A/N: I've fought with this chapter since before my last post. Please PLEASE PLEASE review!

I was told (by someone who only bothered reading this chapter instead of the whole story) that it was confusing. Hopefully I've now edited it to be more linear and comprehensive. I need to know how I've done or I'll never have the confidence to write the next chapter – which I'm already fighting with… but at least now I don't have to stick with a specific injury; which I did in several incarnations of the stubborn chapter.

"I'm looking for you." Erik forced himself to keep his voice even and low. "Your grandmother and I were worried about you."

Closing her eyes, Arabella pressed her lips tightly together, her tongue peeking out between them just for a moment out of nervous habit. Slowly, she turned away from him again and her eyes focused back on her weak weapon. She sat up straighter, her supportive hand on the ground no longer necessary as she tried to hide the object from his view. Erik being there made things much more complicated. She'd been working up the courage to do what needed doing for well over an hour, and now having someone else there meant interference…

"What are you going to do, ma belle?" he demanded uneasily. Arabella moaned miserably at his now so common nickname; barely registering how his voice trembled with anxiety. Yes… he was definitely there to interfere… and she didn't know how to stop him. It wasn't as though she'd picked a particularly brilliant weapon.

"I-I don't know!" she admitted, shaking her head slightly. "I know what I should do! I know what I want to do!"

He moved silently, and suddenly he was only a few arm lengths' away from her side. It was too late to hide anything she was thinking of doing from him. He saw her… saw her as no one else ever had.

Why was I so open with him? Why did I dare to let anyone so close?

"Bella… whatever it is you're thinking… you don't need to do it."

He glanced to one side as though searching for something or someone, and Arabella sighed shakily with the realization that for once he hadn't followed her by himself.

"Your grandmother is working her way toward us." He admitted quietly. "Should we talk about this before she gets here? Or… would you rather speak to her?"

She shook her head again; frantically. She didn't want either of them with her at that moment. No matter how much she cared for both of them, their presence only made her solution to her problems that much more difficult – and she was having problems enough!

"Why are you here?" she asked again in a low whine. "You don't want to be here!"

"O-of course I want to be here." He stammered, apparently astonished by her assumption.

"No, you don't!" she insisted vehemently. "I'm disgusting to you now! You don't have to keep pretending! I won't force you to be with me!"

From the corner of her eye, she saw just how astonished he really was. Even in the dying moonlight, she could make out the white of his eyes behind his mask. His breathing stopped entirely for a long time. Then, with a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and took another step towards her. Her shoulders stiffened, and he hesitated in acknowledgement that he was making her more uncomfortable, but he didn't back off.

"You do not disgust me." He stated with a firm voice. "Why would you-"

"Stop!" she pleaded. "Erik; just stop pretending!"

He shook his head, clearly unable to understand where her conviction had come from. He'd never hinted that she disgusted him until that night, after all. He probably hadn't even realized what he'd said earlier… he was always so careful of her feelings. But she still found herself wondering what had happened to all his innate genius. It seemed beyond belief that he couldn't simply intuit something after all the feats she'd witnessed him perform.

She could hear Tsifia approaching by then. She must have been close, but Erik had made no move to signal his location to her. Maybe he wasn't even paying enough attention to realize the woman was getting closer, as she could. He was clearly more distracted by her – Arabella – after all. His gaze barely dared to flicker away from her strange choice in weapon for more than a moment at a time.

"Bella…" he breathed. "Why would you think that? What have I done to make you think that? I love you!"

"But you still cannot touch me!"

Her voice rose to such a volume and pitch that she instantly knew Tsifia was going to find them. Erik was actually shaking; he was taken so off guard by her declaration. He blinked hard in shock and stared at her stupidly for endless seconds. Only once did his eyes flicker to one side, as though unconsciously registering something behind her – probably Tsifia's approach. It was, after all, more than audible by that moment. There was no way Arabella ever could have missed her grandmother's haphazard struggle through the forest underbrush.

"What?" Erik breathed; his voice almost without the strength it needed to carry to her. It was nothing but a breath on the air that she heard when it bounced off the cliff wall. It would have been fascinating how such a tiny sound could still echo – had circumstances been different.

She looked back at him, her eyes flashing in pain and anger… holding a hurt betrayal he couldn't restrain any longer. She was still clutching her stick, perhaps a fraction closer to her throat than her torso now, and this sight seemed to alarm him further. She could see him slowly tensing; and she thought of how wild animals would coil before pouncing on prey.

It wasn't too late to use the tool she'd thus far been so pathetically cowardly to use. But Erik would not give her much longer if she wasn't careful. She'd have moved the stick to her other hand but she wasn't even certain it would be easy to unlock her clutching fingers.

"You said:" she stated coolly, although her voice trembled so violently that it jigged up and down almost a full octave. "'I cannot even touch her'."

Shaking his head slightly, Erik seemed to be wondering when he could have possibly insinuated such a thing. His thoughts were so clear in his eyes she almost saw the memory come like a harsh bolt of lightning. She shared that memory with him, tears slipping unbidden down her cheeks once more. It felt like she would never finish crying, and she hated it as not only a moment further of weakness, but as a moment of distraction.

Carefully, he crouched down to be at Arabella's eye level and looked her directly in the eye.

"I didn't mean that." he told her quietly, steadily.

"Arabella?" Tsifia's voice carried softly through the night, tentatively wondering what was happening but unable to clearly see her granddaughter. Arabella couldn't so much as glance at the older woman, not concerned at all with her presence. Erik was the one who's voice she heard, his words the ones she cared about.

"Yes you did!" she accused, more tears spilling down her cheeks. Frustrated, she virtually smacked them away from her face with her free hand.

The pain in Erik's eyes was killing her.

Don't I have enough of my own pain to bear?

The last thing she wanted was to hurt him in any way. She didn't care how much he hurt her… but she wanted was to protect herself. It seemed in order to keep hope away from now on, she needed to go numb and forget other people's emotions existed… but it seemed obvious she was incapable of doing that.

"I said the words." He agreed. "But you mistook my meaning, mira kom."

She shook her head fiercely in denial.

God… I want to believe him! Don't let me believe him!

"You cannot touch me." She repeated. "I already disgusted you. You've been pretending all this time just because you think it is your only chance to have anyone! You were settling on me! Now I'm even filthier and more disgusting than I already was! How can I mistake the meaning of that?"

She wasn't at all surprised by the anger that surged up in his eyes from her accusations. He had every right to be furious at her. It was so much more than her attempt at throwing heartless accusations. Part of her couldn't blame him for wanting to settle – even if it wasn't with her. She would have settled, if she'd felt the same way about being with someone. She'd never expected to want to be with anyone. Erik had changed that; but she recognized that even a man like Adnah would have been settling on her and nothing more – if she'd been with them. She wasn't worth much.

"You are putting words into my mouth!" he snapped; his change in tone making her flinch. "I said that I cannot touch you – yes! But I was referring to your fear of intimacy! I was not referring to me at all!"

Movement out of the corner of her eye distracted her, and she turned her head to look at her grandmother as she worked her way out of the tree line. Immediately, Erik was in front of her and his cold hand had clamped over her wrist. For a split second, she yelped in pain and opened her fingers so that her stick fell out of her grip. The pain of blood finally flowing adequately to that part of her body was a rush of horrible stinging lava – more hurtful than even his grip - but she was distracted by it when Erik caught her pathetic excuse for a weapon and flung it off into the woods.

With an inarticulate cry of denial, she lurched in the direction it sailed, but Erik refused to release her. He held her wrist as firmly as an iron shackle, but he was no longer hurting her. He'd only been using the momentary pain as a way to make her release her tool; and it was long gone now. She couldn't even clearly see where it landed.

"Arabella Lyberia…" Erik's voice was almost like the hiss of a very dangerous snake in its intensity. It was a sound that made you freeze on a rocky hilltop and frantically scan the ground for that small but lethal creature that was so much more dangerous than the bests of the wood. "Look at me."

She tried to avert her eyes from the command alone. For the first time she hated how she always reacted to his voice. Erik wouldn't make it so easy to ignore him, though. He reached out and cupped her cheek with his free palm, thumb cradling her chin in a firm grip so that she couldn't budge without hurting herself even though the grip was utterly painless by itself. His moment of causing physical pain was entirely gone – gone so fast that she'd nearly forgotten about it.

But she was still a prisoner to his hands. He hadn't even released her wrist yet.

"Please…" she whimpered, and it humiliated her to hear the note of despair in her voice. "Please… I don't want to live like this."

"Arabella!" Tsifia sounded mortified as she finally got close enough to hear the conversation. She was hurrying closer, her shawl flapping like broken wings around her arms. "Erik – let her go!"

"No." Erik stated simply, turning his mouth vaguely in the older woman's direction but keeping his eyes locked on Arabella's. "She needs to understand this."

"Erik." Tsifia repeated warningly. "You are man-handling my grandchild."

"I am trying to save her!" he pressed in a half-shout that seemed to make Tsifia cower. "If you trust me to become her husband, trust me with her now or you never truly will!"

He waited until Arabella's shifting eyes could no longer resist his, and then stared at her for what seemed like endless minutes. She found her gut shaking at the intensity of his gaze, desperately fighting the softness that tried to invade her being at his deceivingly earnest eyes. She couldn't let herself fall into that gaze, or believe the promises it silently made… She couldn't let herself hope again when it was so clear that her life was over – no matter how many more years she lived on the earth.

"I love you." He whispered. "I will always love you. The only disgust I feel is for the bastard that did this to you. Your condition does not bother me in the slightest."

Tsifia stepped forward; apparently eager to hear what he was murmuring to her. He was so talented with that voice of his; he must have been pitching it just right to keep it between the two of them.

"Can we please continue this conversation back at camp?" the old woman asked anxiously, her eyes skimming the forest. Arabella remembered suddenly just how superstitious she ought to have been about coming here at night like her grandmother clearly was. How odd that she'd been so distraught that it hadn't even occurred to her to worry about demons far worse than Erik was perceived to be.

Erik ignored her.

"Just thinking of you as a mother tonight made me feel so happy for you… and so proud." Erik's voice continued, startling her thoughts back to him with the context of his words.

Arabella flinched slightly, wondering exactly what it was about bearing a child of incest that could inspire pride. His words were meant to reassure her, but she felt herself instead wondering just how broken he must think she was to believe a misbegotten child was the key to fixing her.

"H-how?" she asked. "How can you possibly be happy for me?"

"Because, mira kom." He smiled gently. "No matter whom the father is; this is still your child. Any child of yours could be nothing but a beloved miracle to me."

She grimaced slightly, without the ability to actually flinch this time in his grasp. She tried to shake her head, but he was still cradling her chin. This child was no miracle! It was a curse!

"Bella…" he continued. "You have claimed countless times that you will never be able to share your body with me, and I've accepted the possibility that you're right. But that means we could never have children ourselves.

"…Honestly… I wouldn't dare have children of my own with anyone, regardless. There is far too much risk of my children coming out a physical abomination - like me."

She wanted to shake her head, this time to protest his view of a child all his own. But that would imply he had a hold over her… She couldn't ever let him think that again.

Her eyes wandered away the best they could.

If she showed him that she still cared - that he could hurt her still – then he would continue pretending… he would feel obligated to continue his path with her.

"But your child?" he persisted. "Perhaps it won't look perfect, but it will not look like a living corpse. It would give you the chance to have a family. Are you going to dare tell me you don't want a family of your own?"

"Maybe you should tell her the good news, Erik." Tsifia interrupted quickly. "I think it would be more than sufficient to give her the reason you're looking for."

Arabella's eyes returned to Erik, her brow furrowing in confusion. Her expression made him instantly leap forward with the suggestion, the hand on her wrist instead grasping her shoulder as his grip on her chin lightened. She took the opportunity to lean her head back slightly, but his skin remained pressed to hers even though he didn't renew his grasp.

"Ma belle…" he began gently, smiling. "Your grandmother has given me her blessing to ask you to marry me."

For a moment, she merely stared at him, unable to process this news for long moments. Then, realizing what must have brought this on, she jerked out of his grip entirely and glaring up at her grandmother.

"How could you?" she demanded. "How could you put him in such a position? It isn't his responsibility!"

"I said nothing!" Tsifia denied, raising her hands up helplessly. "My sweet Aminta; I would never-"

"No, mira kom, you misunderstand!" Erik insisted, inserting himself between Tsifia and Arabella quickly. He clearly didn't realize that Tsifia had just called Arabella by an entirely different name. Or… maybe he just didn't care. Seeming to decide the night was cooling; he shrugged out of his heavy coat and reached out to wrap it about her slender shoulders.

The warmth from his body immediately crept into her own – which had apparently chilled considerably since her flight from the tent. It was another sensation she found evoked emotional warmth that terrified her. She wanted to throw the clothing off of her in rejection. But, just as she'd been unable to plunge that stick into her body, she now found herself unable to reject even the most impersonal act of kindness he offered. How was she supposed to object to anything he did when he constantly affected her so strongly? How could she possibly save him from being eternally stuck with her?

"This was not her doing. I asked her for the honor." Erik explained carefully.

She gaped at him, her breath having frozen in her lungs.

"Why?" she demanded in a disbelieving whisper.

"Did you not hear me?" he asked. "Arabella… I love you. I don't want you – although of course you already know I'm capable of desire. I don't pity you. I love you. How many more ways must I tell you?"

"Bella, no gaje man would take a gypsy as his wife out of honor." Tsifia pointed out; her tone far harsher than Arabella thought necessary. "It's one of the reasons your father was put up with for so many years! A part of him must have loved your mother – at least in the beginning."

She finally faced her grandmother fully for the first time, glaring in fury at the older woman. She couldn't believe that Tsifia had chosen now to suddenly change all her views on tradition and reputation. All Arabella wanted was to save Erik… not trap him.

Tsifia was again glancing around them; and Arabella realized that her grandmother's superstitions had all but taken over her sense of protectiveness for her granddaughter's safety. She was always so concerned with sources of outside evil… it was what had kept her from knowing the true depths of Arabella's pain for so many years.

So… her grandmother was currently just trying to move their conversation into the relative safety of a tent.

How absurd!

"Erik knows it will still carry a stigma!" she insisted. "He knows what we'll face if he claims the baby as his own!"

It was true, wasn't it? Why should Erik marry her, and be saddled with being claimed as the father of a child that wasn't his rightful heir? Why should he put his own life in danger so deliberately? Their fantasies had been beautiful; but she'd always known that that was all they could be. If Erik tried to marry her now, the gypsies would kill him.

"At least it will be a stigma created out of an honorable – if unfavorable – union." Tsifia pressed. "Open your eyes, girl! Look Erik in the eye and tell him you don't believe that he loves you!"

"I can't…" Arabella breathed, squeezing her eyes tightly shut as she fought back the instinct to obey her grandmother without question. "I can't make you settle for me. You deserve so much better than me, Erik."

"Mira kom…" Erik moaned softly. "I am not settling on anything. How many times have we both said 'I love you'? Do you think two people that love each other so much are really settling?"

She forced herself to open her eyes bit by bit, seeing for the first time the shadow resting against Erik's hip, before lifting her gaze to his face as she realized what it was. It wasn't the first time she'd ever seen his knife, but he usually kept it better concealed. He must have used it recently and not bothered properly hiding it on his person afterward.

Distracted, she shook her head to try and seriously think about his question; but it was so difficult when there was a brand new temptation nearby promising much easier completion of the task she'd been ready to perform with the stick.

"Erik…" she began slowly, struggling so hard against wisps of hope that she nearly trembled.

Hope and determination fought within her.

"You cannot touch me the way you want to… and I cannot look at you the way I want to."

"That I can touch you in any way is a miracle, Bella." Erik protested. "But what do you mean that you cannot look at me?"

She could remember the day she suggested Adnah allow Erik something to cover his face with. She remembered telling him how a simple amount of human dignity might make him more reasonable to the people who beat and caged him. She'd been right. Simply being able to cover his face had put Erik almost instantly in a state of something close to cordiality with people around him – at least compared to what his thoughts and actions had been. The moment he was covered from view unless he was performing, he became less irascible. He did far less to earn the wrath of his keepers. She, herself, had begun working around his mask the best she could in a different way; trying to persuade him that his mask was more ridiculous than his face and that he shouldn't feel he needed to hide it… but he hadn't listened to her.

"You don't trust me." She breathed. "You don't trust me to look at you and love you…"

For a moment she recalled the conversation with Adnah about giving Erik a mask. The following week Erik had been covering his face with a cloth. Since that first glimpse of him hiding himself, she'd discovered she hated it. She'd done all in her power to convince him that it wasn't necessary – particularly around her. But Erik hadn't believed her – or at least hadn't listened to her.

"You shouldn't have to look at me." Erik murmured, edging closer to her on his knees and trying to reach out for her hands. She twitched away from his grasp, making him pull slowly back once more in defeat. "You shouldn't have to endure looking at me, or being touched by me… or even being befriended by me. You deserve worlds more than what I can offer you. When I'm with you and beneath my mask, at least I can pretend I am handsome enough to be appealing to you.

"I don't want to pretend!" she exclaimed, glancing up at her anxious and silent grandmother as though to look for shared outrage; but Tsifia was holding very still, merely watching with her black shawl clutched about her.

She didn't understand why her grandmother wasn't interfering more. She'd always been in such control over Arabella; although all her control had been meant to help and love her rather than abuse and dominate her. Why was she so quiet and still now? Why was she letting Erik handle this? What had changed – particularly considering how much she wanted to return to camp and tuck herself away for the night? She was visibly fighting every instinct to walk off and take cover just for Arabella's sake… but she stood there saying and doing next to nothing.

"I…" Erik cleared his throat uneasily, bringing her attention back to him. "I'm sorry… But I want to. I want to pretend that I'm handsome enough to deserve you… that I've loved you so well that you've given me a child. I want to pretend so that you never have to think about the actual origin of your baby; so that you can be happy – or at least content – with the ability to love it as it deserves. We'll always know the truth… but … Bella… let me pretend. Let me make your child mine…"

She could never let Erik take responsibility for her happiness… or for her predicament. The last thing she wanted was for him to feel obligated to give her child a legitimate father. She didn't want him to grow to resent them both because she'd been had by another man – her own father – and was too cowardly to do what needed to be done.

It did need to be done. Erik needed to be saved his burden, as she needed to be saved hers. She refused to give birth to a child that by all rights should never have been conceived. She refused to allow Erik's false sense of honor to be what drew them together. It was worse than any thought of Erik lying about his feelings just to finally experience her love out of selfish greed (which she didn't believe).

"I want a husband who trusts me to look him in the face without flinching." She whispered, her hand forcing itself away from his tender grip and resting on her knee as she leaned forward to meet his eyes. Her other hand slowly rose up towards his mask, pressing against the hard material with enough pressure to make him feel it. To her surprise, he leaned into her touch instead of jerking away.

There was a very long silence as Tsifia, Erik, and Arabella all held their breath.

"Madam…" Erik murmured quietly, turning to face Tsifia imploringly. "I know I'm asking something forbidden… but may I please once again have a moment alone with your granddaughter?"

Arabella felt fine tremors run through her at the thought of what she was doing as her grandmother wordlessly walked away into the woods. It wasn't at all fair to play on Erik's sense of guilt. It wasn't right to use his promise to do anything that made her happy… but she wasn't trying to be mean to Erik.

She wasn't just trying to manipulate him. She was also being as honest as she could be… wanting more than anything to be allowed just one sincere look at his face without all his barriers raised between them.

While he was distracted by Tsifia's departure, her hand moved from his wrist and closed over his haphazardly sheathed knife. Erik immediately begin to draw back to figure out what was going on, but she was already throwing herself back and away from him – the knife now the item clutched in her fist. He was trying to clamp his hand over her wrist again before he'd even turned back to her, but this time he was too slow.

"I'm sorry…" she whimpered as she drew her elbow sharply back and turned the blade on herself.

Mira Kom: My (fem) love.

Ma Belle: My beauty