Erik stood in the doorway of the bedroom. She had fallen asleep on top of the blankets, and was curled up for warmth. Whatever had haunted her mind minutes before was obviously past, and in sleep her face held none of the animosity that it sometimes did while she was awake. He almost hated to wake her, but her bandage had to be changed, and that was not something she could do herself because of its location.

He moved closer to the bed and looked down at her. It was strange to him, having another living, breathing human being there. He almost expected her to turn on him at any moment, tear off his mask and scream. Still, she had only said that she wanted to leave, never anything about hating him. How could she hate him? After all, he had saved her life, hadn't he? He looked down at her again, and for a moment, the thought crossed his mind that he could use her as more than an advocate in l'Opera. His investment could pay dividends larger than what he had originally planned…

"What the hell are you doing?" She had woken to him standing directly above her. She gathered the covers around her, recalling the earlier incident, then remembered she had clothing on. "Do you always stand above other people while they sleep? I could have killed you, you loony!"

He backed away. He did not fear her, but her raving was not something he wanted to feel as well as hear. "I doubt you could have killed me, Mlle. Pencombe. You would hardly have stood before the pain brought you down."

"I've been standing all bloody day and the pain hasn't doubled me over yet!" She placed her feet on the floor, ready to prove it to him. She pushed her weight to her feet, but never quite made it to standing. Her face went the color of whey and she fell back down to the bed, her breath escaping in a pained whisper.

He crossed the room again and helped her lay down again. He lifted the shirt, which she tried to prevent. Even through the dried blood on the bandage he could make out fresh crimson. "You've reopened it. It'll have to be stitched again. Lay here, I'll get the whiskey." He stood to leave, but she grabbed his hand, a gesture that made him a bit skittish.

"Just get it over with."

"You will squirm too much with the pain."

Cecily fixed him with a look that would have withered roses. "I will be fine. Just get it over with, damn you!" Each word came out a measured hiss, and Erik realized that if he did not do it as she asked, she would likely try to kill him if she survived. It was a revelation he did not appreciate. Threats were his to make, not to receive.

Nonetheless, he retrieved the needle, scissors, and thread from a nearby table. "As you wish, mademoiselle. Do not expect me to be particularly kind because you choose to be obstinate."

She turned her face away and he began his work. He unwrapped the bandages, anger preventing the thoughts that had come to him the first time he had tended her wound. He pulled the last bit away a little more roughly than he should have, but he didn't pause to think of it. As he had thought, the careful stitches of the night before were ripped in several places, and her skin was separating at the knife's slash.

As he touched the cloth to her wound to staunch the bleeding so he could begin, he felt her stiffen. If she is pained now, she'll be in Hell momentarily. He placed the stitches in swiftly, each a little less even then the one before, but all would hold. To his great surprise, she did not move again. He bound his work tightly, not allowing for much mobility. He did this for her own sake, so she could not reopen it again, but also for his own. Her threat still echoed in his mind, and he wanted to keep all parts of him intact.

"There, I'm finished." She didn't reply, and if it weren't for the rise and fall of her chest, he may have thought she was dead. "Mademoiselle?" Still no answer. "Cecily?" He moved to the other side, convinced she was unconscious. Instead, her eyes were open. She turned her face to the pillow, but not before he saw her tears. Even the pillow was wet. His voice softened. "Cecily? Do you need something?"

"Wnc nigoack?" Her muffled voice was unintelligible, and he held back a smile.

"What?"

She lifted her head. "When can I go back?"

The question caught him off guard. "When your wound doesn't require so much care. At this point, you still need someone else's help, and if you returned, it could raise questions that neither of us want answered?"

She bit her upper lip in thought. "How long?"

"A day or two, but you will have to be careful for several weeks afterward."

"A day?"

He nodded. "At the least."

He turned to leave, but her voice caught him. "Erik?"

"Yes, Cecily?" It occurred to him that formalities did not stand between them any longer, and it was a bit unnerving.

"This isn't the first time I've been in the dark for days. I've done it before. Alone. Well, alone enough. There were times when I certainly wished I was. The guards were never kind to any of us, least of all me. What I'm saying is, thank you for being so kindly toward me. I would have died. Several times."

He realized what she was saying, and the feeling that he had been punched in the gut returned. "Think nothing of it, little one."

She smiled, the redness of her eyes belying the action. "I won't forget it, Erik." With that she slid under the blanket and fell asleep.

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Oh, I couldn't resist a bit indulging. Don't get me wrong, Erik has not lost his Phantom darkness. It just is a different situation then he's ever been in, and there's still the "investment" part to it. Please continue with your opinions, aye or nay, and the comments. The reviews thus far have been ambrosia and nectar for my writing soul. Au revoir, S.R.