Readers,

This chapter was supposed to be posted last week, but I couldn't upload it for some reason. So here it is. This will also be the last chapter for several weeks, as I will be without Internet access. I will keep scribbling though, and should havea chapter ready to post when I get back. Thanks so much for your support of this story. Your reviews are amazing. All Erik ever does is nod distractedly, although I suppose in Erik terms, that's high praise. Maybe. I'll just keep thinking that it is. Back to the point, here is another chapter for your enjoyment.

S.R.

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The world was blurry, and the glaring white of the entire room did not improve the situation. Cecily struggled with a deep breath and swallowed thickly against a cough. Her head felt like it had exploded, and the sheen of sweat on her skin made her shove weakly at the blanket covering her. Her lips were dry, and her throat burned from the hacking and lack of water.

She propped herself up against the headboard, the effort taking all but the very last of her strength. Sagging back against the pillows, she fought for a recollection of her situation. The infernal white told her she was in the infirmary, but how long had she been there? Had she gotten anyone else sick?

"You shouldn't worry about others so much when your own state is so questionable." Cecily hadn't realized she's spoken aloud.

"What?"

"You're very lucky to be alive, you know. You must have an incredible constitution to have pulled through that." A man walked over to her and sat down next to the bed. His sleeves were rolled up and the spots of blood on his shirt betrayed his profession. Smears of the crimson stain ran along his forearms as well, and Cecily inwardly flinched at the disgusting sight. Her own blood was one thing, but the blood of another, and not knowing what had caused it, made her a bit queasy. Her already light head didn't help, and her eyes rolled back.

A moment later, she felt those hands on her face, tapping gently to wake her up. "How long…?"

"Were you out? Just a moment. Have you been here? Around a week. You've caused quite the uproar, you know."

"I," she started, but couldn't suppress a series of coughs. "I did?"

He nodded. "Haven't had quite so many visitors of the upper ranks in here since I can remember. Of course, most of them never got any farther than the outer door. No one really wants to see a woman with influenza; it's too catching. But a few stubborn souls fought their way in. Mme. Giry nearly pushed right through me to get in here. A few others came too. That Italian singer and his girl were in a few times, and even M. Lefevre poked his head in. A little dancer girl came in, too. Pretty little one, said she's been told by her angel to come pray for you." He shook his head. "Strange." He stood up. Well, I've got to clean up a bit. I'll check on you later this evening."

"Monsieur, how long do I have to stay?"

He considered for a moment. "That will depend on how strong you are and how well that little girl's prayers were heard."

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Cecily was staring at the white walls, annoyed by their presence and her inability to escape it. She had tried to stand, but her knees had given out, sending her promptly back into the bed. She had never been so bored in her life. She couldn't sleep. She had slept for an impossibly long time, and now wished only for some way to pass the time other than finding designs in the cracks that lined the walls and ceiling.

She heard the lock turn, and looked up expectantly, hoping to see someone she could talk to. When no one entered the room, she called out, "Hello?"

A shuffle of fabric sounded in the corner, and Cecily was almost sure she caught a glimpse of black. "The only advantage of all this damned white," she thought. "You can see everything."

"Are you going to come out, or are you going to hide in the corner all day?" She was getting rather perturbed with this little game, and half thought she had day-dreamed the whole thing.

"I thought perhaps you could use a better way to pass the time." The voice startled Cecily, and her eyes widened in recognition. Erik walked slowly out, each step measured and slow, carrying a copy of A Tale of Two Cities before him like a shield. And from the look that she sent his way, he would have needed one if she could stand.

"I'm not sure what you mean, monsieur." She hissed the last word. "Your presence does not automatically enhance my world." She bit back a bitter, "In fact, it does quite the opposite."

"Cecily, don't do this." His voice was quiet and held a hint of sadness.

"I would have said the same to you, monsieur, during your long torment of the opera house."

"I was upset…"

"And now I am." She stared him down, but a deep cough forced her to look away. When she looked back at him, she looked considerably older and more worn down. "Why?"

"I thought…I just…I was unused to…"

"Unused to having someone turn on you like you do on them?" She words were hushed, but lacked the ardor of an accusation.

Erik's shoulders sagged. Her words pierced him cleaner than any knife. "What can I do?"

At that moment, he looked so much like any other man, so small against a grand world, that Cecily reached her hand out to him. She didn't have it in her heart to reject him so. He offered her the novel, but she reached out and took hold of his wrist. She pulled him down into the chair. "Do you have an escape from in here?" He nodded slowly, not understanding. "And you locked the door?" Again, he nodded. "Than stay and read to me."

His features softened into a look of bewilderment. "You aren't angry?"

She sighed, and a half cough escaped her. She thought out her words carefully, trying to explain without giving away too much. "I can't stay angry at you forever, Erik. You are my dearest friend. I love you for that."

He was flabbergasted. Had she just uttered the words 'love' and 'you' in the same statement? His entire world was spinning, and he wasn't sure how to stop it. He wasn't sure if he wanted to.

"You even told Christine to pray for me, didn't you?"

His world abruptly stopped spinning. He had heard the word 'love' before, from the perfect lips of his angel. She had asked him what was the matter several days before, and he had confessed, perhaps in error, that his thoughts at least in part with Cecily. The innocent girl had asked if she could do anything, and all Erik could give her in his guise as her angel was to pray. And she had done it. She had done as he asked.

Cecily noticed his eyes were lighted when he raised her frail hand to his think lips. She allowed herself to think it was for her, and she was half right.

Erik opened the book and began, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness…"