A/N: So sorry loves! Things got a little crazy between work and school that I ... well, forgot is a strong word. Let's just say it wasn't at the forefront of my memory banks to post the next chapter. If I should have this lapse of memory again, I shall do my best to rectify the situation as soon as possible. Please bear with me.

Chapter Six

The twelve men they had brought in were the only new arrivals, so the burned soldier became my top priority. Most of my other patients were past anything more I could do to help, just needing time to heal. As soon as I was done checking on them - twenty-three in all - I returned to the burned soldier (number twenty four under my watch) and double checked his bandages.

Twenty-four wasn't much to take care of next to Isabella's thirty. Patrice had the fewest because hers were the most critical. Marie was down to just eighteen to take care of. A number that was dwindling a little every day, and not because they were getting better, but because she seemed to be having a more difficult time keeping up with any larger amount.

The monotony of the tasks caused the hours to drag on a normal day, but because I had enough to pre-occupy myself with, even if it was just doublechecking bandages and administering medications. So it actually took me by surprise when at the end of the day, Patrice came to tell me it was time for the night nurses to take over. I was sitting on the cot next to the burned soldier, checking his bandages for the third time. I tried to tell myself to stand up, to walk up to my bed and let sleep take me, but my legs would not let me. Somehow I knew that if I did, he would die sometime in the night.

"You go ahead. I'm going to stay here for a while longer."

Patrice looked at me with a sort of shocked and yet amused expression on her face.

"Elyssa, you need your sleep. He'll be fine," she said, nodding to the stone still soldier.

"No, I need to stay with him. I can't explain it, Patrice; I look at him and I see Erik."

Patrice paused. "That is a very unstable place to put yourself."

When I seemed unmoved by her words she knelt down beside me. "Honey," she said, taking my hand and waiting until I met her gaze. "he's not Erik."

"I know." My reply was cold, I was trying to make the numbness come back, but it was slowly beginning to creep away the longer I stayed near him. I would regret it later, but I couldn't force myself to care.

I could tell she was worried about what would happen if he didn't make it. It would feel like I had lost Erik all over again. Even if he lived, he would wake and I would be forced to realize that he wasn't Erik after all and it would be like losing him again anyway. Live or die, I would loose. The only way I could keep my little illusion alive was if this man stayed in his current condition indefinitely.

Patrice sighed when she saw I was unmovable and pulled a chair over for me to sit in before joining the other women. I sat gratefully and smiled at Patrice's motherly manner. She shook her head and mumbled something under her breath.

Unsurprisingly, I was still by his side when Marie, Patrice and Isabella came back down the next morning. My soldier did have a hard night, as I knew he would. Twice in the night he had stopped breathing. If I hadn't been studiously watching the every movement of his chest I would have missed it. The night nurse would have assuredly missed it.

"Your breakfast is waiting for you in the kitchen."

I looked up to see Marie standing over me. I had nodded off only once or twice and was quite sure that I must have heard her wrong. Marie saw my blank expression and smiled.

"Patrice explained that you felt the need to stay and watch over one of the men instead of eating. The rather intimidating soldier that cooks our food thought that since you were being so dutiful he would let you still eat. Though he did tell me to warn you that the next time you miss breakfast he won't hold it for you."

I made a rather unladylike snort that caused Marie to smile again. "I'll watch over him while you go eat of you would like." I nodded and told her thank you and left Marie to watch over him as I went to eat.

I never thought I would look forward to the mush they called food, but I learned to enjoy it and eventually to love it, just as Patrice said. The cook had given me an extra serving and I ate it hurriedly. I returned a short while later with as full a stomach as possible (under the circumstances) to find Patrice, instead of Marie sitting next to the soldier, checking his bandages. She smiled at me when she saw me approach.

"You've done a fine job attending to him."

"Thank you," I managed to reply.

"His name is Richard."

I looked at Patrice oddly.

"After you decided to stay with him, I thought that perhaps I should find out his name. Commander Richard Bruence."

"Commander?" I repeated dumbly. I don't know why this was such a strange thing to hear. Perhaps it was because I had been able to allow myself the sweet denial that he was anything other than a man who needed my help that to hear his title forced me to realize that he was fighting for the wrong side.

"Good heavens, child. Are you alright?" Patrice asked with concern at my distant expression.

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you, Patrice." I said with a forced smile. I could see in her face she didn't believe me, but she left to tend to the other men.

As the hours of one day blended into the next until another week crept by, I stayed faithfully by Richard's side, though now I did leave him to sleep as I was finally content that he would be alright in my absence. None of the other nurses would go near him once I had removed his bandages from his face and most of his right side. He was healing well, but he would be forever horribly scarred. One side was already beginning to become pinched as the skin pulled with the scars.

I looked to the fast approaching day that he would wake up with apprehension and fear. I did not enjoy the thought of his reaction when he saw how he looked. I still talked to him, even hummed little arias every once in a while when I was sure no one else would hear, but I did not sing. I hadn't sung since the night that Erik and I- I didn't want to think about it. Singing was too much, but humming didn't hurt as badly. In fact, it felt a little nice to feel my vocal chords vibrate after so long of neglect.

Every so often another soldier came to check on him, but when the word soon spread about how badly he had been burned, no one wanted to come.

When he started to stir and mutter things in his sleep, I finally confessed my fears to Marie, with whom I had become quite close to, about his reaction to his appearance. She looked at me with an odd expression of pity and spoke with a wisdom that most young women her age did not posses. "Elyssa, you cannot stop the inevitable. He will wake up, and I dare say that it could be at any time. If you can look upon his face without fear or revulsion, then maybe he can learn to as well."

I nodded my head and turned to leave.

"Elyssa," Marie said before I could go. I turned back around to look at her. She seemed to be struggling whether or not to say something. "I . . . never mind." She finished hurriedly.

"Marie, what is it? You can tell me. It's okay."

She shook her head, the inward battle continuing. I wondered what in the world could be causing her so much trouble to say.

"It's nothing, just a foolish question that is not my place to ask . . ."

"You can ask me anything. I won't get angry," I promised, though I was careful not to promise that I would tell the truth. Some things were better left suppressed.

"Well, it's just that . . . with Commander Bruence . . . his face . . . no one else . . ."

I spared her the rest of the question. I knew what it was she was asking.

I sighed. "Erik, he . . ." I found myself getting choked up talking about him and I lowered my eyes to avoid Marie's gaze. "his face was also burned," I finished in a whisper.

"But... as badly as Commander Bruence's? Surely no one could be as bad as that."

I smiled sadly despite myself. How could I tell her? Thankfully I didn't have to think up an answer as Isabella called to her and she left me to attend to a soldier that was seizing violently. Patrice and Isabella were already doing their best on him and I knew I would only be in the way if I tried to help too.

I turned and walked down the aisles of wounded men, checking on their injuries without word and moving along.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle?"

I turned to the young soldier that had beckoned me. A deep cut on his forehead that I had stitched a total of three times now was dripping a steady line of blood down his face. I sighed and shook my head with exasperation. I sat down next to him on the cot and took a cloth from my apron to dab at the blood.

"James, you really have to stop scratching. It will never heal otherwise."

The young man smiled. He looked too young to be in a war. "I know."

"Well if you know, then why on earth do you keep at it?" I said as I pressed the cloth hard over the gash, making him wince.

"How else am I going to get a beautiful woman to dote on me?" he said with a twinkle in his deep green eyes.

"I can think of a great many more ways that are much less painful." I probably would have laughed at him, but it had been so long since I had any happiness that I had forgotten what my laugh even sounded like. I stopped the bleeding and inspected his cut. "Well, at least it looks like I won't have to re-stitch it."

"I'll have to try harder next time."

I took out my roll of gauze and wrapped it firmly around his head several times.

"Good luck tearing them now," I said confidently and started to get up when he caught my arm. His grip was firm, but not harsh.

"Elyssa?"

"What is it, are you planning on breaking your other leg to stay in here longer and you want to know the best way to do it? You know, the point is to leave this place eventually, not to see if you can stay here the longest," I said, placing my hand on my hip and giving him a stern look. I liked James despite who he fought for. He told me once that he hadn't had a choice. His father had forced him into it. He was trying to make a run for it he was propelled through the air by a bomb exploding nearby. No one but him and myself knew.

He had come not quite a week ago and wouldn't let me pass by without making me stop to talk. How could I resist his carrot red hair and freckles, giving away his Irish roots as plain as the cast he wore that went up past his knee.

He laughed but then grew serious as he looked me square in the eyes. "When you look at me, who do you see?"

"I see a young man who if he knew what kind of work we were going to have to do on that leg to get him walking again would not want to see me ever again," I said, avoiding his actual question.

He almost smiled, but he would not be swayed. "That's not what I meant and you know it. When you look at me, or any other soldier in here, you don't see us. It's like you're looking at someone else. Who is he?"

I had been silently praying that he wouldn't ask that very question. I sighed, knowing that I could not dodge it. He had seen what I had not expected him to. Sure, when I looked at him, I saw the boy who was struggling to be a man, forced to grow up too soon, but he saw the truth. When I looked at him, or any other soldier, not matter how stark the contrast, I always saw Erik.

"Elyssa?"

I looked him dead in the eyes and lied. "My father."

"Was he killed in the war?" He sounded guilty despite claiming to have never even fired his gun in the war.

"No, he died when I was seven."

My answer seemed to satisfy him and he relinquished his hold on my arm and I gratefully left him to finish checking on the other men.

Richard was mumbling in his sleep again when I returned to his side. His brain was fighting reality and the dream world. I knew it wouldn't be long once he started to jerk about on the cot. I instinctively took his hand in my own, careful to make sure it was his left hand as the right was still badly burned and wrapped so much that it looked like he had a club instead of a hand. He seemed to calm down slightly after that. I tried to set his hand down gently and leave, but his fingers unexpectedly closed around mine in a vise grip. It was painful until I quit struggling, then he seemed to loosen his grip some. I sighed in defeat and sat down next to him, the chair beside his bed did not move. No one would come near enough to him to try to remove it.

With all the horrible injuries everyone saw on a daily basis, I thought it strange that they would fear someone like Richard. It wasn't as though he was much more disfigured than some of the other soldiers.

Patrice had tried to explain to me that it was because most with that extensive of burns did not survive combined with the fact that the other side of his face was almost flawless, with the exception of the scar on his forehead. It just gave too stark a contrast and made him look like a monster with half a human face sewed on. I thought it made some sense, but I still thought it ridiculous.

After an hour or so Patrice, Isabella and Marie went to bed. I knew Richard would wake soon so I stayed by his side. Some time later, while I was trying not to fall asleep, his eyes fluttered open. I sat still and watched him blink a few times as his eyes tried to focus.

He must have become aware that I still held his hand in my own because he looked in my direction. I could see his eyes had a glassy look to them. Patrice had warned me about this.

"Who's there? I can't see anything." His voice was deep, much deeper than I had imagined. There was a very rough quality to it. It was exactly the sound that a commander would have, but I had been mostly successful to try to not think of him like that.

I sighed but I'm not sure if it was out of relief or sadness. "My name is Elyssa. You are in a hospital. You were in an accident. A bomb exploded." I spoke softly but steadily. He needed to know what happened, but there was no point in saying it harshly as some people believed helped the soldier to accept it faster.

"Why can I not see anything?" His voice was not frightened, it was like I was an underling that was reporting on the events of the day.

"You were injured very badly. Your sight should return to you in time. It's actually just the one eye, but apparently eyes are sympathetic. If one eye goes blind, the other one usually follows suit."

"How long have I been here?"

"A little over a week."

"Have you stayed with me the whole time?" he asked, his voice changing to a more casual tone which I considered to be odd under the circumstances. I let go of his hand but he seemed reluctant to do the same. Now that he was awake, it would be too hard to convince myself to pretend it was Erik laying there. I knew it was coming, I just hadn't wanted it to come this soon.

"No, there have been other nurses that have been attending to you as well." I said, trying to sound disconnected.

"You lie." I was caught entirely off guard by that simple statement. I looked at him indignantly as though he would be able to see the fire that was shooting from my gaze.

"I beg your pardon?" I said, hoping that I had just heard him wrong. "How would you know if I was lying or not when you have been asleep?"

He smiled slightly. "Because yours is the only voice I can remember. Just because I cannot see does not mean that I could not hear. You would talk to me. Sometimes I even heard you sing." His voice was ... amused? How could he find anything funny about this? He wouldn't be so smug when he saw his face.

I stood up, suddenly uncomfortable with the small distance between us. "You must be mistaken monsieur, I do not sing."

"I do not think I am mistaken, but that matters little right now. And my title is commander, if you do not mind," he said, still with an amused expression.

"Very well, commander," I said coldly. "I will leave you to heal yourself then." And with that, I stalked away fuming madly towards the stairs. I knew I would get no sleep, but I had no where else to go. The man had been awake for no more than two minutes and had already called me a liar and put me in my proper place. If he was strong enough to do that, he was strong enough to look after himself.

Marie couldn't sleep that night either, claiming she didn't feel well. She did look a little pale, once I stopped to look. She said it was because another soldier died today and she should have been able to save him. I tried to talk about that instead to distract me, but she didn't want to talk about it.

Reluctantly, I told her of the conversation I had with Commander Bruence when woke up and how frustrated I was.

"Think who it is you are speaking about. Did you honestly believe that he would be a nice gentleman who would thank you for saving his life so that he may live as a freak?"

"Don't call him that," I replied automatically, though not harshly. "I don't really know what I expected. Certainly not that!"

Marie smiled in understanding. "Think on the bright side, now that he's awake, you don't have to look after him as much, and maybe you could give Isabella a hand. Poor thing. She was distracted and accidentally gave a soldier the wrong medication. He went into convulsion. He's better know, but she's terrified that they'll find out."

We always referred to the general position of authority as a collective. We weren't exactly sure who we were directly under as ranking officials came and went on a regular basis and weren't concerned with learning our names, just how many soldiers we could save.

I looked at Marie closely. She had been unusually quiet the past few days. I had been so preoccupied with my own distresses that I hadn't bothered to look at any one of my fellow impromptu nurses. In fact, once I started paying attention, I noticed Marie looked sicker than I had noticed before. She looked tired, worn out, so much older than her twenty-three years. There weren't exactly many mirrors around, but I guessed that I too had aged to look beyond my mere seventeen.

I hadn't seen my own relection since arriving at the hospital. My subconscious still imagined that I would look the same as before, but I wouldn't. I knew I would look thinner, even paler than before, maybe even with a hint of yellow to my skin. There were be such purple under my eyes that it would look like I had been hit between the eyes. My hair... my hair had grown out some, not nearly as thick and curly as before, but not yet stringy. It was just above my ears, Patrice having trimmed it just the other day. She had tried to more or less get it one length since my botched cutting job. I didn't mind it so short, though it was still so much shorter than I wanted it, or ever had it, but it certainly stayed out of my way, and was nice when there was so much running around that the room felt like a hundred degrees, despite the fact that the days had been getting colder.

I had lost track of when I was taken from the Opera House, it wasn't something I liked to think about, but if I had to guess, I'd say maybe a month or two. Maybe longer. Days blended into each other when you no longer had a purpose to living.