A/N: Some people may notice the strange spelling of some of these gypsy words. I apologize for any misspellings or inconsistencies, as several different websites spell them several different ways and I'm not entirely sure why. I don't know if it's a dialect, or some people being idiotic. Also, I finally found the proper term for a gypsy chief! So instead of calling him their personal king, you'll see it! Yay! (Again, King vs. Chief very confusing and not really explained in the websites I've looked at, so guessing. I freely admit it - I'm GUESSING!)

As always, reviews are desperately wanted and welcome.

The following morning proved drizzly and dreary. Arabella shivered beneath a shawl of bright orange, red, and yellow, mildly resembling a walking flame in the gray and blue light of day. She expected the section of red tent that Erik called his home and performance space to be wide open, allowing entry from all sides… but it wasn't. The only way in was through the front 'grand entrance', where Vlad and Adnah were standing together taking coins from the patrons of the day. The crowd was thin compared to the usual throng given the weather, but there was still plenty of money to be made.

The moment Adnah saw her coming. He strode away from the customers he should have been accepting money from to place himself directly in her path.

"You want to see him, you pay the fee." He told her quietly.

She halted, staring at him with wide-eyed disbelief. For a moment, she was too numb to feel anything other than shock. They had never, never tried to keep her away from Erik before. Only her father had ever intervened in her visits, and that had had more to do with his need to control her and demean her for the initial stupidity she'd used when cleaning Erik's cage that first night. This was the first time she'd ever been outright turned away.

The numbness drained away with a sudden wash of cold anger, and she pressed forward; ready to shoulder him aside. He tried to press back against her, but she wouldn't have it. She was beyond him in moments, but hadn't gone far before he grabbed her from behind by the shoulders and tossed her back the way she'd come. Clutching her shawl, she nearly fell onto the ground, but managed to barely catch herself with the fingertips of one hand an inch above the ground and one foot out behind her, pointed and poised.

"Za!" Adnah barked, throwing his hands out towards the camp to further illustrate his command. Arabella straightened from her near fall and spit at his feet.

"Dog!" she hissed furiously. "By the gods, Adnah! Let me pass!"

He planted his feet and crossed his arms over his chest as though he had become an impenetrable brick wall.

"No." he stated simply. "If you think you can control what we do with our-"

Arabella removed a gold colored bracelet with amber stones decorating it from one wrist and flung it at his feet. He took a single step back, apparently thinking for a just the briefest of moments it was an actual weapon that she intended to use to harm him.

"There." She spat. "That's more than enough to pay for several people to be admitted to your tent of Hell!"

She shoved by him so hard this time that he nearly fell onto his rear. Arabella paused yards away, watching from the corner of her eye as he fought to keep from slipping on the soft and wet ground. She wished he would have fallen, after trying so hard to humiliate her in front of the gaje crowd. When he began to regain his balance, though, she hurried on and brushed past those still waiting anxiously in line for entrance to the tent.

Vlad made no move to try and stop her, having witnessed the confrontation between her and Adnah. He only narrowed his eyes at her slightly, clearly not having any clear understanding of the fresh show of animosity. Adnah and she had been getting on so well, until recently, that even he and Sven had stopped antagonizing her so much whenever she was around Erik within their sights.

The front and back rooms of the tent were both crowded with visitors and freaks alike, but Arabella closed off her eyes and ears to all but the tall man in the back room. He was not in his cage, and… but he wasn't striding around the enclosed space giving everyone a good look at his face while punishing them for the sight with his music. As she pressed closer, she realized why.

Someone… had tied his wrists to the bars of his cage. With horror, Arabella looked him up and down to see his clothes had been torn in a scuffle or beating – although they weren't badly damaged enough to be called rags. Having lost the mask the previous evening due to Adnah, he no doubt felt extreme resentment for being helplessly bared to the crowds without even a brief respite from their stares. A bruise shadowed the left side of his jaw, and a few spots of blood on his shirt matched the clearly split lip he'd been given.

It was too fresh to have been doled out to him after Adnah's temper tantrum the previous evening.

Erik's eyes met hers over the heads of several more gawkers, and after a moment of struggle he gave her the ghost of a smile. His bravery and welcome only made her angrier, and she marched her way straight up to him and stood directly in the view of many of the visitors. They grumbled, but she ignored them. They had plenty of ways to maneuver around her.

"Who did it?" she demanded. "Was it Adnah?"
Erik's hint of a smile vanished, and his eyes became somber.

"Who else?" he asked curiously. "I haven't given any cause for anyone else to beat me indiscriminately… although I'm proud to admit I gave him a few marks myself in his attempt this morning."

She hadn't seen any visible marks on Adnah, but she decided not to point this out. Instead, her hands balled into white-knuckled fists and she literally shook with her rage.

"Bella-"he began, slight alarm lighting his face.

"I'll take care of it." She promised, turning to hurry back the way she'd come.

"No!" he objected sharply, straining against the ropes he'd been tied with. "Bella – don't!"

She ignored his entreaty, thinking he was concerned about how she always set herself further apart from her own people for his sake. It wasn't why she was doing this… and she wasn't worried about repercussions from her own kind. She could survive any gossip or stigma as long as she felt she'd done the right things for the right reasons.

He continued to protest as she hurried off, although clearly not in any form of hysteria, anger, or panic.

The Viadi agreed to see her immediately. Sarima was there, helping her mother-in-law with the household jobs, and all gave Arabella a warm welcome. It surprised her, how openly they smiled at her and invited her into their tsera for tea. Such a thing had never happened before. Then again, she'd never really sought out an audience or visit with other gypsies before either.

"Anton…" she said quietly to the chief once they were seated together each with a cup of tea in their hands for added warmth. "I realize this is unusual… but… I need to speak with you about Sven and Vlad's latest… employee."

The chief raised his eyebrow at her in curiosity, although he didn't seem too deeply surprised. Clearly, he'd heard any rumors about her and Erik that had already spread.

"What is it about him you wish to discuss?" he asked.

Taking a deep breath, Arabella steeled herself. She was about to put a final nail in her proverbial coffin… although she had no way of knowing what it would mean in the future. Had she known, it wasn't likely she would have changed her decision.

"Disrobireja."

The tent, already quiet as it was, went dead silent. Anton, his wife, and Sarima all stared at her in wide-eyed disbelief as they considered her word. She fidgeted uneasily at their stares, but refused to let her shoulders slump or her eyes to drop from the chief's.

"He's done nothing to try and hurt anyone, to defy his captors, or to try and escape." She said quickly. "He hasn't without very good reason at least. I just… he has nowhere in this world that he can go even if he tries to leave. He has no reason to flee… and he won't be taking away any income from the camp by being allowed to survive among us on his own."

The continued silence made her want to rush on, but she made an attempt to think through her every phrase.

"I think he is much more one of us than you would ever realize. He's the very definition of a didikai – or would be if given the chance. His continued status as a creature that is owned by one of our own people is unfair, demeaning… and only gives him more reason than you could ever fathom to want to fight us and run."

Clearing his throat, Anton glanced briefly at his wife and daughter-in-law before turning back to her. She could visibly see him scrambling through her odd request.

"He has proven multiple times that he can be trusted to remain with us… at least for a time." Arabella blurted before he could speak.

"You have always been very good to the outsiders we allow among us." He murmured gently. "You have no idea how long we have admired you for it. Sometimes you are much too open and trusting… but in this case… I've seen the evidence myself that you are right…"

Her hopes soared.

He still wasn't sure what had happened to him… but as Erik stared around at the campfire with all his worldly possessions on his back or in his hands, he took in a slow deep breath of relief that escaped him in a sigh of near ecstasy. The day had been grueling. His wrists chafed from the ropes that had bound him to the outside of his cage, and the other bruises that Adnah or the others had delivered upon him through the course of the day ached… but there had been no mistaking what they had done, or why they were so angry about it… why they'd beaten him upside the head as they rushed him from the tent.

They had let him go…

He looked around, appreciating how the heavy clouds still overhead shone with golden sunlight from the West, showing that the dreary weather was blowing steadily away. Everything seemed fresh and sweet and somehow ethereally beautiful. It was the exact same clearing he'd sat in for at least nine previous evenings… but it looked so different knowing that no one could chase him down and drag him back into a filthy and claustrophobic cage.

Adnah had not been there when he'd been released. The man had been careful to avoid being anywhere near for most of the afternoon, and now Erik suspected it was because he was fuming over whatever had brought his captors to the decision to free him. No doubt if Adnah had remained nearby once he was free of the tent, there would have been a fight that displeased someone… but who?

"It's good to see you out of there."

He turned in surprise to see Arabella only a few strides away. The wetness of the day had made it difficult to hear anyone approaching, and he was very glad it hadn't been Adnah sneaking up on him to ambush him. Arabella was carrying a large bundle of fabric in her arms, and behind her stood her grandmother and the new bride, Sarima, each with their own baskets heavy with a jumble of items he didn't so much as attempt to identify. Sarima was looking at him curiously, with a touch of trepidation, but Erik found he didn't mind her almost sidelong stare. Tsifia had more of a scowl of displeasure on her face, but showed no signs of outright hostility.

"Bella…" he greeted with a smile. "What are you doing?"

"She's being a savior." Sarima stated simply with an impish glint to her eyes. "It's what we all know she's the best at."

Tsifia snorted with a miniscule shake of her head. Her derisive humor made Erik lift his non-existent eyebrows and return his gaze to the warm eyes of his friend. Arabella was absolutely glowing with pleasure, her shoulders squared off with a pride he'd never seen in her before.

"Come with us." She commanded gently, brushing by him so that their arms actually touched for the briefest of seconds. With the flame-colored shawl still draped over her shoulders, she didn't seem to even notice… but Erik did. He noticed everything about Arabella… and knew how unusual it was for her to step particularly close to any other living creature without thought.

All he could think to do was obey, wondering what in the world she could be up to. The three women marched through the camp, making rather a spectacle as they led Erik with their arms heavy with items. It took him several minutes before he realized he was suddenly in the depths of the gypsy community… an area he'd never dared attempt to really enter before. There were curious and amused glanced coming from every side, mixed in with a few more hostile or wary glances and words. A few even tried to ward of the evil eye as he strode past, spitting at the ground and cursing under their breaths.

"Here we are!" Arabella announced, stepping into a tent that seemed out of place amidst the very carefully spaced ones around it. It was nearly sharing a wall with another tent, it was so close. For a second, Erik actually thought that maybe it was like the red tent he'd spent so much time in, with two rooms instead of one. But… as he ducked to follow all three girls inside… he realized it indeed was a separate tent. The inside was sparse, with only a pallet in one corner on the ground, covered in a thin blanket and barely adequate pillow. Across from the pallet was a stool that looked like it would fall apart without too much effort, and a lopsided but serviceable table.

Tsifia and Sarima placed their baskets down beside the table and stool, while Arabella knelt down to lay her fabric more carefully atop the pallet. Then, standing quickly, she and the women turned to face Erik almost as one.

"You've been set free." The oldest woman told him simply, still looking not-quite pleased… but not angry, either. Erik focused his eyes on her, knowing who she was but having rarely been very close to her physically. She'd never taken particular interest in Erik, and he felt her indifference every time she looked at him. "Our Viadi has granted disrobireja for you… although it is on the condition you will share your earnings with the men who started you here… and you will share all your good fortunes with the camp as a whole."

Erik blinked at her in surprise. At first, he felt nothing but indignation at the concept of sharing any of his fortune with others when he was the one who rightly earned it… but he supposed Vlad and Sven would have rather killed him and used his true corpse as an attraction. He supposed it was at least something close to fair that he continue to supplement their lost income with his own earning… at least until he could figure out how to weasel his way out of it.

"I am grateful…" he admitted uncertainly to the older woman. He could feel Arabella's nearly glowing eyes burning into him as he stood awkwardly in the doorway to the tent.

"You should be." Tsifia stated gruffly. "Arabella has done everything in her meager ability to free you herself. It isn't much of a surprise to anyone at this point… although how far she went once it was agreed you'd be freed … that is beyond a surprise. It is… unheard of…"

"I still don't understand why." Arabella mumbled, drawing Erik's eye fully for the first time since entering the slight gloom of the off-white canvas tent. She took a step towards him once his attention had been drawn from Tsifia, and smiled brightly.

"What does she mean?" he asked her quietly. "What have you done?"

Arabella blushed – actually blushed – making her cheeks burn bright with a flattering color he'd never seen on her before. It actually seemed to heat the entire tent. Slowly, she spread her arms out around them to indicate the space they stood in.

"This is yours." She told him simply. "It was going to be a tent for a couple who will soon be moving into their own tent with their new baby… but…"

She bit on her lower lip uneasily, and Erik remembered there had recently been a death in the camp. Everyone was still mourning the loss of a mother and infant. He didn't know any of the details, and had barely been able to catch on to any of the superstitions and rituals involved… but he supposed the tent hadn't been burned because it hadn't technically belonged to anyone yet. His lips pressed together in a line of sympathy for the lost souls…

Then, he realized what she had said, and nearly dropped the violin case her first musical gift had been resting in since she gave it to him. He felt the air leave his lungs in a disbelieving rush as he stepped further into the tent to gaze around him in amazement. He took greater notice of the baskets Tsifia and Sarima had carried in, realizing that they contained enough cookware, plate, bowl, utensils, and cups, for a single user. There was also a large porcelain bowl he instantly recognized as a wash basin and a pitcher to go with it. He was beginning to be able to smell some simple food and ingredients, and was beyond amazed to realize one of the items was actually a coffee pot sitting beside the beans he's use to make the strong black liquid.

"M-mine?" he asked warily. He wasn't afraid that this was a trick… Arabella would never try such a thing, or allow it to be played on him. But he still couldn't quite bring himself to believe it.

"Of course!" Arabella laughed, speaking for all of them now. The other two women had obviously only come along to help her bring his new belongings in. "You'll have to replace a lot of these things in time, obviously… but… no one gave you something that was outright broken or useless."

He glanced at the cloth on his pallet. Arabella had laid down a large heavy blanket, and several sets of clothes.

He almost felt tears prickling the back of his eyes as his heart expanded with warmth and affection… and simple emotion. His mother had always provided for him. In fact, he'd been rather a spoiled brat in comparison to so many of the gypsy children he saw running around him daily. He knew more luxury than they could ever so much as dream up… but nothing had ever touched him like this. His mother's gifts had been meant to divert him from mischief, to follow through with a sense of maternal duty or to keep him out of her way. These gifts, even if gathered from people who had no feeling for him at all – except maybe disgust, mistrust, and hatred – had been collected by someone who'd used nothing but her heart to bring him to this place that was entirely his.

He knew better. God help him, he knew better… but he couldn't bring himself to speak to her with Tsifia and Sarima staring on. Clearing his throat, he took in a shaky breath, and nodded to the two women who were mere strangers to him.

"Thank you, Madams." He murmured. "Could I… could I speak with Arabella… please...? Alone...?"

The last word came out so timid that it sounded like an eight-year-old had been speaking. Still, the room went so still and quiet he was suddenly convinced his words had cast them all in stone. Tsifia's shoulders stiffened and Arabella's mouth dropped open slightly in shock. Sarima paled and then flushed, her lips setting into a firm and unpleasant line. He felt himself wanting to shrink until he melted into the ground and vanished, but found himself squaring his own shoulders instead and setting his jaw slightly. He didn't want to appear intimidating… but he wasn't about to appear weak and childlike again.

Tsifia very slowly turned her fiery gaze onto Arabella, who knotted her fingers together a little nervously. At the same instant, Sarima seemed to realize that she'd forgotten something imperative that needed to be done elsewhere, and she thawed enough to stiffly half-run from the tent.

"It isn't proper to be alone with a man in his tent when you are unmarried." Tsifia finally stated without as much heat in her voice as Erik could see in her eyes. He glanced away anxiously, cursing inwardly at his stupidity. He had known better than to ask such a thing.

No one had taught him such a behavior at home, since he'd been too young to be considered a threat to any young woman's reputation… and he'd never been alone with any woman other than his mother or her friend. But he'd more than learned the propriety of women needing chaperones to see men since he came here. He wished he'd known such boundaries long before running away. It was a wicked little knife he could have used to torment his poor mother some more while she went out with that… that Doctor…

Arabella seemed to be waiting for her grandmother to make the decision for her. But the older woman simply stood and stared at her expectantly. Anxiously, Arabella glanced between Tsifia and Erik for a long minute before nodding briefly.

"Just for a minute or two, bunica…" she requested in something that could barely be called a whisper. "We… aren't used to talking around others."

Erik's eyes sharpened on Arabella, wondering why she was using such a dull excuse… but it seemed to be enough to satisfy her grandmother. Tsifia nodded sharply and then began striding toward the door. She paused near Erik, looking up at him squarely without even the hint of a flinch as she took in his face close up for the first time ever.

"I'll be right outside." She told her granddaughter, still looking pointedly at him. "You have a few minutes, but then I am coming back in here."

Arabella huffed out a sigh of exasperation and rolled her eyes.

"If you insist." She conceded. "Not that it's necessary."

Tsifia stiffened just as she was about to walk through the threshold.

"You're my granddaughter." She nearly growled. "My daughter has already shamed me. I'll be damned before I let you follow in her footsteps."

"Oh, for Heaven's sake!" Arabella laughed. "My mother ran away and eloped with a gaje dog! I'm having a conversation with my didikai! Hardly the same thing!"

Tsifia merely shook her head as she stepped outside, remaining close enough that Erik could actually still see her shadow on the canvas of the wall. He stared after her for a long moment, feeling a thick hot scratchiness in his throat that tasted of salt and mucus. Slowly, he returned his eyes to Arabella. In spite of the uncomfortable moments since his last words, he hardly felt over the emotions coursing through him.

She continued standing with her fingers laced fretfully together, looking up at him with curious excitement and nervousness. She looked lovely, flushed pink as she was with her embarrassment over her grandmother's uneasiness over leaving them alone. He hesitated, not knowing what he was going to say… or how he was going to speak at all past that lump in his throat.

"Why?" he finally whispered.

Her brow knitted in clear confusion.

"What?" she asked dubiously.

"Why are you doing all this for me?" he insisted. "I know it's how you are… that it's what you do. Everyone in the entire camp knows it… But you've never done anything like this. Every gift you give me, or evening you spend sitting and talking to me… it makes people talk more and more. It can't be normal for you to go this far… So why?"

"Well…" Arabella fidgeted, glancing around a little as though realizing being alone with him actually might not have been the best decision she'd ever made. But she stood her ground. "You're my friend, Erik."

A golden light shot through him, like the bright hot blaze of a shooting star. They'd used the word before, but never so simply and adequately. Still, that brilliance left behind a slight pang.

"Yes…" he agreed. "I know that. But why? Why am I your friend? The first time you set eyes on me, I hurt you! I don't understand how anyone can be that forgiving! Why have you chosen me out of all the people who you've tried to help?"

Her eyes had widened as he spoke, and her lips had parted in preparation for a quick answer before he even finished his question. But nothing at all came out. She only stared up at him for a long moment, unlocking her hands from their grip on each other, and took an uncertain step back deeper into the tent.

"For one thing…" she finally began slowly. "No one has ever let me. Usually, the people who I've tried to help have been in such a situation for so long that they are too hardened to let friendship in…"

"How hard have you tried?" he demanded.

"Not very…" she confessed with a sheepish smile. "They always suspect I want something in return. Others… sometimes… well… sometimes the men think I'm interested in their differences."
That brought Erik up short for a minute, stunning him so that his mind simply spun from the possibility that had never so much as flickered through his mind. Were there people out there who were more than just morbidly curious about Freaks? Were there people in existence who actually found freaks like him… alluring?

"But… but you aren't." he said in a still bewildered voice, shaking his head.

"No." she agreed. "No, I'm not. No matter what reason they had for not wanting to be my friend, I was also afraid of some of them. They were more than just jaded and dead inside. Some were mean-spirited… they wanted to hurt everything and everyone around them. I had to be careful who I chose to help."

He waited, but she didn't continue.

"So why me?" he persisted. "What did I do other than knock you unconscious the second your wariness slipped?"

"You weren't being malicious about that!" she protested quickly. "Erik, I saw you when they were beating you! I saw how hurt and scared you were – something I know far too much about! I hated seeing that hurt and confused and helpless feeling in your eyes! It was like looking into some horrible mirror!"

He stepped towards her slowly, his eyes wide. He could remember the night she'd collapsed against him, soothed into oblivious sleep by his crooning. She had looked up at him briefly, but hadn't quite met his eyes… just as she hadn't really been able to meet his eyes just the previous evening while telling him how she was marime. She had come to him when it would have been possible to go to her grandmother, to her friend Sarima… hell… even to Adnah for help. But she'd chosen him. She'd trusted no one else with her pain… and he wondered just how well she must have hidden it from the others in her life.

"I … I thought…" Arabella's eyes had begun to water with tears, and she turned quickly to hide them, starting to pick up all the clothes on his pallet and carefully arranging them. It wasn't much work, considering he had no bureau or wardrobe to place them in. "I thought that if I could fix that look in your eyes… if I could make it go away…"

She stopped talking – and moving – to take a shaky, watery breath. Erik found himself slowly moving towards her, as though she was reeling him in on a line. One hand lifted to touch her arm, but he didn't dare. They had their brief unconscious moments of physical contact, but he was keenly aware she wasn't fond of being touched.

"I just… I needed to make it stop for you." She whispered. "Especially once I began to know you. Once I learned about the things you could do… your voice and your magic tricks… your vocal tricks… all the things you've shared with me since… You have something so precious and different inside you, Erik… I didn't want it to be destroyed. You have this thing in you… something that died in me so long ago…"

That was it… Erik realized abruptly, yanking his hand away from her when it almost reached out to her of its own accord. He glanced down at his traitorous hand in consternation a moment, but looked back up to her in wonder. They each saw reflections of themselves… and they each wanted to reach out and restore the cracks in the mirrors… as though that would make them whole again. But somewhere along the way, they'd had to decide it was worth any risk to keep trying to patch up the damage that had been done.

"Bella…" he sighed, leaning back on one heel so as to keep his stubborn body from reaching out yet again without his consent. She turned to look up at him, having blinked away any sign of her threatening tears. "You've given me so much more than I can ever give you in return. I wish I could explain to you just what that means to me… But I hope you know that I will do quite literally anything you need… No matter what it is…"

"You don't owe me, Erik." She protested, a little fire returning to her eyes – a fire he was grateful for in spite of her misunderstanding. "I did the things I did because I wanted to. I don't want to see you hurt. It's more than my silly self-martyrdom people accuse me of. It's more with you. Your pain hurts me; hurts my heart."

She turned away from him again, clearly without any way to distract herself with the clothes any longer. Her eyes fell on the baskets of necessities, but clearly didn't want to begin arranging his place that thoroughly. She would leave that to him, seeing as how he would probably like to have a say on where his things went. She didn't realize how little Erik cared about where such things were kept. Wherever she might have put them, he would have gladly kept them there religiously from that moment on, because she'd been kind enough to think of doing it.

"I don't think I owe you." Erik promised gently. "But I want you to understand… you've given me the power to make the offer and hold true to it. Are you my savior? Yes! Do I owe you…? …Maybe a little. But I am not one who thinks about debts too seriously. I want to be there the way you've tried to be there for me. So… if you ever need me… let me be there."

She began to turn and look up at him, but whatever she'd been thinking of saying was interrupted when the flap to his tent was ripped back from the door. They both turned sharply, jumping away from each other as Tsifia glowered in. It wasn't necessary to jump apart. They hadn't been within touching distance anymore… but Erik had a feeling he should feel guilty about something. The moment had seemed… intimate, somehow.

"Time to go…" Tsifia said simply. "Let the … let Erik settle in."

As Arabella bowed her head to walk by him and obey her grandmother, Erik watched Tsifia as she pressed a gentle hand to Arabella's back. There was tender warmth beneath the steel of her gaze, even as she finally offered him a begrudging smile of farewell.

Arabella looked over her shoulder at him and managed a bewildered smile that made him catch his breath.

"Bon soir, Erik." She offered, using the faltering French he'd been laboriously teaching her on occasion.

He stepped up to the threshold of his tent and watched as she went away, her arm wrapped around her grandmother's back in a reflection of her Tsifia's embrace. She swallowed thickly, the lump gone from his throat at last as an almost terrible glowing softness warmed his insides.

"Bon soir, ma belle…"

Ma Belle... His secret little nickname for her was not going to be a secret much longer. Not when every word she said - and every move that she made - inspired the words into his mind. He'd never known a soul so utterly beautiful.

As beautiful and fragile as stained glass.

Za: Go

Viadi: Gypsy Chief

Disrobireja: Emancipation from slavery

Didikai: Gypsy friend (honestly I think this is probably used in a much more ritualistic manner, but I couldn't help it!)

Bon Soir: Good evening