Hours later, Rahim is still sitting by the fire, still reading, when Erik stumbles in. He knows it is Erik though the cadence of the footfalls is wrong, and with a wave of nausea washing over him he sets his book down. Erik slumps onto the divan, wincing, and Rahim catches sight of his face.

His face. When he left he was wearing his mask.

Rahim registers the lack of a mask even before he registers the blood running down the side of Erik's face, and he is at his side in a moment, easing him down to lie fully. Erik whimpers, his face contorting, and Rahim feels another check at his heart as he pulls open his waistcoat, and shirt, finds a flourish of faint bruises along his ribs, and Erik gestures feebly at his left leg. "You'll do nothing…for my ribs…but you might solve that." His voice is hoarse, breathless, and Rahim turns around, looks at his leg. It is bloodied, his trousers soaked and the fabric torn open, and Rahim tears the fabric further, to see the damage, his hands coming away bloodied. The gash along Erik thigh is long, deep, and Rahim's fingers tremble in spite of himself. He saw a man bleed to death from a leg wound once, but when his eyes meet Erik's Erik shakes his head. "Not that…deep, Rahim. Would take care…of it myself but…" And he gestures at his ribs.

Darius appears at Rahim's side, with a basin of warm water, a bottle of spirits, and clean linens. Without another word they go to work cleaning the leg wound. Erik winces as Rahim wipes the blood away with the spirits, whimpering low in his throat, his knuckles clenched white. Darius disappears a moment, returns with an uncorked bottle of wine that he presses into Erik's hand. Erik gives him a faint smile, then roars as Rahim swabs the wound again.

It is not truly as deep as he feared, but it is deep enough. Much of the blood is dry, though his cleaning re-opens the gash and fresh blood dribbles out. When he is satisfied that it is as clean as he can get it, and Erik has half the bottle of wine sipped away, he cuts off Erik's trousers and with Darius' help binds the wound.

At last, he sits back on his heels and eases the bottle of wine from Erik's grip, taking a mouthful of it himself. Another time Erik night berate him that that is not the correct way to savour wine, but now Erik only regards him tiredly from beneath heavy eyelids, and Rahim's gaze is drawn back to the blood on his face. The edge of his left eyebrow is split open, and the corner of his lip, and his right cheekbone, and Rahim's heart aches at the sight of it. "What happened?" he asks, the question that has tormented him since Erik stumbled in. "Who did this?" For one mad moment he thinks it might be the Vicomte, upset at Erik spying on his dinner with Christine, but in the next moment the thought dissipates. Erik would not come home with such injuries from the Vicomte.

Rahim presses another strip of linen to the top of the spirits bottle, tips the bottle then rights it, and with the soaked strip cleans away the blood from Erik's eyebrow. Erik hisses, his lips twisting.

"Insolent thieves," he breathes, "five of them. Must have thought I was easy, an old man shuffling along with a mask. Well, they learned."

The eyebrow has sealed itself, and Rahim moves on to the cheek, Erik's words tumbling in his mind. They learned. "You didn't—"

"They'll live. They'll just be very sore," he sucks in a breath as the spirits burn his cheek, "for a long time."

Rahim cannot help the wave of relief that crashes into him, and he cannot explain it. If Erik had killed them it would have been self-defence, he could justify that to himself. But Erik has killed so many men before, and the thought of more blood on his hands…

Erik's voice is soft as he murmurs, "Don't worry about it, Rahim."

Soon, the blood wiped off Erik's face, Rahim and Darius help him to bed, and all that night lying beside him Rahim cannot sleep, cannot help feeling as if it twenty years ago and more in Persia, Erik's slashed open belly a new wound, cannot keep the memory the gash in Erik's leg from his mind, and what if that had been in his chest? What then? He'd be lying dead somewhere, or nearly, and Rahim cannot keep away the wave of panic that rushes over him, squeezes Erik's hand tighter, aching to hug him but afraid to jostle him in case it hurts his ribs. The bruises have already deepened into purple, and all he can do is lie there, regarding Erik's pale face in the faint light from the street, and know that he is not sleeping either, not truly.

Sometime around dawn, Erik's eyes flicker open, roll to look at him, a faint smile twitching at his lips. "The Vicomte treated her like a princess," he murmurs, "and escorted her safely home. He is a good boy."

A smile tugs at Rahim's own lips, and he kisses Erik's forehead gently. "I did not doubt it."

They doze, somehow, and Rahim wakes before Erik, and contemplates him. Sometimes his heart swells with how much he loves this man, how much he needs him. If he could he would hold him, would keep him for a thousand years and never let any harm come to him.

He should have followed him last night. If he had it might never have happened, his face would not be hurt, his ribs not bruised, his leg not wounded. He could have helped him in the fight, and even if he had been wounded he could have helped him home. He would not have had to suffer and struggle alone. He should have been there.

Tears sting his eyes and he swallows, nuzzles into Erik's thin hair. Oh, what he would give now to have been there, to have protected him. Anything to spare him such pain. Even his knuckles are bruised and cut from the fight, and Rahim strokes his thumb gently over them. He should have been there.

"It is better that you were not." Erik's voice, gravelly from last night's wine and sleep, breaks into his thoughts, as if he might be able to hear them. "I could not forgive myself if—"

"And you expect me to be able to forgive myself?" Rahim does not mean to be so sharp, but he cannot help it. "You could have been killed."

Erik is silent a long time, and Rahim almost thinks he's dozed off again until he murmurs, "Better me than you."

They rise a little while later, and though Rahim insists that Erik stay in bed, to rest his leg and ribs, Erik is too stubborn and insists on gong to the drawing room. Deciding that it is better to help Erik there than to risk him doing himself an injury in his stubbornness, Rahim helps him dress.

"I'm not an invalid," Erik mutters as Rahim carefully buttons his shirt for him.

"No, but I'm not going to let you make your ribs worse either."

Erik mutters something in an undertone that Rahim can't quite make out, though the gist of it seems to be that he is a Persian fool, and he sighs, and rolls his eyes. There really is no use in arguing with the man when he's in such a mood, and though such words might have stung him once from those same lips they roll off him now.

Having helped Erik pull on a dressing gown over his shirt and trousers, Rahim kisses his good cheek and Erik chuckles, his mood seeming to dissipate in a moment. "I can't imagine it's improved my looks any," he murmurs, and Rahim smiles.

"No? I think it's a big improvement. You'll be very colourful in a day or two when your bruises settle."

Erik's lips twitch just slightly. "Persian swine."

"Stubborn French mule."

"I love you too."

The words go right to Rahim's heart, and warm him, and he kisses Erik gently on the lips.

After, Rahim helps Erik to the drawing room, and this time Erik does not protest. Darius serves them tea (and Rahim notes that he too seems relieved to see Erik as stubborn as ever), and soon after a knock comes to the door. Erik pales, and sets his cup down.

"I need my mask," he whispers. "There's a spare one in the room." He makes to rise, and Rahim lays a hand on his arm to stop him.

"You'll only aggravate your cuts with a mask, maybe re-open them. You can't wear one like this."

"Then I have to hide!"

"You can't hide in your condition, you'll hurt yourself."

Darius steps in, a questioning eyebrow raised. "Mademoiselle Daaé is here. What will I tell her?" Christine is not expected, and a chill goes down Rahim's spine.

"She can't see me like this!" Erik bolts out of his armchair, but his leg buckles under him. Rahim catches him before he can crash to the floor, and eases him back into the chair.

"Just stay there. I'll talk to her."

"She'll want to see me!"

"Well then we'll let her see you." The words catch Rahim himself off guard, and Erik stares at him, but he pushes on. "If she can deal with the fact of us, then she can deal with your face. Your face isn't half as shocking as we are, and knowing Christine she'll be more upset over the fact you've gotten injured. Let me prepare her." He cannot explain why, but he is certain that Christine can be trusted not to get upset over Erik's face, and if there is one thing that Erik needs now it is someone who is able to accept his face, someone other than Rahim and Darius.

Erik is silent a long time, his eyes fixed on Rahim's pocket watch, but eventually he nods. "All right. But if it horrifies her, I'll get a mask, agreed?"

Knowing he won't win another battle, Rahim nods. "Agreed." He squeezes Erik's hand, kisses his forehead. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Oh, please. Take your time."

Rahim smiles at him, and wishes that there to be something he can say to make Erik feel better, and slips out. Christine is waiting by the door, her fingers knitted and brow furrowed, face pale. When she sees Rahim her eyes brighten.

"Oh thank God. I thought something had happened to one of you! Darius seems so worried." She throws her arms around Rahim in a tight embrace, and he gently disentangles her.

"You're not too far off the mark," he says softly, his heart twisting at even having to think the words. "There was an—an incident last night, and Erik was caught up in it."

Her face pales again, and eyes widen, her fingers digging into his arms. "Is he all right? What happened? Rahim?"

"He wounded his leg, and bruised his ribs, and got a few cuts on his face, not many." For all that he has worried over Erik, it would not do to worry the poor girl needlessly. Erik will be all right now, so long as he minds himself, and Rahim needs to hold that thought close. "Christine, has he told you why he wears a mask?" It is imperative that he know how much she knows in order to prepare her fully.

She swallows, biting her inner cheek. "He said...he said he has to wear it, because he's disfigured, that he's always worn it." Rahim nods. Erik's certainly told her more than he ever told him back in Persia before the night he was attacked. It might almost be funny, if they were in a comedy drama, that Erik is always seen unmasked by someone for the first time after getting injured.

He sighs, and decides to elaborate on Erik's own words. "He's badly disfigured, that's true. I mean, I haven't noticed it in years, in truth, but it is no harm to be prepared before seeing it for the first time. There's not really much I can say, but he…he doesn't," can he just come out and say that Erik doesn't have a nose? Surely that would be too blunt, but how else could he say it? "He doesn't have a nose." There.

Christine stares at him, her eyebrows raised, her hands slipping from his arms. "He doesn't—Of course he does!"

Rahim shakes his head. "He designs his masks to look as if he does, so as not to disturb people. It's a very delicate subject, so just be warned, all right?"

She nods, her eyes sad. "All right. Just—you said there was an incident. What happened, exactly?"

It's a relief, really, to hear her bring the topic back to that. "He was very vague on the details, but he stumbled in here late last night after being attacked while on his walk. We think it might have been ruffians trying to rob him." It is only a slight editation to the truth, after all.

"And will he be all right?"

"He should. Darius and I saw to him." He swallows, and flexes his fingers. "Are you ready? To see him?"

She nods almost before he finishes. "Yes, of course."

Rahim nods, and pushes the door open. Erik raises his eyes as soon as he hears them, and offers Christine a shy smile, and in a moment she's rushed past Rahim, and is kneeling on the floor beside Erik's chair. "Are you really all right?" she asks, a note of worry in her voice as she reaches out and takes his hand. Rahim resumes his own seat beside Erik, and at the edge of his vision sees a tear shining in his lover's eyes.

Erik nods, and squeezes Christine's hand. "I am. Rahim is excellent at treating wounds." At another time, there might be an of course he is, I taught him myself tacked on at the end of that statement, but not now.

Christine nods, and considers him a minute, eyes roving over his face, and Rahim can see Erik bracing himself for what she might say next. "Does it hurt very much?" she asks, and gestures towards his face. Erik brushes his fingers over his cheek, lips twisting.

"The—the injuries, or…," he swallows, and Rahim reaches over, takes his hand gently, and Erik twines their fingers in a moment.

"Both." Christine's voice is soft, concerned.

Erik shakes his head. "The injuries don't hurt much at all. They are nothing. As for…as for my face, no. I've never had any pain from that."

Christine nods, and sits back, relieved. "That's good. I wouldn't like to think of you being in pain."

Now the tears do slip from Erik's eyes, and Rahim smiles at her, and nods. There is nothing better than that that she could have said, and to give Erik a moment to compose himself he decides to enquire after the Vicomte. "And your dinner last night? Did that go well?"

Christine's face lights up, and she stands, lets go of Erik's hand, and Erik shoots a grateful look at Rahim. "Oh it was wonderful!" she gushes. "He's very kind, and very sweet, and always made sure that I was happy, and he's asked me to join him again in two nights, and I've said yes!" A grin splits her face, and Rahim's heart soars to see it.

Erik smiles at her, and brushes his tears away. "That is good news. We were hoping you would enjoy yourself."

"I did! Oh thank you so much, Erik! And you, Rahim! I might have said no otherwise, and I really did enjoy myself." She hugs them, first Rahim, and then Erik, and Rahim notices that she is very careful hugging him, clearly mindful of his injuries, and then she twirls and hugs Darius, who is so clearly shocked by it that Erik gives an uncharacteristic giggle, and then winces when that hurts his ribs. And together, they pass a quiet morning, with Darius keeping them topped up with tea, until it's time for Christine to go to the theatre for rehearsals. And hardly has she gone when Erik turns to Rahim with a smile and says, "I think that went rather well."

Erik's recovery from the attack is a slow one, made slower by his insistence on pushing himself too hard. Within days he is back plucking at the strings of his violin, though complaining that his fingers are in pain. If he is very careful then his leg does not trouble him very much, though on the second day he jars it too much and the wound re-opens, and Rahim has to re-bandage it tightly. Mostly he complains about the pain from his ribs, and refuses to take laudanum and sits in his chair with his leg propped up. Rahim takes care of him with infinite gentleness even when he is being absolutely infuriating, and looks forward to the day when Erik is wholly recovered.

Christine enjoys her second dinner with the Vicomte, and enjoys several more of them too, and they go for walks on the Bois, and the Vicomte brings her roses and scarves and small little things that he thinks she might like, and she goes to the Rue de Rivoli and pays no mind to Erik not wearing his mind, and lies on the divan gushing about how wonderful Raoul is.

"I think she might be in love with the boy," Erik says softly one night, lying in bed staring at the ceiling as Rahim makes his own preparations for sleep. "She is. She'll marry him and give up the stage and all of my work will have been for nothing."

Rahim sighs and sits on the edge of the bed, and takes his hand. "What harm if she does love him? So long as they're happy together, is that not the main thing? You can always find a new student to train."

Erik closes his eyes, the corners of his lips turned down. "There'll never be another like Christine."

And only two days later Christine confides in Rahim, "I think I might love him."

Rahim smiles at her, and hugs her, and says, "I think you do."