Nadir didn't want to play much. Sorry. :(

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Chapter 18

"Go back to bed, Christine."

They still stood in the nook between the bed and the wall. After a few more light kisses, she had felt herself start to sway on her feet. His thumbs smoothed across her upper arms as he gazed up at her, still on his knees.

"You need to sleep," he said again, this time more insistent. He rose and pressed her to sit upon the bed, and then he stepped back and released her arms. His tall frame towered over her, but somehow, she felt no threat from him. He was a comforting shadow above her instead of a looming presence.

She rubbed an arm over her wet face, trying to wipe away the drying tears. "The sun will be up soon."

"But you shall not."

He was right. She did need the sleep, but she knew what would happen – she would lay there, toss and turn, before she got up anyway. Their room was high up on the ship, and she could feel every movement. Even though this was a large ocean liner designed to handle the seas, she couldn't escape the lull and constant rocking. Besides, her mind wouldn't settle anyway.

She shook her head. "I'm having trouble clearing my head at night. I've been like this ever since…" Her words trailed off. Ever since Paris, she had been about to say, but she didn't want to dredge up the past. It's not like she had been a champion sleeper before then anyway.

He paused at that, seeming to consider his next words carefully. "What may I do to help?"

"I'm not sure what you could do, Erik, unless you're hiding a sleeping pill somewhere."

She'd meant it as a joke, but he turned on his heel and left the room, sweeping his way beyond the curtain. His footsteps made their way downstairs. She leaned back upon the pillows, trying to get more comfortable, and pulled the blankets to her waist.

Erik returned a moment later, carrying a violin in one hand and a chair in the other. A gasp made its way out of her mouth before she could stop it. He set the chair near the bed, and then glanced down at the instrument and back to her.

"The Daroga was kind enough to smuggle it on board, perhaps to save his neck, yes?" He plucked the strings, made a few adjustments. "Not what I would choose but good enough for now." He set the violin to his chin and raised his arms with practiced grace. "Now, close your eyes, my dear."

Her eyes fluttered shut as she settled further down into the bed. He began to pull music from the strings, the long notes settling over her tired limbs like a heavy blanket. She didn't recognize the song, doubted he was playing anything except the feeling in the air itself – a slow, low melody that filled her spirit and grew heavy her body.

She cracked open her eyes for a moment to catch a glimpse of him sitting straight-backed in the chair, his knobby knees spread for balance, his long arms bending in time with the music as he played, his own eyes closed, eyelashes thick against his cheek. He was a god before her and if she had been more awake, she would have sent her own voice up to worship at his feet.

Only moments later, she drifted off to sleep with his music in her ears.

When she woke, Erik was gone, and the sun was shining brightly through a slit in the curtain to her left. As she tossed open the curtain on that side of the room, she revealed a large window on the top floor. Sunlight spilled into the room, and she drank it in, loving the feel of the warmth on her skin. Beyond the window, she saw only a wide vastness of water, the dark blue ocean swelling in gentle waves.

Grinning, she headed downstairs. She didn't have to search long for Erik, finding him in the living room, sipping tea from a rather delicate white china cup. Coming to stand before him, she put her hands on her hips, unable to ban the silly grin from her face.

He peered at her from over his cup. "Sleep well, I take it?"

"You have to do that every night, Erik. From now on." She threw her arms wide and resisted the urge to spin in place. He had drawn the curtain over the two-story window in the main part of the cabin, keeping them in dimmer light, but that didn't matter. She still felt elated. "I slept! I really, truly slept! With no dreams, even."

He took a sip of his tea and lowered the cup. "A one-time performance, I am afraid. I can't have you becoming addicted."

"What?" She faltered a bit, and then when she realized he had just cracked a joke, she tossed back her head and let out a loud snort of a laugh. God, it felt good to laugh! "What time is it anyway?"

"Just past eleven." She gawked at him, and he continued smoothly, gesturing with one hand. "I sent back the breakfast cart, but the lunch cart should be arriving at any moment. The old man set up three courses a day – for me, I might add." She could almost feel the invisible eye roll. "You are more than welcome to peruse."

She nodded. "That sounds awesome. Nadir will be joining us for dinner. I made him promise."

"'Nadir,' is it, now?" He raised a patrician eyebrow at her.

"We… came to an understanding." She moved to the two-story window and peaked between the seam in the heavy beige curtains. A balcony ran the entire length of their stateroom, complete with lounge chairs and a tiny pool of bubbly water tucked privately against the corner. "We have a hot tub!"

"I haven't yet decided on whether or not to kill him. You shouldn't become attached."

Now she was the one performing an eye roll. He had twisted a little in his seat so he could keep her in his line of sight. "We both know you aren't going to hurt him, so stop with the jokes."

"I do not joke."

Coming back to his side, she bent down and gave him a quick peck on the smooth pane of his unmasked cheek. He really couldn't grow a beard, could he? When she pulled back, his yellow eyes contained a new astonishment to them.

"Please don't hurt him in any way," she said. "I rather like him. He is the reason I'm here, you realize."

"Exactly."

Her hand followed the path of her mouth, stroking his cheek, following the line of his strong jaw. His cup hovered halfway to his lips. She stayed away from his mask, stroking the exposed parts of his face - the edge of his wig at his hairline, where his neck fled into his shirt collar. He was always dressed so formally.

Her voice was soft as she told him, "Nadir loves you, you know."

Now he did balk at that, his chuffing breath felt against her fingertips. However, he didn't argue with her, and that was surprising. Could it be that Erik was more aware of Nadir's admiration than she thought he was? She wished the two men would more openly admit their friendship. It would save them both a lot of heartache.

"You should have seen the poor man," she continued. "Last night, he was terrified of your reaction. He was totally drunk."

Erik swung his head back to peer up at her. "Drunk?"

"Yeah. He had at least three glasses of cognac. Erik, what's wrong?"

He had gone still beneath her hand, his eyes turning far away. Suddenly, he lurched to his feet and brushed past her, heading on lanky legs to the cabin's phone perched on a low table near the dining room. "What is his room number?"

She told him, and Erik punched in it. He held the phone to his ear as it began to ring. Almost as an afterthought, he clicked the button to make the call go through the speaker so she could hear too.

On the fourth ring, Nadir picked up. "Hello?"

"Christine tells me you partook of alcohol last night, old man."

She could hear Nadir's heavy sigh through the speaker. "Good morning, Erik."

"You sound less rough than I expected."

"Yes, a few glasses of water and painkiller helped with that. Is this why you're calling? To inquire about my drinking habits?"

Christine loved how Nadir just took in stride whatever Erik dished out. These two men clearly had grown used to verbally sparing over the course of their weird relationship. She didn't miss the way Erik's body relaxed, the ease at which he spoke to Nadir. Though he may not ever admit it, Erik probably returned the Iranian high esteem in kind.

"Of course," Erik replied. "Especially when previously you had none."

Nadir's voice was glib. "A man is likely to change his mind when facing an uncertain future."

"I was quite surprised to find Christine in my stateroom. I see I have neglected to put you in your place recently enough. I shall have to remedy this soon."

"In which case, I decline the dinner invitation."

"That would be wise."

Christine laid a hand on Erik's arm, wanting the chance to speak. He inclined his head. "Don't listen to him, Nadir. Please come. I hear that this set of rooms has its own restaurant and butler – we can get something brought here."

"You sound well," Nadir said, obviously relieved.

"I am."

"In which case, let's give our mutual friend another day to adjust, all right? We can have dinner tomorrow."

She sighed, but she knew when she shouldn't press. The relationship between these two was complicated. Erik likely blamed Nadir for the choice she had made to come here.

"Dinner tomorrow," she agreed.

Erik leaned back in. "I have your room number now, Daroga."

"Then send me some cake," Nadir retorted. "I hear the chocolate is amazing." With a snap, he hung up the phone.

Christine grinned up at Erik. "That went well."

After lunch, Christine spent the next few hours showering and unpacking her suitcase. She had stuffed as much as she could in her single suitcase and one overnight bag, leaving behind what she knew she could replace – like a lot of her clothes and knick-knacks.

Erik hung around for a while, standing awkwardly in the corner of the master bedroom. She unpacked what she could without feeling embarrassed about it, leaving her lingerie hiding in a side compartment, and noted his attention to the items she had chosen to bring. Books were easy to replace, but she did bring her well-worn copy of Jane Eyre and the opera history book that had belonged to Erik.

Upon seeing the book, Erik cleared his throat. She ignored him, setting it on the dresser, the bookmark with his red inked scrawl still tucked within the pages. They had never spoken again about Faust or that time on the little stage, when he had tried to get her to sing a song he had written and she had repaid him by throwing his good intentions in his face. That had been an ugly time for her, something she wished she could take back. His aria had been beautiful, and she wished she could sing it now.

From her suitcase, she fished out two pictures frames – one containing a photo of her mother and father on their wedding day, another of a small Christine singing onstage while her father played violin. They were both gazing at each other, and she remembered that moment on stage so clearly, one of the first times he had asked her to join him during a concert.

She touched the glass, smiling a little as Erik came closer to peer at the picture. "I miss him terribly."

"He would be proud of you," Erik said softly.

She looked up at him. "You think so? I haven't done much with my life so far. I certainly haven't turned into the musician he thought I'd be."

"You are young – there is time enough for that. I meant, however, the woman you have become. He would be proud of how strong, brave, and utterly kind you are."

"T-thank you." His blunt compliments took her aback, and she found his admiring stare too much to hold. She went back to unpacking the rest of her clothes.

After a while of watching her, Erik cleared his throat. "Is this all you brought?"

"Yeah," she said, pushing her hair back from her eyes. "I didn't have any other way to bring more with me. But don't worry – I left my mother money to pay for movers to clear out my apartment. They can take the rest of my things back to my mom's house. I don't really need much, but I'm afraid I couldn't fit much in this suitcase."

From his suit pocket, he produced the prepaid cash card from last night. "You may use this to purchase whatever you need."

She looked from the card to him. "You don't have to give me money. You didn't have to then either."

"I wanted to provide something for you," he said with a rise and fall of broad shoulders.

She had to ask. "H-how much is on it?"

"Twenty-five thousand." At her gaping expression, he held the card out to her. "It is yours. I meant it to be yours to do with as you liked. I have so much of it merely sitting there that it pleases me immensely to share it with you."

She didn't like borrowing or feeling like she owed anyone money, but she could tell that Erik took his gift seriously. He wasn't trying to buy her affections. He really did want to simply help her out.

"Okay," she said, taking the card from him. "I wouldn't mind checking out some of the ship today, maybe buy a couple extra sets of clothes. Would that be all right?"

He snorted and began to leave the room. "You are not my prisoner here. Do as you wish."

"Wait, Erik." She hesitated as he paused, waiting for her to speak. "What about the letter?"

"Do you want it?"

She nodded.

The letter, once again folded into the envelope, slid from his inside jacket pocket. He passed it to her, and she took the opportunity to grab his long fingers and give them a squeeze.

"Thank you," she said, meaning it.

With a slight incline of his head, he made his way downstairs and soon, she began to hear him plink away at the piano.

Christine had been on boats more than a few times in her life, but nothing compared to a ship of this size. This wasn't even a cruise ship – the Queen Eleanor was a true ocean liner, built to withstand crossing the Atlantic and all the bad weather that might come with such travel. Even so, the winds outside had picked up, turning the sunshine of the morning into a partly cloudy day. Christine spent some time sunning herself on a deck before the chilly weather ran her back inside.

Her coat had been too bulky to fit in her suitcase, so that was the first thing she bought. She knew things would only get chillier as they headed further out to sea, and she didn't want to be forced to spend all of her time indoors. She also bought a few toiletries she had forgotten, a couple pairs of shoes, and a sun hat.

After thinking it over, she bought a few things that Erik might like, and presented him with the gifts as soon as she returned to the cabin in the later afternoon.

He was sitting in an armchair, reading her copy of Jane Eyre, which made her instantly glad she had bought a few things for him. She didn't want her poor Erik to go mad from tediousness on this trip.

Smiling down at him, she set the bag of items on his lap, on top of the book. That finally drew Erik's attention.

"You like this story?" he asked, pulling the novel out from under the bag.

"I do. It's one of my favorites."

"This… Rochester is an abrasive man, yet she still falls in love with him."

She perched on the armrest of the chair, clearly invading his space. However, she no longer wore the long t-shirt that had made her feel so exposed. Dressed in jeans, a blouse, and light jacket, she felt well covered up. And bolder. Even without exhaustion and high emotions urging her on.

"You're that far in already?"

He swept an arm out as if to say what else have I to do?

"It's a gothic romance, Erik. There's going to be both romance and dark undertones throughout it." She poked the bag on his lap. "Look at what I got you." Her eagerness was probably showing, but she didn't care.

"Bookmark?" he inquired, conceding.

She gave a little laugh and fetched the receipt from her purchases. After he had marked his place, he turned his attention to the contents of the bag. She had checked a dozen books out from the ship's library, a variety she thought he would enjoy. Taking each one out, he individually inspected them, taking his time, turning them over in his long hands. His care delighted her.

Then from the bag he pulled two larger-sized pads of paper – one with lines, one without – in the best quality she could find. She had also purchased a nicer set of writing utensils, pens and pencils of various types. The store hadn't a lot to choose from, but the quality was nice enough. She watched his face as he set the items out, and he focused back on her with one eyebrow raised.

"Just in case," she said, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Maybe she had overstepped somehow? "Just in case you want to write or anything like that."

She had overstepped – she could see by the way he began to frown.

"My dear, after the way I first sailed over the Atlantic, this trip will hardly become boring even without all of this. You did not have to bother or spend your money."

"I wanted to." She bit the inside of her lip and moved to shove the writing materials back inside the bag. "Don't worry about it. I can just return them."

His cool hand atop hers stilled her. "That is not what I meant. My fingers ache to pick up a pen again, so I thank you for the gifts. They will be well used. What I meant is that I do not want you worrying about my comfort or whether or not I am bored."

He set the bag on the floor next to him, and the next thing she knew, he was tugging her off the armrest and into his lap, her legs stretched sideways across his thighs. One arm came around her back, while the other brushed the strands of hair from her shoulder before delving into the hair at the base of her neck.

"With you by my side, I hardly worry about boredom."

Oh, she could hear the amusement in his voice, the sweet seductive purr that raised the hairs on her arms. Pressure settled against her neck, asking without demanding, and she gave in without hesitation, tucking her own arms around his neck and leaning close.

He was a fast learner, knew now just how she liked having his lips trail across hers, touching yet not touching. She wished not for the first time today that he would remove his mask, at least while they were doing this. She longed to feel all of his mouth on hers, not just his careful angle that prevented the bloated side of his lips from touching her. If he would let her, she would press her lips to the distorted side of his face, learn the crevices and dips, show him how much she loved all of him, not just the side he presented.

But they needed to trust each other, and that meant she had to keep her hand from drifting upward. She settled for tugging a bit at his impeccably tied cravat, urging him onward. He answered her by slanting his mouth, parting his lips, and delving his tongue inside to lash at hers. He took her from a ghost of a kiss to a ravishing embrace, and her toes curled within her shoes. There was no middle ground with this man – he was either afraid to even kiss her or trying to devour her whole.

But for once, she didn't stop him. She allowed the onslaught, relished the slick-slide of tongues, their teeth bumping as he shifted to delve deeper, his hands roaming through her hair or gripping her arms a little too tightly through her jacket. A lie would be if she said his unhinged passion didn't somewhat frighten her, the way he could so suddenly surge forward, his trained control starting to slip. She had been on the receiving end of that passion several times now, once without her consent, and she wondered if he could ever reach the point when she would not be able to stop him.

She ran her hand over his hair, careful not to disturb his wig, and sighed happily into his mouth. He was perfection in all things he set his mind to accomplish, and kissing was one entry he evidently wanted to add to his repertoire.

She adjusted her legs, wanting to turn to face him a bit more, and one of her knees dug into his side.

He hissed, wrenching his mouth away from hers. His hands pushed her back until she was perched upon his knees, his strong grip holding her so she didn't topple off.

She was a little delirious, coming down off her high. "What happened? Erik?"

His breath was shaky, and he seemed to fight with himself. Her thoughts spun through the last few seconds. When she had moved…?

"Oh my God, I hurt you somehow?" How had she managed to- Her eyes widened as she realized where her knee had pressed. "Your side!" she cried. "Your bullet wound!" She moved to get off his lap, but he held her in an iron grip, not letting her up.

"Just a moment," he ground out between clenched teeth.

How could his wound possibly still be hurting this much? Hadn't it been five days by now? She wiggled around and began to search for the edge of his shirt, wanting to see. Of course he probably hadn't been taking care of himself. Of course the nasty gash must have gotten infected. Damn him and his pride!

He caught her hand, which gave her enough room to slide off his lap to her knees on the floor before him, an easier position to tug up his shirt. Now he had both of her wrists in his grasp, a scowl upon his face.

"Christine – leave it."

"But you're hurt," she protested, tugging at her wrists. He didn't relent. "You let it get infected, didn't you?"

"I said leave it."

She stuck out her chin, her jaw set at a stubborn angle. "No."

"Christine-"

"No, Erik. I love you. I'm going to look at it. You let me bandage it once. Let me do that again for you. This is a boundary I'm crossing."

He stared at her, his golden eyes flashing in the waning light of the late afternoon. Then those yellow depths cut away, acquiescing. "Tonight."

Her relief was palpable. She rested her forehead against his knee. "Thank you."

He grunted at her, and she was glad her grin was hidden. She didn't want to hurt his pride any further.

At that moment, a polite, crisp knock sounded at the door, signaling the arrival of dinner precisely at 6:30. That was perfect. She was famished from the busy day, and afterward, she would see to Erik's injury.

And maybe, after she'd tended to him, he would oblige by granting her other wish.

We will reach 100,000 words within the next chapter - whew! I expect this fic to go another 50k, with another 15 chapters or so. I don't want to rush, but we still have the cruise to get through before we deal with the fallout on the other side.

I always love to hear what you think!