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I open my eyes and stretch. I have had several dreams, and they've all been very tiresome. The bed is empty, and I look around for Erik. I give a little surprised start when I see him. He is in his chair by my bed, and he is asleep. I do not think I have ever seen him in a slumber before. Wondering if I am likely to ever see him like this again, I take a moment to study him without his knowledge.

When his eyes are closed, the shadows around him eyes are less pronounced and his face looks fuller, as if the hollowness in his cheeks in only magnified by his hollow eyes. His mouth is closed, and it's turned down into a frown. He does not look peaceful, but I can imagine that he is.

I can see that my room looks less than it usually does. There are so many bedcovers around me that I might have misplaced my bed if I was not lying on it. Buckets of water liter the sides of the room, with white cloths thrown haphazardly over the rims. Even Erik looks a little ruffled; he is wearing no overcoat, and the fabric of his shirt is wrinkly.

I move my arm against my pillow, and Erik's eyes snap open. He sits up instantly and watches me with a wary eye.

"Erik," I smile, and I hold out my hand to him.

He rises, still watching me far too closely, and then comes and kneels next to me. "Christine?" he asks, and he sounds so unsure. It makes me smile in a somber sort of way.

"I'm sorry I woke you…" I say sadly. "You are such a light sleeper, it's ridiculous…"

He puts his hand to my face, and then checks my wrist. He puts his hand on my collarbone. "Breathe." he instructs me, and I inhale, feeling a little raspiness in my throat. "Can you swallow?" he questions quietly, and I demonstrate. He releases my hand and feels my arm. I feel a little sweaty, but other than that, I am fine.

I see such relief break out over his face, a look of explosive unconcern that had been lacking only moments ago. He keeps his hand on my arm for another minute, watching me take carefully measured breaths, two of his fingers tapping in time with my heartbeat.

Alas, it seems that now Erik is satisfied with my condition, he remembers why I was sick in the first place. His face changes to a look of discipline. "Why did you not come back when it was cold? Why did you not listen to me?"

"But—well, I am all better now—"

"The point is that you disobeyed me! And it very well could have cost you your life!" He takes his hand and pulls my face towards him roughly. "Do you know me? Do you know who I am?"

Now I am simply confused. "Of course I know—"

"Yesterday, you didn't! All last week, you did not know who I was! And I had to sit here, with nothing to do for you, and I had to watch you in pain, had to watch you cry out, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it!"

I cringe away from him and kick off the many covers on top of me. When I try to sit up, he takes both of his hands and presses them into my shoulders, forcing me to lean back. Each contour of my body feels heavy and weak, as if I have not exercised a single muscle for several days. Erik drags his hand down to my waist so he can hoist me up to a comfortable position, and then stands up once more, pacing by the bed.

"You could hardly understand." he hisses softly, and I have the distinct impression that he is talking to himself. "Christine is perfect; has been perfect, will be perfect, and is perfect. If any harm befalls her, or anything of dark nature comes upon her, it must be because of me! She was perfect, until I took her!"

He continues muttering like this until I give a melodramatic sigh. "Must you blame yourself for everything?"

"Must you constantly bother Erik?" he snaps. "He is thinking."

"You are not thinking. You are blaming yourself!"

"Well, who else have I to blame? It is not your fault that I did not give you something warmer to wear… so who shall I blame?" He looks at me, as if daring me to challenge his response.

"I should have been responsible enough to take care of myself," I offer, but he is shaking his head before I am done.

"No, no, Christine has Erik to care for her. I like caring for you, my sweetest. But I failed you that night, and I was punished by having to watch you… watch you like this…" His voice breaks at the end, and he turns away, resuming his fervent pacing once more.

I sit up, surprised by the dizziness that comes with it. I manage to pull my shocked face together to glare at him, and then swing my legs over the side of the bed.

He sighs, comes over, and then picks me up. I bury my face into the crook of his arm, and rest my head there for a moment. He moves his arms ever so slightly in a rocking motion, and then carefully drags his fingers across the top of my head. "Was I close… to dying?" I ask timidly, ashamed by the way my voice twinges.

"Erik overreacted." he explains. "Erik just cannot stand to see you in any pain. He grew frightened."

I let that sink it for a moment. "I'm sorry I did not listen to you." I murmur. For some reason, Erik stiffens, and his hands grow so tight.

"Erik feels angry!" he says aloud. "But he cannot be angry at you. You are so sweet, so tender, and you are right here, against me…" He lets his arm bring me closer to his side, being careful not to crush me. I can feel him taking a deep breath, as though he is trying to calm himself. I count to ten, and he still holds onto me.

I push off of him and lean back on my covers. "Have I been sick for a very long time?" I can hardly recall when I came to lie down… I had a headache, and I had thrown up with Erik… it all seemed like a very, long time ago, in a different setting I couldn't quite place.

He looks at me dispassionately. "Over a week, my little angel."

I stare at him blankly. "A—week?"

He nods, looking at me. He looks disappointed that I have taken myself out of his arms. I sit back, trying to digest this new information. I thought I had only fallen asleep! "Was I awake?"

He hesitates. "You were not yourself. You were hallucinating. I…I would touch you, and you would scream…"

He would touch me, and I would scream.

He had touched me… and I had screamed?

Wicked Christine! What else had I done to him?

His words pierce a hole right through my heart. I could picture too clearly the scene in my mind: Erik reaching, trying to comfort me, as I shriek when his cold, dead hands touch my own. I know Erik far too well to assume my reaction had no effect in him. "Erik, you know I would never—"

"No need to justify it." he interrupts briskly. "As I said, you were not yourself. And my hands are cold, my dear. No one, not even you, can deny such an undisguised fact." As if to prove his point, he puts his fingers at the base of my neck, where the freezing cold shocks me as I try desperately not to respond.

"It's alright." he croons. "I know it, and you know it. There is no use in either of us hiding it."

I press my lips to his knuckles. "I love you anyway."

"Yes, I know."

"And I apologize for anything I might have said or done to offend you."

I should have known he would take that statement way of context.

He straightens. "Does that concern where you adamantly refused the sweater I tried to give you?" He scowls at me. "How could I possibly send you out for walks now? And summer is ending, which means that the air will be growing even colder. Do you hear the utter absurdity of your statement? You think you offended Erik? You think that getting sick and struggling to breath offends Erik, or terrifies him? No more walks for you!" He brings himself up to his full height and stares down at me with a clever eye. "You must stay here with your Erik—his skin may not be warm, but his house certainly is!"

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