Thanks to: E/MOTP, Virginie, Mara-SS, Writer (missed you! hope all is going well!), Hero Sis, trueurbanite, MJ (it's a mystery... :D), smoking caramels (did I mention that I love your penname?), LisalikesPhantom (thank you so much for your reviews on Desire), PrincessSYS, and all the readers! Huggles for all.

A short little chapter, but I felt it necessary... quite fluffy, actually. Hope you enjoy.

disclaimer: I own nothing. And the "old adage" that Erik says is attributed to Shakespeare, more specifically, his play The Merchant of Venice.

chapter 6

The first thing I registered when I woke up the next morning was his bare skin against mine, and my heart nearly stopped; he'd actually elected to stay in bed with me though it was very much past his normal rising hour, something he'd never in my memory done before.

I shifted slightly, intent on going back to sleep, instead uttering a surprised groan of pain. I lay back with my head against the pillow, groaning again; muscles I hadn't even known existed were screaming in protest. Unable to do much else at the moment, I closed my eyes.

"Ah, you're awake," I heard him say, though too tired to open my eyes to look at him. "At least…I thought you were…"

"I'm awake," I breathed. "Coherency will be a while, but I'm awake."

"Take your time," he replied softly; I thought I detected a smile in his voice, but I could never tell with him.

I soon felt the blanket of sleep threatening to overwhelm me again, but when I moved once more in order to get more comfortable and be in closer contact with him, I felt stabs of pain shooting throughout my body, and gasped.

"Meg, are you all right?"

"No," I said truthfully, probably sounding more than pathetic to him.

He surprised me, though, by kissing my cheek. "I'm sorry…it won't happen again, I promise."

"No, don't say that!" I nearly screamed at him, panicking, yet unable to move; I settled for looking at him. "Don't you ever, ever apologize for wanting me, do you hear me?"

"But—"

"Answer me."

He sighed. "I understand, Meg."

"Good." I smiled wryly. "Just…"

"What is it?"

"Just warn me next time, all right?"

He laughed. "Agreed."

"Excellent." I sat up slowly, clenching my teeth, trying to stretch out; the pain wasn't so bad anymore, but I still felt horribly tight.

He watched, rather amused, as I tried in vain to stretch the muscles in my lower back. After a while I gave up, and lay myself back down, pulling the bed sheet up to my chin. Maybe, if I stayed very still…

"Lie on your stomach," he said.

I sat back up like a shotgun had gone off in the vicinity, regretting it a split second later. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," he countered.

I had to keep from smiling; some of his usual manner had returned. I glared at him playfully for a moment before backing down in acquiescence, my face soon pressed against my pillow.

I felt his fingers brushing my hair away from my back and instinctively tensed up in anticipation. "What are you doing?" I asked softly, my voice muffled further by the pillow that I was too lazy and too stiff to move away from.

"I believe it's called a massage."

I turned my head for the dual purpose of looking at him and being better able to breathe. "Oh."

"Now," he said, moving out of my line of sight, "where does it hurt?"

I contemplated saying 'everywhere' but decided against it at the last minute and said instead, "Let's just start with my back."

I closed my eyes as his hands glided over my skin, first deftly working the tension from my shoulders, then moving steadily downwards in a repeated pattern of elongated circles, each one larger than the last. When he had to move the sheet a little from where it rested against the lowest extremity of my back, I said, "You'd better not go any lower than that."

"What?"

"Don't go any lower."

"Lower? Oh…you mean lower than this…"

"Erik!" I yelped.

He chuckled. "I'm sorry, Meg, I couldn't resist."

"Well, at least you've got it out of your system—oh, right there…"

"Here?"

"A little to the left…more…there. Right there."

We were silent for a while, until he said, "This probably is the wrong time to ask this…"

Uh-oh. Nothing good ever came out of a preface like that. "But…?"

"Are you scared of me?"

"What? Why? I don't understand."

He sighed, and I felt him pull away. "You…last night…" He paused; I could almost see the thoughts flying around as he mentally deliberated on how best to phrase what he was trying to say. "You tremble every time I touch you."

I lay in silence; it was my turn for deliberation. Could it really be possible that he was unaware of what he did to me every time I saw him, unaware of the sway he held over me, physically, emotionally? No; instances like the night previous indicated otherwise. Unaware of the extent of his hold, then? Probably.

Now I had to answer his question…was I scared of him? There were times that I certainly feared what he could do, times in the past that I had feared for my life in his presence, times that I didn't like to think about; Erik, I knew, could kill without a second thought, and that knowledge is, by definition, extremely frightening. But did I fear the person behind such actions, the mysteriously fragile soul, the tormented genius that in such a short span of time had grown to trust me so completely that it stole my breath away just to think of it?

Never.

"You're quiet," he observed uneasily.

I sat up slowly so I could look him in the eye. "Erik," I said, reaching out and gently holding his face between my hands. "Erik…I love you. Though some of the things you do frighten me to no end, I'd never be able to be scared of you." I let go of him then, leaning back away from him a little.

The relief that at once manifested itself in his expression both broke my heart and made it leap in exultation. "And the trembling?" he asked, still slightly skeptical of my pronouncement.

I blushed. "Purely physical."

His brow wrinkled in thought. "Meg…how—how can someone as…as beautiful as you find me, of all people, attra—attract…" The words seemed unable to leave his mouth.

"Attractive?" He nodded, and I smiled. "I love you, remember?"

"Ah," he said. "The old adage is proven, then…"

"And which adage would that be?"

He made a face. "'Love is blind.'"

I pondered this. "No," I said, and he looked at me in surprise. "Not blind. Just stupid."

He grinned, then gathered me into his arms, holding me close, burying his face into my hair. Say it, I willed him silently, say you love me.

But he didn't. He didn't say anything. He just held onto me, keeping my body pressed close to his, as if I were the most important thing in his universe.

And, for that moment, that's exactly what I felt like.