Thanks to: Hero Sis, MJ, Writer, E/MOTP, Fancy-Pants Lockhart love the penname!, Virginie, and poof. Also thanks to all the lovely readers; the support is much appreciated.

...some sexual tension for you.

disclaimer: I own nothing.

chapter 2

I was an early riser; you were far from it, preferring to spend as much time in bed as possible, asleep or no. I couldn't fathom why on earth you would want to waste the day away in such a manner; perhaps this trait is exclusive to the female race, I have no idea.

When I awoke that morning, however, you were gone. Puzzled, I looked towards the window, trying to gage the time by the amount of feeble light filtering through the shade.

Unsuccessful, I rose, walking to the window, gazing out through the pane; the corners were marked by frosty, delicate cobwebs of ice, and my breath condensed on the glass, so cold was it outside. The blue, quiet light marked the hour sometime before dawn.

Contrary to what you believed—to what everyone believed, I suspect—I loved this time of day. The cloak of night, the cover of inky blackness was my companion, reliable, trusty. The blinding light of noon—nay, of the whole day, right up until sunset—was my sworn enemy, vicious, cunning. Sunset was far too gaudy, as was the sunrise—twilight made me restless. The quiet, pre-light of dawn, however, was calming, soothing, very much a balm to my torment. It reminded me of a caress.

It reminded me of you.

You were such a mystery to me. I continue to wonder whether or not this all has been nothing but a dream; whether or not you truly exist.

Whether or not you truly love me.

I find it unbelievable, of course. How could you even begin to love me, to want me, even? But there you were all the same, curled up next to me each morning, your eyes closed in blissful slumber, a peace reflected in every feature that I cannot even begin to describe.

Except that morning. Where could you have gone? I knew there was no need to be troubled, but fear quickly blossomed in my chest. Our apartment was empty; perhaps you had gone outside for a quick breath of air?

I waited. It was dismal. I dressed quickly, then sat at the edge of the bed—our bed, I had to keep reminding myself, the bed you shared willingly with me—trying to keep myself occupied, but the thoughts wouldn't leave me alone. Had you finally had enough? Had you come to your senses, repulsed to find a monster at your side?

An hour passed, and I took to pacing, fretfully, my thoughts growing more frenzied by the minute. What had become of you? Were you injured? Dead? How ironic, I thought, that just at the moment when I was becoming accustomed to happiness, you were taken from me.

I soon heard your step in the hallway. Your gait is peculiar, my dear; the most peculiar I've ever known in my life. Your step is even, and your quiet grace is immediately evident. There is a touch of heaviness in your step, however, a strength that mirrors your firm resolve, your stubbornness that both annoys and captivates me to no end.

I took a seat in a small wooden chair facing the door, crossing my arms, waiting. You attempted to open the door silently, wincing as it squeaked on its hinges instead. You set your coat aside with a sigh; you didn't seem surprised to see me.

"I wonder," I said, "if you enjoy tormenting me."

You lowered your gaze—usually so defiant, so full of life—to the floor in genuine guilt. "I'm sorry, Erik."

I shook my ghastly head, my temper flaring. "Where were you?"

You didn't react favorably to the hostile, interrogative tone—entirely my fault. "I don't see how that is any of your concern."

I stood, breathing hard, trying to maintain some semblance of control; it wasn't working very well. "Oh, really? Do you really believe that, Meg?"

You wavered, but only a little. "Yes."

"Then you are mistaken. Your whereabouts are very much a large portion of my concern, considering the…circumstances."

You flushed, angry, impassioned, but your words were unbelievably cool. "The present 'circumstances' are entirely your doing, Erik. I could care less."

Your words were meant to sting, and they did. Wounded, I did the only thing I knew how to do—lash out. "I was under the impression that you wanted it."

"I don't want anything from you—not if you're going to be like this."

I advanced menacingly. "You should have been aware of what you were getting yourself into. Then again, I can hardly expect awareness from you, now, can I?"

You stood your ground, really angry this time; I could see it in your eyes. "It's inconsiderate, to flaunt your superiority like that."

"You think I give a damn about whether or not I'm inconsiderate? I am capable of much more than that," I said, my voice quiet, recalling memories that I knew frightened you.

You sighed; I could see you were trying to be strong, but your voice shook. "This is stupid…why are we fighting?"

I completely side-stepped your pathetic attempt at making peace. "You instigated our argument by leaving me."

Outraged, you retorted, "For God's sake, Erik! I didn't leave you! I needed to do something! Or do you want me to leave?"

"Save yourself the effort, Madame," I spat.

"Oh, and what's that supposed to mean?"

"If you'd use your head for once, my previous comment should have indicated my intentions."

You stared at me, shocked into silence.

"I'm going for a walk," I said, and grabbing my cloak, hastily unlatched the door, yanked it open, and slammed it in your face.

I contemplated not locking it, leaving you at the mercy of fate, of bad circumstance, but I—figuratively, of course—turned my nose up at the thought. I locked the door and stalked off, anger seething through my veins, but your sweet, angelic face staring at me was imprinted in my mind; it seemed I wouldn't be escaping from you so easily, after all.

-----

I hadn't expected him to leave, of course. In the sudden silence, I released all of my pent up rage, my fear, my frustration at him in the form of a pitiful strangled yell and several hits at the feeble chair he'd been sitting in when I returned. That done, my hands probably bruised from where they had solidly connected with the wood, I launched myself at the large bed, buried my face into a pillow, and cried, suddenly feeling very exhausted…

I woke to silence. I looked around, rather blearily; I grimaced at what I probably looked like, my eyes puffy and red from crying, wrinkles impressed into my cheek from the fabric of the pillow, my hair a veritable mess of tangles. I groaned, rolled over onto my other side, my back facing the front door. I pondered getting up and straightening myself out, but I heard the door swing open and closed, the lock sliding into place—he'd returned.

My immediate thought was to spring up, to throw myself into his arms, to beg forgiveness. It would be all too easy; I had surrendered all control of my emotions to him long ago. Yet something held me back, and, a little tense, I waited, pretending to sleep.

He sighed quietly; I could feel his eyes boring into my back. Silence, then; I couldn't even hear the sound of his breathing. I was tempted to turn my head only a little, to pretend to shift in my sleep, so I could squint through my eyes, look at him, but I kept still, barely breathing.

Suddenly, he was beside me; I could feel him. He didn't touch me, but the peculiar radiation of cold that I found so fascinating brushed against the skin of my arms, and I fought the impulse to shiver, convinced that any movement on my part would dispel the peace, the quiet between us.

"What am I to do with you, Little Meg?" he asked, very quietly, only a breath of air compared to the words we'd thundered at each other before. I felt his fingers in my hair, gently smoothing out the tangles. "How did your hair get to be like this, my dear?" He brushed a lock behind my ear, slowly tilting my face in his direction. "Were you crying again? My poor Little Meg, crying for her poor, unhappy Erik…you must forgive Erik, my dear, he means you no harm. But you must know how terrible Erik's temper is…" He brushed his fingertips against my cheek before lightly circling my neck with his long hands. "Yes, Erik's temper is ghastly. But your's is, too…that's what gets us into such trouble, is it not? Poor, unhappy Erik has met his match with Little Meg…"

The pure, soothing musicality of his whispers threatened to truly send me off to sleep, but his touch quickly led my thoughts down another path. Oh, this man! I didn't merely want him, no; I burned for him. And, for the life of me, I couldn't begin to fathom why; we'd just been arguing, for God's sake! It was only when he began lightly tracing my collarbones with his fingers that I suddenly realized that I couldn't properly remember the last time I'd been with him…

My heart threatened to stop when I felt the cool, dry skin of his cheek pressed against mine. "Wake up, Little Meg," he said, now showering light kisses all over my face and hair. "Erik has something to ask you."

My breath stuck in my throat as my eyelids fluttered open, seemingly of their own accord. I turned towards him; as a result of the movement, his lips brushed accidentally against mine, sending shockwaves of heat all throughout me, and I could see from his eyes that something similar had happened in him as well.

"Meg," he said, his voice suddenly very husky.

"Erik." I spoke his name slowly, meeting his gaze, holding it. There would be no misunderstandings, not now, not like earlier.

"I'm sorry…please forgive me, I was acting rash."

What else is new? I thought, but said, "Already forgiven." His expression became puzzled, so I continued, "I wasn't sleeping…I heard you."

"Ah."

I sat up, genuinely interested. "Do you do that often?"

"Do what?"

"Talk to me when I sleep."

He looked away briefly, embarrassed. "Yes."

I grinned. "Have you really 'met your match' when it comes to me?"

He scowled, but the look in his golden eyes was peculiar… "Met my death, you mean. Really, Meg, you are the most stubborn person I know—apart from myself, that is."

"A dangerous combination, we are," I remarked, fingering a lock of my hair, distractedly picking out a tangle.

"Indeed."

"Explosive," I muttered, smirking.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing," I said. He looked away, pensive, but I kept my gaze on him.

"Goddammit, Meg, why must you continue to stare at me? Am I an animal in a zoo that you feel the need to do so?" he snapped after a few moments of silence.

I sighed, getting frustrated; he really couldn't take a hint, could he? "Would you prefer that? I'm sure we could find a suitable one for you."

He glared at me, positively seething with rage, and I laughed, hoping against all hope that he would calm down. Why on earth was it so ridiculously enjoyable to play with fire? But I didn't care whether or not I was burned; that was the most exhilarating part.

"I'm sorry," I said, contrite. "I shouldn't have said that."

He took a few deep breaths through the gaping hole that was his nose before quipping, "Please, at least try and sound convincing, if only for my benefit."

"You told me, once, that I was a terrible actress."

He paused, as if thinking, struggling to remember. "So I did. And I won't hesitate to say it again; criticism is important for one's well-being," he said, mockingly.

"Only if you get to be the critic," I retorted sourly, folding my arms defensively in front of my chest.

"Precisely. I'm actually quite surprised that anything managed to get through that impenetrable skull of yours," he said, his frame shaking with repressed laughter.

"I can truthfully say the same about you; though not about your intellect."

His harsh features softened a little. "Really?"

I nodded. "Yes."

He smirked, wicked, triumphant. "Prove it."