AN: Ok, I got excited (and some free time!) and I have chapter 2 ready! Please read and review!

Disclaimer: I got rhythm and little else. Certainly not the book rights to PotO.

Behind Green Eyes

Erik watched her smile widen, her lips parting as her sightless eyes searched for the precise origin of his voice.

"Erik," she tasted the name. Her hand held his a moment longer in a gesture of appreciation before finally setting him free. "Thank you for your help. I didn't hear the door open and … didn't realize anyone was here."

"It was left open," he lied easily. Erik was good at thinking on his feet – a lifetime of necessity had trained him properly in that. He watched her, this girl who could not see him, with a kind of hungry and birdlike greed.

She was smiling. She did not know who he was or what he looked like. She knew a name and an action, and could not see the rest of him. And so he could observe her closely, more closely perhaps than he'd ever been able to observe another. He observed like a scientist gathering empirical evidence. The color of her complexion, the texture of her curly mane, even the haunted look of those veiled eyes – all of it was his by observation.

"What are you doing in my exam room, Erik?" Her question was laced with a little amusement and shyness in turns. "Not that I'm complaining – I'm grateful for your help just now."

Damn him to hell, damn him to hell…

"I'm a … colleague of Dr. Khan's." He said at last. "I assist him with some patients when the schedule's too packed."

Christine tilted her head curiously. "And so you are…Dr. Erik?"

He gave a small grin. "I'd prefer it if you call me Erik." And, God help him, he really would prefer it.

She nodded. "All right, as long as you're a doctor and you don't think surgery stiches are particularly grotesque."

He couldn't stop himself from a bark of laughter at that, though he reigned it in when he saw her jump in surprise at the sound.

"No, I've…seen a lot. Surgery stitches are nothing."

He quieted and she tilted her head up at him expectantly. He took a few steps away from her to the sage green medical counter. On top of it was a medical file – he didn't have to guess whose it was and who left it there.

Suppressing a curse he picked it up and reviewed the history of her leg surgeries. "Not too bad," he mused aloud. "Just need to wash down the site with some antiseptic and re-bandage unless there are any signs of improper healing or infection."

He spoke as a doctor – interested wholly in the work. He took from the medical cabinet a bin, solutions, gloves, swabs, gauze and new bandages and clips.

"Believe it or not, I can clean and bandage just as properly as Na- Dr. Khan could," Erik murmured as he came back over and knelt by her chair.

He tilted his head up and saw her smile, but also noticed a rising blush. But it was only remarkable to him – he had never caused a blush, not even one borne from innocent modesty like hers. The reason baffled him. Why would anyone be so nervous with him? Terrified, sure, but nervous?

Her hands fisted the material of her skirt, pushing it down. "I -," Christine faltered for a moment, "it's nasty. I'm told the surgery was tricky. There were bone fragments, and…"

"And I thought I told you I'd seen quite a lot worse in my time," Erik reminded her with some irritation. He slipped on the gloves and saw with some satisfaction that she was no longer trying to hide her ankle in her skirt.

"All right," she said in a shaky voice, and allowed him to take up her ankle. Taking great care he slipped off the slipper.

Her ankle was wrapped in a white bandage, so gently and carefully as to keep her circulation from being cut. Tugging the clips free, his hand guided the cloth free from her small foot. He was patient and surgical, and did not hurry this for fear of distressing her. Christine, for her part, only felt the cool air touch her uncovered skin and the slight embarrassment of what this man – Erik, would see.

Finally Erik pulled away the gauze and looked closely at the work done. Her skin was naturally creamy right up to the ankle. It was healing but the stitches were tight and angry and the ankle itself swollen and purple.

His gloved hand trailed only lightly against the sutures with a swab, then patted it down with antiseptic. "You shouldn't try to stand on it quite yet, Christine." He allowed a gloved finger to trail down to where a pool of the antiseptic liquid had formed.

He could feel her trembling, and saw her lips pinch together.

What was Nadir thinking?1 He was no good for this, even if Gus was her father.

"I-it's going to be fine," he sounded out, hoping to sound cheerful. "We'll continue your course of antibiotics and wrap this up and you'll see – it won't even…scar." Isn't that what young women were most afraid of, scarring? Not that he could blame them, but -

"…walk."

He heard the word under her deep breathing and looked at her. She was worrying her bottom lip as if to keep from spilling the words on her tongue. Erik cleared his throat.

"I- I bet you'll be walking out of that chair soon," he amended. Why was he bothering to try to please her? When had he ever bothered with pleasantries for a patient?

When have I ever caught myself staring at one?

"I don't know about that," she admitted. Erik raised his eyes, surprised by the sadness in her reply. Her milk-pale eyes had dimmed – just a little. Or was it the lighting in the room playing tricks?

His hand pressed only lightly to adjust the clips on the fresh bandage. His eyes had not wandered away from hers. As if he could not quite believe it, Erik's hand moved once, slowly, over her eyes. They did not respond.

"I can feel the heat of your hand, you know," she teased, finally picking up her smile. His hand froze and he looked at it. He'd never thought of his body as particularly warm. She seemed to sense his embarrassment and laughed lightly.

"If you could –" Erik tried to say something, which was more than he'd given most people. But this was the daughter of a good man, one of the few he'd met, and he wanted to talk to her. He thought he might even understand her.

So why didn't the question come?

"Erik?"

His focus snapped back. He slipped the shoe back on and tidied after himself with a frenetic energy.

"You'll be scheduled for physical therapy as soon as Dr. Khan clears you, maybe in the next few weeks. The stitches will need to be out before then."

That dimness in her eyes returned and grew darker for a moment. Then she smiled brightly, very brightly.

"Thank you, Erik." She held out a hand, "it's nice to meet you."

He took her hand again. His fingertips pressed her palm with the barest pressure.

"It's nice to meet you," he echoed. And it was. It was nice to be thise close to anyone much less a girl like… her.

"Perhaps I'll see you again," she smiled at him and released his hand. "Sounds like Dr. Khan is often busy."

He thought about it. Other than lectures and work in his plastic surgery firm, Nadir was fairly free. And also, he'd left her unattended in this exam room as bait, and Erik did not like falling into plans. But then there was Christine.

"If Dr. Khan permits," he tried not to spit the name, "I will be the attending physician for your care here, Christine.

Her smile widened brilliantly. "I will see you next week?"

"Yes."

"-pretentious, assuming, smug, vainglorious ass –"

Nadir sighed, pouring himself a cup of tea and one for his guest. Erik was fond of the particular blend, and Nadir hoped it might serve as a peace offering of sorts – whenever Erik was done with this little tirade.

"I don't know what you're grousing about," Nadir interrupted, placing Erik's cup across the desk. "You spent time with a lovely girl, one who needs your lovely skills, I might add."

His guest merely glowered where he stood. Nadir sighed and sat in his chair but did not drink his tea either. "Her ankle will heal. With care she may not even limp. But that's not her major problem."

"And you believe I can do something about that," Erik concluded for him.

"Don't you?" Nadir raised an eyebrow. "Erik, Gus hired you – you, with all of your secrets and anger – because your hands are those of God. Do you not want to repay him for that?"

"I was useful," Erik spat. "And only because patients could be knocked out before I ever showed up for surgery."

"Erik –"

"I'm a backstage player, Khan." Erik sat down at last. "If I was kept out of site, diagnoses were easy because illness doesn't care what you look like. Does it, Nadir?" A bitter chuckle escaped his lips, and he raised his keen eyes to Khan. Those angry, defeated eyes held everything he would not speak. Those eyes burned with their finality.

"Men are idiots, nadir, and I'm done with them." He shook his head. "All I want is to leave this behind. Gustave is dead, and I've no more reason to continue here. I'm going to go somewhere – anywhere – and I'll simply live there until I'm done with living. The end."

Nadir took a few deep breaths and waited until Erik at last took a sip of the tea.

"I saw Christine," Nadir spoke up, "after you left."

"You were in the hallway all along?" Erik growled.

Nadir ignored the question. "She asked if you could be her primary doctor from now on. It seems you made a good impression on her, Dr. Destler."

Erik remained silent, but the suppressed twitch of his mouth betrayed him. There hadn't been any false words between them – she did want to talk again.

"You're being cruel, Nadir," he replied at last. There was little bite to his statement. It was true and they were both aware of it.

"I have to be kind to Christine – it's what's owed to Gustave," Nadir replied quietly. At that Erik's eyes raised to meet his.

"And what is owed to me?" He wondered quietly. He looked down into his cup.

"No one knows what it's like to be the bad man," Erik's voice was quiet, withdrawn and hurt.

"Erik –"

"To be the sad manbehind green eyes," his voice echoed as he carried on, trapping Nadir with the very sound. Erik set down the cup at once and stood to look at Nadir. "And no one knows what it's like to be hated, to be fated to telling only lies!"

He softened a moment and thought about her hand in hers. The dimness in her blinded eyes. The ache he recalled.

"But my dreams, they aren't as empty as my conscience seems to be." Who was he trying to reassure? Himself? The man who put him in this position?

"What are your dreams, Erik?" Nadir asked. "Not this escape you have planned for yourself – your real dreams." And he did want to know.

Erik shot away and towards the wide open window of Nadir's office. He pressed his palms to the cool glass pane and looked below.

It was her – Christine was being wheeled towards a black car by Mrs. Giry. The rain had let up and he could see her.

"No one knows what it's like to feel these feelings, like I do…" Erik gripped his heart through his shirt before slamming that hand angrily on the pane. "And I blame you!" Everyone – God, Nadir, Gustave – they were all behind the echo of his agony. "And no one bites back as hard on their anger, none of my pain – no, it can't show through…"

Nadir stepped behind him and held his eye through the window's reflection. "But your dreams, they aren't as empty as your conscience seems to be…"

They both looked at each other quietly, and this time it was Erik who looked away first.

"I have hours, only lonely," he murmured. His shoulders dropped. "I'll keep any appointments she makes. I do owe Gus that much. But don't ask any more of me."

Nadir nodded. It was a start.

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