashes flickering. But she gave no other response. Cursing, Erik began fumbling with the tie of her heavy cloak. But her struggles and the expansion from absorbing all that water made the knot into one great mass of fabric. He couldn't get it undone, and imagined that most of her clothes would be in the same state. He was freezing and shivering, but he could still feel the heat of embarrassment flush his face as he pulled out one of his knives (had always carried at least two) and began to slice away the laces of her cloak and her surviving boot. He then peeled off her stockings, blushing even hotter in spite of the situation. He had never seen a woman's ankle so clearly or so closely before. Even when she had been dying in his arms… he had not looked too closely at any part of her anatomy. He hadn't dared.

"What do you want for your prize, ma belle?" he asked distractedly; trying to get Arabella's attention as he began rubbing vigorously at her dangerously pale feet. He knew he had to get her undressed; but in spite of the severity of the situation he needed to steel himself for what was going to be seen and touched. Part of him was mortified by what was happening more due to upcoming nudity than anything else.

Arabella made a very quiet sound at the question, but didn't look at him again.

"Bella!" he pleaded, realizing he'd lost time somehow. He seized up his coat and draped it over her before snatching up his scarf and tying it around her head to try and protect her already wet scalp from the bitter wind. "Look at me!"

She tried… He could tell that she did. But she was too weak.

"Damn it, Bella!" he breathed, snatching up the rest of his clothes and wrapping them around her hands. When he took a moment to replace his mask over his hideous face and she still hadn't replied, he nearly exploded with desperation. "Talk to me!"

He was trying to stand and lift her into his arms when Arabella managed to respond. Her voice was small, and slurred, but it was there.

"…'bout wha?"

"Anything." He encouraged instantly, groaning as his back protested lifting something even as light as Arabella. "Ask me questions, tell me stories; just talk to me."

"…you mean it?"

He didn't understand, but began rushing a little clumsily towards the hilly path leading up towards the Temple of Love and the main promenade that would lead out of the park.

"Yes, ask me anything, tell me anything." He promised, hoping that he hadn't missed something.

"Miri kom…"

"I'm here, ma belle."

"You said… mira… kom."

Erik squinted in confusion, still not entirely certain that he understood her. His eyes were constantly scanning the area, looking for help but also watching carefully for any possible attack. He always watched warily for attack. Now would be the worst possible moment – which made it quite naturally the most likely. So his eyes were peeled, even as he struggled to keep a still mostly dressed and soaking wet Arabella from falling out of his shivering arms.

"Did I ever tell you anything about my youth?" he asked, hoping to God he was distracting her and keeping her awake. "I used to sneak out of my bedroom at night. It went on for years without my mother or Father Mansart ever finding out! But then those villagers…"

He mentally shook himself, not wanting to be dragged down that line of thought. He glanced down briefly to see that the scarf was coming loose from Arabella's hair. More importantly, however, her eyes were cracked open and she was looking at him dazedly.

"In the summer time, I used to sneak out to this one place where a vixen lived in a little den. I would sit very quietly and just watch her with her kits. She was a wonderful mother… sometimes I wished that she were my mother instead of Maman."

This was, of course, just a ludicrous thought… one of those things children who feel alone and unloved think about. How tragic that he thought a wild animal would have been a better, more loving mother than the woman who'd given him birth. It had taken decades for him to realize that Madeleine had done the best she could.

"Have you ever seen something like that?" he demanded of Arabella, looking down at her again to see her eyes were closed again. "Bella?"

She was so pale. Erik began to shiver all the harder – not just from running through a winter night with damp clothes unsuited for such weather. He was terrified. From the moment Arabella's foot had slipped through the ice, he had been feeling panic building in his heart. He'd managed to keep it under control – knowing she would have time to get out of the water and walk away with relatively little damage taken to her health. But it had taken too long for her to get out. The water had been too deep and she'd gone completely under too many times. Now she was not even shivering – either that or his own shivering was so severe that he couldn't feel hers.

"Bella, you wake up and answer me!" he demanded almost shrilly, finally glancing around desperately to find a place of safety and warmth to bring her.

There were no cafes open in the park – and although they may have stoves and even brandy and sugar with which to warm her, he thought it would be an enormous risk. Cafes were small. If there was even a single officer patrolling this park at night, it would not be hard for him to see that a café had been broken into. The last thing he needed was the trouble of a police officer coming upon him with what would soon be a half dressed and half-conscious woman! No doubt he'd immediately be suspected of villainy because of his mask!

Arabella made another soft sound, her eyes cracking open a moment before closing again almost at once. If Erik hadn't looked down at just the right moment, he'd have thought she wasn't responsive at all.

"Mon Dieu…" he breathed, forcing his body into an all-out run when he saw the gates leading out into Paris. Arabella needed help – now.

The thought of someone so young and beautiful, kind and wonderful, dying… again… He didn't think his heart could handle such grief again! He had finally realized that he still loved her just about as fiercely as over thirty years previous. He'd only just finally promised himself that his love of Christine would not stand in his way anymore. The idea of being alone again - after over a month of having her in his once dark and morose home - was gut-wrenching. Worse still was the idea of losing Arabella.

He needed help. He was never going to get her to safety on his own. In spite of his absolute aversion to seeking people out in any respect… he had no choice but to let go of his normal paranoia.

"Somebody help me!" He shouted, startled and bitterly disdainful of the strange wetness of his voice. He didn't know if he'd started crying without realizing it or if the very simple wet cold he'd already suffered so briefly was already affecting him. But his throat was clogged with threatening mucus.

He could see carriages and wagons going by. He could see the occasional person – mostly men – passing along on the sidewalk. But no one paid any mind to his shout. He no longer had the energy for a healthy Phantom bellow. He was out of breath, his muscles were aching, and his desperate dash was slowing with each step. In his slowly drooping arms, Arabella was utterly quiet. She barely even reacted enough to his shout for it to be considered a flinch. Her body just sort of … twitched slightly.

"My wife needs help!" he tried again, finally making it to the gates and looking around. There were not many people walking – although he saw a few here and there along the long street at a relative distance to where he stood. The only two conveyances that had passed while he approached were near corners or rounding them – so out of range for assistance. His eyes desperately scanned the street and the facades of the buildings across the road. He tried to discern if any of those places were open, or whether or not he could take her there even if they were. Some places would simply be out of the question. He couldn't possibly – for instance – carry her into a tavern full of drunken men who could be volatile.

But what if he had no choice? What if it was the only place with any kind of warmth in sight?

He wasn't delirious or confused… but his fatigue, cold, and fear were beginning to affect his logical thinking. His person was in no immediate danger, but the mixture of all these things made a sour stew in his body and mind. He began stumbling across the street, almost failing to notice that a carriage was thundering down the street in his direction.

"Out of the way!" the coachman bellowed, making Erik start and clutch Arabella to him more tightly. For a split second he froze up, and then leaped out of the way even as the carriage swerved to avoid running him down. He wanted to hold out a hand imploringly, but his arms were too full of barely living woman to do so. Instead he held her up, almost like an offering. The conveyance was already blurring past him, but in his mild confusion and extreme desperation, he didn't care.

"Help me!" he pleaded.

No one heard him. Or, if they did, they didn't care.

It was like carrying her into that Spanish town all over again… only so much worse. It wasn't terribly late. There was still enough hustle and bustle in the city for there to be someone around that might help a woman in distress. But no one so much as noticed him – even wearing his mask. He was garnering no attention whatsoever. His heart thundered in his chest, making the blood pumping through his head seem to sing like wasps between his ears.

He looked back down at Arabella, who's head had fallen completely limp against is shoulder.

"I've got you, mira kom." He breathed; completely aware of the endearment he used this time. "I'm going to take care of you. All right?"

She stirred vaguely, but that was all. He tried to stand still a moment and see if she was shivering; but he still couldn't differentiate between his own body's near-convulsions or her own trembling. Was she shaking because he was? Or was she shivering?

Taking in a deep breath, he adjusted his hold on her and as carefully as possibly placed her over one shoulder like a sack of grain. He didn't want to do this – it felt so impersonal and uncaring – but he needed a hand free. At least this way he could hold her up on him with just one arm and use the other one. Another conveyance was coming his way – this one clearly a cab of some sort. It did not have his preferred shuttered windows – but at this point anything to get Bella out of the cold would suffice. He planted his feet and held up one hand in what he prayed was a commanding gesture.

"Stop!" he demanded. "Stop! We need your help!"

The coachman did not barrel past this time. He slowed considerably, making the carriage jounce uncomfortably and his horses rear a little.

"I've already got passengers!" He bit out angrily. "Are you crazy walking in front of a-"

His words broke off as he tried to sidle the carriage around Erik and finally realized the man was masked – and that he had a girl over one shoulder that looked almost dead.

"-Hey! What you doing to that girl?" he demanded, pulling the carriage up short abruptly and starting to climb down from his perch.

"What's going on?" a reedy voice demanded from inside the carriage. "Driver! I'm already late!"

Erik didn't care about inconveniencing a passenger. He didn't even care about the threatening way the driver came down to street level. Instantly he shifted Arabella so that she was in his arms again, being carried like a sleeping princess.

"My wife fell through some ice in the park." He explained hurriedly. "She's freezing to death! Please! Let us ride in your carriage! I need to get her somewhere warm! Do you know of any place?"

The driver looked suspicious; his hand twitching around the whip he likely used far too much on his animals. But he didn't raise it against Erik. Perhaps he was worried about hurting Arabella, who was terribly white under the scarce moonlight.

"I already have a full carriage." He told Erik, looking a little perturbed.

"Please…" Erik begged, not caring about the humiliating whine that now entered his voice. "I'm freezing… and I'm barely even damp just from carrying her. Help us. I can't… she can't… please…"

"Erik?" Arabella seemed stirred by his begging. Maybe she was alarmed by the sound of it. She always had been the type of woman to fight for the people she loved rather than herself. It didn't surprise him much that his distress was what had stirred her, when her own predicament barely caused an eyelash to flutter.

"I'm here, ma belle…" he promised quickly. "Driver, I will give you nearly everything on my person. Please."

The driver seemed to think this through - but not for long. He could see how the woman in the masked mans' arms was far paler than she ought to have been. He could see the water on her lashes was freeing over and her lips were more than tinged blue. He turned and ripped open the nearest door to his carriage.

"All right, all right, get in… Make room!" he commanded. "You there, make room!"

"I am not going to-"that reedy voice began in fury. Erik realized in distracted astonishment that this was the voice of a man.

Growling in frustration, Erik shouldered by the coachman and began to step up into the carriage with Arabella. He saw in the deep shadows that three people were sitting within. One was an elderly gentleman. The other two were one elderly lady and a woman homely enough to instantly be identified as their spinster daughter. Erik didn't care; he just took in the details.

"I am not letting my wife die because a few pampered asses want to get to a party!" he snapped at them. "Driver – go! Wherever I can get her warm! An inn or hotel… a café… anything!"

"How dare you use such language in front of-" the reedy-voiced gentleman began, his voice going alarmingly high in his anger at the inconvenience.

The driver had climbed back up to his perch and the carriage erupted into motion. It interrupted the gentleman's demand as Erik and his fellow unwilling passengers were nearly thrown out of their seats, arms flailing in every direction. Erik was the only one not to do this; allowing himself to slip from the seat onto his knees. The women and gentleman reared away as though he were a swarm of rats trying to climb up their legs. He could see flashes of elderly and middle-aged ankles clothed in dark stockings, and paid them absolutely no mind. His hands were busy trying to untangle Arabella from his by then soggy coat and then working at the laces of her dress.

"Monsieur!" the younger woman of the two shrieked. "What are you-"

"-What needs to be done!" he interrupted in an irascible growl. Any other time he'd be furious with these people. They were clearly from the higher echelons of society – and he absolutely despised aristocrats. Their umbrage and disgust over a dying woman interrupting their night journey made him feel nearly murderous – but he needed to concentrate on Bella.

The other passenger subsided, most of them looking out the nearest possible windows in order to distract themselves from the woman slowly becoming more and more undressed at their feet. Erik didn't look up at them. They had created a fair amount of warmth in the enclosed carriage with their combined body heat, and he was certain that this was already helping him and Arabella to warm up slightly. It probably wouldn't be anything near enough to save Arabella's life – but it was a start.

"I can't believe this…" the elder woman hissed over his head as he began peeling Arabella's blouse from her and then quickly wrapped her up in his coat again. This time he had turned the coat inside out, so the moisture the inside had collected from her body and clothes was no longer touching her. "This is ludicrous!"

"Bella!" he pleaded. "Open your eyes! Talk to me! Look at me!"

She moaned quietly, rolling her head slightly and cracking first one then both eyes open. She looked vastly confused.

How had the cold affected her quite so deeply, and so fast? Erik didn't understand. She wasn't exactly a scrawny girl who couldn't hold onto body heat. She had a real figure, and had a little meat on her bones to keep her somewhat warm. Why was she so quiet and still? How had her fight back to solid ice sapped her of so much strength and energy?

"What kind of monster are you?" the older woman continued as Arabella's eyes tried to focus on Erik's face. "What have you done to the poor woman?"

Erik lifted his gaze sharply to the woman, gritting his teeth. As if a monster would put himself squarely in a circle of enemies while planning villainy!

"One more word…" he warned in a hard voice. "…and I will rip out your tongue. I don't have time to entertain the ignorant and inane curiosities of an old set of bitches."

"How dare you!" the older gentleman demanded over his wife and daughters' gasps of horror. He leaned forward in his seat, one hand gripping the head of his elegant cane – which until that moment had been tucked up the length of his leg closest to the carriage door. "I demand you-"

Growling again, Erik reached up and jerked the cane out of the old mans' hand with immense ease. He swung it around once over his head, not aiming to harm anyone but not being careful, either. Then he slammed it down so close to Arabella's side that he nearly hit her.

"Try that again and your body will be on the street!" he spat furiously. "I have no time for this! Look at her! She's dying!"

The man instantly subsided, his rage obviously withered down to absolutely nothing due to the clear upper hand Erik had over him even while huddled on the carriage floor. Erik glared another moment at the man with narrowed eyes; waiting to be sure the old bastard would remain meek and inoffensive for the rest of the trip.

"Er…" Arabella tried to whisper, one hand shifting in his direction without actually lifting onto her stomach where he'd left it last.

Erik leaned down, pressing an impulsive kiss to her icy forehead. With Christine he'd have been mortified at the thought of trying such a thing. He'd have considered it to be taking advantage of her. But with Arabella it was nothing but an impulsive and desperate need to reassure her.

"I'm here…" he soothed, his voice instantly changing from cold and furious to warm and full of affection. "Bella… how do you feel?"

"Tired…"

He barked out a startled laugh.

"I imagine you would." He agreed, before reaching down under his coat so that he could rub his hands up and down her arms vigorously. After that he slid his hands down the sides of her body to her thighs, although he was rubbing her skin there through the underwear he simply didn't have the courage to remove. He knew removing every ounce of her wet clothing would be best… but he just didn't dare. "Can you feel this?"

"Yes…" she admitted - her voice briefly a little stronger. Her eyes were beginning to wander the enclosed space. He could feel the first sudden spasms of her leg muscles under his hands as his hands moved from her upper legs and down to her calves. Now he could easily have looked down and seen what he was touching but…

"Good." He grunted. "We're getting you somewhere warm. I'll take care of you, mira kom…"

He was trying to decide what to do next when the younger of the two women riding with him tried to stand slightly.

"Mary – what are you doing?" the older man demanded. He didn't sound angry now – but he did seem slightly alarmed. Erik himself leaned over Arabella protectively, not looking up at the woman in case she decided to kick at them. That or she might fall when the carriage took another of its violent jolts.

There was a moment of quiet before something warm touched his arm. He glanced to the side and saw that a fine fur coat was dangling near where he could take it. Slowly he lifted his eyes and stared up at the woman as she tried to lower herself back into her seat even further out of his way. Her face was nearly a mask all its own; making it utterly unclear what her intentions or emotions were. He'd seen similar neutrality on many faces in Paris.

"For your Lady, Monsieur…" she murmured in explanation. "Your coat is soaked through… It's seeping right into my stockings."

"Mary!" the woman scolded, apparently scandalized at the mention of women's clothing.

"Hush, mother." The woman scolded – although she wasn't harsh about it.

"Th-thank you." Erik managed, astonished at this women's' strangely cold kindness. He stripped Arabella of his wet coat and glanced down at her to see that her entire body was now trembling violently. For just a moment he took in her wet underthings, seeing how they'd become virtually transparent. But before he could think too long or hard about that fact, he laid the fur gently over her before tucking it carefully around her body. Then he lifted Arabella again, pulling her into his lap as he sat on the carriage floor. His eyes returned to the middle-aged spinster woman. "I can pay you for the coat. I … I have nothing for her to wear…"

"No need." She said, sniffing and glancing out her window as though disgusted at the idea of getting her coat back now that he – or Arabella – had touched it. "I have others."

Now with a nice and body-warmed fur coat between them, Erik held Arabella tight against his chest. His own body was shivering still, and the coat felt good even through his dampened clothing.

A minute passed during which everyone tried not to be tossed about as the driver continued rushing through the streets.

"You…" Arabella cleared her throat, adjusting herself slightly even though she was shivering so violently it was amazing she didn't shake herself off of Erik's lap. Apparently the fur coat was doing wonders for her body heat. Erik could tell that this shivering was probably a good thing, because she was slowly reviving as it happened. It was still frightening, though, feeling her body tremble so hard. "…You called me 'mira kom'."

"Yes I did, ma belle." He agreed, managing a little smile, brushing his mouth over her wet and cold hair.

"I'm so cold."

"I know, mira kom…" he choked out, wishing he could simply snap his fingers and make her warm like a true magician should have been able to do. It was one of the reasons he kept repeating the endearment now; as it seemed the only way to made her comfortable or happy in any sense of the word. Perhaps it would prove unfair later… but… at least in this moment he could think of nothing more honest to call her. Even his more traditional nickname felt ill-suited for her.

The carriage came to a stop before either of them could speak again, and a moment later the coachman pulled a door open.

"Here, Monsieur." He told Erik insistently, motioning for him to hurry. Erik slid his body towards the door, leaving feet first then rising to a standing position as the driver rushed away from the cab and towards a severe brick building that seemed fairly well lit even from the outside. He guessed that it must have been dressed with as yet still rare electric lighting.

He froze momentarily when he saw that he'd been brought to a police station.

Oh Mon Dieu…