Author's Note: Reponses:
MarilynKC: The facets are converging sooner than later. I also ponder Erik's decisions, one moment he's for it, the next, against. It's really quite... stressing for him.
Teen545: Talking to Erik about anything regarding music and the arts is almost akin to opening Pandora's Box - it all just floods out and the managers would be wise to have him. And Christine? She's always adorable and full of surprises, she is so much fun to write.
Patronage
Erik froze for half a breath when he opened the office door. While he expected a swarm of nosy ballet tarts… and Meg outside the door, the sight of Christine planted before him with the others poorly scattered nearby caught him off-guard. Her eyes sparkled with a hidden fire that he adored about her, even if it was off-putting in this instance.
"What happened?" It was more of a demand than a question.
Erik swallowed that damnable lump that liked to form whenever he saw her, then stepped forward while shutting the door behind him. "I believe you have a luncheon to attend, Mademoiselle."
"What happened?" she asked again with a grovel leaking into her voice.
This was neither the time nor place to discuss what transpired within the Manager's office, but he knew her anxieties well. Cocking his head to the side, he offered what little he could without feeding into the rumor mill. "I will see you here upon your return from your rehearsals and lesson, Mademoiselle," he assured.
"Here?" her posture softened a little.
He gave a single nod, "Now if you will excuse me, I have matters to attend to in the interim."
Christine offered a small nod as Meg took the opportunity to flounce over and hook arms with her best friend.
"Come on, I'm starving," the younger girl grinned with a playful nudge.
Casting weary glances between them, Christine issued a minuscule headshake. "I think it may be best to postpone…"
"Nonsense!" Meg protested.
Erik eyed his beloved for her current level of stubbornness. While he knew she only wanted to know what went on with the Managers, he was not yet ready to have that conversation. He needed to think. He needed to process everything and determine what course of action would be the best one for them. A job offer was unexpected, and even with the parameters of it already laid out, Erik lacked an answer. "That is… your decision, Mademoiselle. Regardless, I will see you after the break. Good day." He gave each a curt nod before he turned and strode down the corridor, leaving a dismayed Christine in his wake.
~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~
"Well, what was he supposed to do? Tell you then and there? Usher you off to some little corner where those rumors you hate start looking true?" Meg asked in her usual bluntness.
The two friends sat on a low wall under the shadow of a budding tree where they waited for a table to open up at their favorite bistro. Christine remained in her perturbed state from what transpired with Erik. While she understood Meg's point and Erik's position, it did not make the situation sting any less. Although Erik managed to dispel the primary concern of being banned from the Opera, it did nothing to quell her other worries.
"What could they possibly want to talk with him about?" Christine pondered aloud with a long sigh, weighing her words. "It is not as though he causes any trouble when he's there, until…someone asks his opinion."
Meg offered a smile as she swung her lower legs to and fro, her heels tapping the plastered masonry while she shrugged, "I'm sure he'll tell you."
"That makes one of us."
"Oh?"
"I probably know him better than anyone else, but every scrap of information I've gained has been like finding the one novel in a bookcase full of empty books."
"That bad?"
"Did I mention that when you manage to find that novel, a magical lock appears on it and the key has been tossed in the lagoon?"
Meg nudged Christine with her shoulder. "I'm betting you've been diving in and finding those keys."
"More like… waving my hand above the lock and willing it to disappear," Christine gave a wisp of a smile. "Sometimes it works."
"You're telling me batting your pretty blue eyes and giving him a charming smile doesn't do the trick?"
"He's surprisingly resistant."
"Really?"
"Really," Christine confirmed with a larger smile but softened when thinking about him. "Despite his stubbornness, he is so very sweet to me; and apart from you, he's the only other person I've ever been comfortable being myself around since Papa died."
"Well," Meg drew out the word in a playful tone, "he's seen your frenzied baking and didn't run."
Christine chuckled. "And my stockings."
Meg's brows shot up.
"I was a bit embarrassed. I'm pretty sure he thought me silly, but then he went and gifted me the most colorful and mismatched pair he could find," she lifted the hem of her skirts to her calves so her friend could glimpse a sliver of the garment peaking above the leather of her heeled boot.
"Ah… And he's seen more than your stockings, I'm sure," the blonde teased.
Christine's cheeks reddened as her fingers released the heavy skirts.
"He has!" Meg exclaimed, though she kept her voice low enough for only Christine to hear. "Now you have to tell me."
"He has." It was rather pointless to lie to Meg. "But little more. He is adamant that I agree to be his wife first. Until then, he will risk nothing."
"He's proposed?"
"No… not exactly. While he's made it known that he wants to, he has not directly asked. It's more of him waiting on me."
Meg was silent for a long moment as she appeared to mull Christine's words, glancing towards the sky before asking. "Have you seen him without the mask?"
Christine nodded, "A few times."
"Is it bad?"
Bowing her head, Christine searched for a satisfactory explanation for her own…confusion. She loved him, but looking at him without the mask was not a simple thing, despite her efforts to the contrary. "It is not… something to be taken lightly, but it does not affect my feelings for him."
"Then, why are you hesitant?"
"I just want more time. He has been so wonderful and so good to me, that part of me wonders if some of it is an act. Not in a malicious sort, but I feel like he is hiding things from me that I should know before making such commitments. Every time I want to leap headlong into our relationship, a little voice in the back of my mind whispers: 'Wait.' Not to stop, not to run, but just to wait a little longer. To get to know him more."
Another silence stretched out from Meg as she looked back, and their eyes locked. "If that little voice is saying 'Wait,' then it's probably best to listen. Especially when the Phantom all but vanished the moment he appeared to you, with most of his antics. It's like someone flipped a light switch on him."
"How well do you know him?" Christine asked after a moment. "I know there's a certain familiarity between you three. Neither Erik nor your mother will elaborate."
Meg bit her lip. "I don't know him at all, really. I guessed it might have been him giving you lessons, but prying into the Ghost has never been a good idea. I've never spoken with him before Chantseur. I just play a scared little ballet tart whenever something happens because Maman told me to, and it heightens the illusion."
"Why?"
Meg shrugged, then shook her head. "All I know for certain is that we don't have to seek a patron or entertain Abonnés in the Foyer to stay comfortable."
It was Christine's turn to fall silent as her brows knitted together. Before she could issue a response, or rather, her next question, a young voice calling her name drew the pair of young women out from the depths of their conversation.
"Mademoiselle Daaé! Mademoiselle Daaé!" called the eager voice from a crowd of Parisians going about their business, until a familiar boy with dark hair and bronzed skin darted out from between them.
Several in the crowd passing by stumbled as they avoided the rampant boy with grumbling chides and disparaging remarks filling the air in protest.
The boy reached them with a brilliant smile that lit up his dark eyes. "Mademoiselle Daaé," he said again, after a moment's breath. "When will you be singing the lead again?"
Christine and Meg shared stunned glances before smiles crept forth. While she was not the greatest with names, she recalled the boy from the other week who came calling upon her with his father in tow. A welcomed reprieve from Raoul's insistence for her attention. "Well… I'm not quite sure. It really depends on La Carlotta and how she is feeling."
The boy's face crinkled at that, though when he began to utter a response, his mouth clamped shut.
"Danyal Mehri de Marais," came the clipped tone that only a mother could deliver. "Remember your manners."
Christine looked up to see a woman in a dark lavender dress made of the finest fabrics, where its simplicity accentuated its distinct flow and elegance. Her skin was several shades lighter than her assumed son, and her dark hair was coiled in braids atop her head, held in place by ornate golden combs with decorative flowers. Beside her were two young girls who were the opposite of supposed mother and son. The taller girl had coppery hair while the smaller girl's locks were a pale yellow.
"Forgive my son's intrusion," the woman said warmly while holding the youngest girl's hand. "He is often in the habit of forgetting his manners when excited."
Danyal's cheeks darkened in his fluster.
Blinking out of her brief reverie of pondering familial relationships, Christine shook her head as she and Meg came to their feet. "It was no trouble, really, Madame," she replied.
"Perhaps not for you, but minding a spirited son can become arduous at times," she smiled and brushed her hand over Danyal's mussed hair to neaten a few errant locks before resting it on his shoulder. "I am Jasmine de Marais, and these are my daughters Matilda and Mildred. You've already met Danyal," she patted his shoulder, "and I'm sure you know of my husband, Doctor Mehri."
"Doctor Mehri is your husband?" asked Meg, not bothering to mask her astonishment.
"Yes," Jasmine replied without pause, as though she had been asked that question a dozen times before. "He prefers to be known under his merits rather than my family name or a title."
Christine glanced between the women, catching on that Madame de Marais was well-to-do, but not the extent.
Meg inched closer and leaned to whisper in her ear, "Vicomtesse."
Oh! Christine thought with widening eyes as a wave of sudden nervousness washed over her. It was like she was that wandering child following at her father's heels again as he played for private functions at the Chateau of a noble family, the rich and powerful in their fine attire, looking down their noses at her ruddy face and plain dresses.
Meeting Raoul and his family was something of a refreshing change in comparison. Raoul never looked down on her or her father, but his family, while warmer than most of the nobility they encountered, still made her feel out of place during visits. They were kind of course, but never spoke with her more than necessary. Only Raoul would seek her company then.
He was quite persistent then, too.
Some things never changed.
The Vicomtesse's voice drew Christine back to the moment, and she did not hear what she said.
Thankfully, Meg did as she answered, "Yes. Well…we were hoping to, but it looks like we will have to plan for another day if a table isn't ready in the next five minutes or so."
Christine glanced between them again, smiling her way out of the brief plunge into the depths of reverie.
Madame de Marais gave a single, gentle nod. "Perhaps I could be of help. When opportunity lands before me, I am not one to look away from it," she explained as she looked at Christine. "In fact, I was planning to visit the Palais Garnier this week."
"I'm sorry," the nerves ate at Christine's core. "I'm not sure I follow?"
The Vicomtesse smiled, "I will gladly explain, if you and your friend—" she cast an expectant look toward Meg.
"M-Meg, Meg Giry," she stuttered. "I'm one of the dancers."
The Vicomtesse gave a nod, "—would be so kind as to join my family and I for lunch."
"Thank you for the offer, Madame, but I – we – couldn't possibly intrude on your time with family," Christine uttered in gentle decline.
"Hardly an intrusion when I am the one inviting you. However, if you do not wish to, I shall not press the matter any further, unlike a certain Vicomte."
Christine's brows pinched together as she tilted her head.
"There are few things that my husband does not tell me, Mademoiselle Daaé," she explained, never swaying from the kindness of her candor. "I am curious to know, do you believe that the Vicomte would have left you alone if it were not for my husband's interference?"
Christine's mouth was too dry to answer.
Madame de Marais gave a nod. "Marital status has little bearing on how men behave when they attend their little parties after the curtain falls. Bachelors with some bit of wealth tend to be especially bold. They become quite boorish too, though, I am sure you know that."
Christine bowed her head, glancing at Meg and unsure what to say.
"Only a gentleman at your side can stop the tide, Mademoiselle, but I can help manage the influence of a franc."
The younger women shared a glance, and Meg gave her friend a nudge.
"Alright…" Christine relented.
The Vicomtesse gave a small smile and briefly raised her hand with an elegant little twirl which brought the owner of the bistro trotting forth. "Marcel, would it be an imposition to add two more seats to our table?"
He glanced between de Marais and the younger women. "N— No, not at all."
"Splendid. Oh, and when these ladies are ready to order, please expedite their meals as much as you are able. Their time is short."
He gave a rapid nod and soon started leading them to their table.
Meg and Christine followed the family, with Meg leaning in to whisper into her friend's ear. "You think she ate off a silver spoon or a golden one?"
"Meg," Christine chided, elbowing her while grinning.
The family and their guests settled into their seats at a cramped patio table, with a bashful Danyal claiming a seat beside Christine. There was little conversation as they looked over the menus. With the youngest girl almost in her mother's lap, de Marais murmured the options into her ear. The girl soon settled into a chair, with shy smiles to everyone else. It was only after they placed their orders that the familiar face of Dr. Mehri appeared.
He had started a beard since she last saw him, with a thick stubble well established.
It took the good doctor a bit of maneuvering between clustered tables to reach them. When he did, his hands landed on his wife's shoulders as he stooped to plant a chaste kiss on her cheek and murmur into her ear. "I am sorry I'm late."
The Madame's dark hazel-green eyes squinted when the brightest of smiles tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I'm sure there was good reason."
He smirked and kissed her cheek again before settling into the open chair beside her and offering Meg and Christine a nod each. "Stopped by the Opera early?" he asked his wife.
"More of a happy circumstance, spurred by your son," she smirked and sipped her water.
Mehri's shoulders sagged as he cast Danyal a look with a raised brow. "You do realize that by the time you come of age, she'll likely be married."
Although the admonishment was not directed at her, Christine felt an embarrassed heat redden her cheeks.
Danyal, who must have been no older than nine or ten, squirmed in his seat, "I can hope."
The older girl with the copper hair, Matilda, cupped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.
"In this, mind how high that goes. It will be best to remain an admirer."
"Yes, Baba," Danyal muttered.
Mehri's dissatisfaction with the boy's tone was clear by the distinct lift of his brow and tilt of his head.
Danyal squirmed and repeated his response in a clearer voice. "Yes, Baba."
Baba? Christine wondered at the odd phrase. She would have written it off as a slip of the tongue had the boy not said it twice. Perhaps it was the word used from whatever exotic corner of the world Doctor Mehri immigrated from.
Glancing at the chastised boy beside her, she contemplated whether it would be more helpful to say something kind to Danyal or to remain silent. Fortunately, Monsieur Mehri made the decision for her when he spoke again.
"Mademoiselles Daaé and…" he looked at Meg and raised a hand as he paused to recall her name, "…Giry?"
"You know me?" Meg asked, intrigued. "I don't believe you've treated me."
"No, but I have tended many turned ankles of new ballerinas who often chatter about those they want to be more like. The Ballet Mistress's daughter is often at the top of the list, and they do not hesitate to point you out of a crowd."
Meg grinned, "Really?"
Monsieur Mehri nodded before looking to his wife where Christine noted a silent communication trade between them, though what was conveyed went beyond her comprehension. "I'm sure my wife convinced you to join us without giving away her intentions completely?" he asked her.
"Yes. Though, forgive me if I misread this, but I got the impression that the Madame wanted to discuss… sponsoring my career?"
The Madame gave a nod.
"I must ask then, in exchange for what?" Christine could not refrain from the wariness that leaked into her voice. She knew she was rather naïve with most aspects of the more sordid details of what happened off-stage at the opera, but her time with Erik sparked a newfound awareness of things. While her innocence often dismissed these things outside of lurid conversations in the ballet's dressing room, a Patron wanting time alone with their 'charge' was no longer something she saw with an unsullied mind.
Madame de Marais read her well, "Nothing. Kian and I have always been supporters of the arts. Though it seems various aspects of it have become more tainted by what favors can be exchanged rather than the measure of skill. It grows disheartening when those who do not partake in such exchanges are pushed aside while less talented artists garner more recognition."
Christine said nothing, still wanting to find the motive for why they would decide to extend their generosity to her.
"I enjoy theatre and opera, Mademoiselle," Mehri spoke again. "But often I am not one to meddle with the various affairs that transpire when a show is not on. However, I found what I witnessed between you and the Vicomte a cause for concern. Should someone of less integrity decide to become your patron, and his advances were not accepted…"
"He could use his money and influence to have me dismissed," she concluded, staring at the place setting before her. "And you're offering me security."
The couple nodded.
"Why me?" she asked after a pause, feeling like they were extending their backing to the wrong girl.
The Madame offered a warm smile, "Because we can, and I like those who would rather be known for their merits than how they got there. It isn't easy to be a successful woman in Paris, or anywhere without appeasing someone," she cast a loving glance to her husband. "Though, it also helps to have someone on your side when things become difficult."
The Doctor laced his fingers with his wife's and brought the back of her hand to his lips.
"Our support, which I would also like to extend to you as well, Mademoiselle Giry," de Marais went on, "will be simple. We will ensure that any contracts you have will not be bought out or terminated by the whim of a disgruntled patron. When it comes to a contract renewal, it will be more a matter of your skill than our influence. The exception to this would be if we disagreed with the management's decision."
"That is… most generous of you," Christine uttered, pausing as a server appeared with sandwiches for her and Meg and set them down without disturbance. "Though, under those stipulations, I hardly see why you would speak with me about it when you could do this without my knowing."
"If I am to offer my patronage to someone, it will be to someone I like, which often requires a meeting," the Vicomtesse answered.
"You hardly know me," Meg commented.
"True, yet I find your wit refreshing."
"Oh?"
"Oh yes," de Marais smirked. "And it was a silver spoon, if you must know."
Meg's pale cheeks became inflamed with a deep swallow in her throat. "I apologize, Madame—"
She silenced Meg with a raised hand. "Please, call me Jasmine. I insist. And it is of no worry, Mademoiselle Giry. Travel in the circles that I have to every day; you learn to have a sharp ear."
"Then, if am call you Jasmine, you must call me Meg."
"And me Christine," the singer added.
Doctor Mehri glanced between the women, a sparkle in his dark eyes. "I'm never much for such formalities."
~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~
A short while later, their gracious lunch guests left to return to their work while the family finished their meals. The children ate with voracious appetites that would leave one to wonder if they had breakfast, which of course, they did. Yet, with young growing bodies and minds, they had to get that boundless energy from somewhere. In lieu of keeping them at the table while he and his wife finished their lunch at an unhurried pace, Kian pulled the billfold from his breast pocket and handed each of the children a few centimes, enough for a decent toy. "Dany, take your sisters to Armaud's and find something fun for each of you while we finish up."
Danyal grinned and nodded.
Jasmine watched with a raised brow as Danyal took his new sisters' hands and set off toward the toy store across the boulevard.
Silence hung between the adults until the children were well out of earshot. Jasmine remained silent with her eyes on her teacup as she leisurely stirred the last dregs of the tepid beverage.
"You have impeccable timing as always Jas," he commented, though he shifted his chair so he could keep an eye on the children and the storefront.
"Is that so?"
He nodded. "Very. Liam and Valen came into the clinic today, with Natalie. It would seem that Raoul de Chagny is becoming problematic to Christine."
Jasmine paused her idle stirring to look up. "Oh? How so?"
"He attempted to hire the LeMaitres to investigate Christine's supposed suitor."
"That is rather odd for him… They didn't take the case?"
Kian grimaced. "That is the interesting bit. They refused the case because this suitor wears a mask, and they suspect he may be their missing brother."
Jasmine froze in place and dropped her hands to her lap, "They have another brother?"
Another nod. "He apparently resurfaced recently, after years. This masked suitor of Christine's has also only been seen around the Opera, and is known as her tutor, Chantseur."
"You suspect that he's…" she did not say the word aloud.
"Yes. I told them what little I knew, which I doubt would be of any help… but…"
Jasmine leaned closer to him and placed a hand on his arm.
"I can't help but think of that patient I had on my last deployment in Turkey. It's been nagging at me for days now, since I brought the girls home."
~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~
The bell's little chime pulled him toward awareness.
Awareness that his head throbbed as his unmasked cheek rested against the rough threads of his bedroom's Persian rug, like the rest of him.
As he tried to blink the haziness from his blurred vision, the dim oil lamps cast halos of garish light that were far brighter than they should have been. Erik winced at the stab of pain in the back of his eyes that forced a moan from his throat as he shut his eyes tight and buried his face into the crook of an outstretched arm, blocking out every hint of light from his aching eyes. The pressure of his forearm against them brought minor relief from the discomfort, except for his right eye where the pain was far worse.
What happened? Why was he on the floor? Why did it feel like his head would feel better if his skull would burst?
Erik crawled through his mind to remember what happened before this.
He had two hours to work on his surprise for Christine. Removing the pathetic thing he used as his bed for years was simple enough. Its pieces would have better use elsewhere. Assembling its replacement that was large enough to accommodate them both with a bit of room to spare offered no resistance. Rather, ensuring the neatness of the bedding itself proved to be the most irksome task.
But he achieved every goal with time to spare, and now Christine would have the option of sharing a larger space that no longer resembled a mortuary. While having her wake him to gain access to the lavatory was not bothersome, he knew she would delight in having floor access instead of a wall.
Erik winced and curled into a near-fetal position when another bell chimed from somewhere. A different note. It too, was louder than the norm, rattling his brain with a pulse that matched his usual mild one.
Someone's coming… the back of his mind whispered.
But Erik still struggled to remember…
He had fifteen minutes to ready himself and make his way to the world above. The manual labor and other tasks kept his hands busy while his mind pondered the possible outcomes of legitimate employment with the opera. While an answer still eluded him, Erik was more at ease about the prospect and approaching the matter with Christine. Whatever the decision, it would have a heavy impact on her future.
As he pushed the suspenders off his shoulders, Erik picked his overshirt up off the back of the chair and shrugged it on over his shoulders. His fingers deftly punched little buttons through their holes as the headache from before still gnawed at his skull. It had eased for a bit while he sorted his thoughts, but now it gained new life.
Rolling the suspenders back into place after tucking the shirt in, he reached for his waistcoat and pulled it on just before the room started spinning and a distinct tingling began blossoming in his core.
He'd had this feeling before, though it was rare.
It was instinct more than cognitive thought that made Erik stumble toward the new bed, where he braced a hand on the padded surface as he sank to his knees.
A bell chimed again, still louder than his mind could process.
Three bells… Two to go… he thought. Someone was coming…
Someone was coming.
His thoughts registered then, after wading through a tarry mire of dulled senses.
Christine…
Erik unfurled himself, wincing at the light as he forced himself to rouse and open his lids to narrow slits. His head screamed at him for the intrusion of unwelcome brightness. He moaned again through gritted teeth and tried to push the pain from his mind, a task made more difficult when the pain emanated from his head instead of anywhere else.
Planting his palms on the rug and shifting his legs beneath him, Erik managed to push himself up and then clamber to his feet with the aid of the bed.
The fourth chime came as he ran his hands over himself, preening his presentation and checking the placement of his mask and wig. Assured of his neatness, he pushed through his discomfort and wandered towards the door with sluggish steps. Each new footfall became a bit easier, and the room came into focus, even as he stepped into the narrow little corridor and wandered down the spiral steps, a steadying hand trailing along the wall.
The fifth and final bell issued its chime as he made it halfway down to the main floor. It was the bells he had rigged to alert him if someone was taking a direct path to him from Rue Scribe, and it was the only direct route to his home that did not require the boat or a meandering path from the catacombs.
Erik managed to straighten his posture and square up his slumped shoulders as he reached the living room, concurrent with the concealed little Rue Scribe door sliding open.
A disheveled Christine darted in with her hair loosened from its pins and hers wide and a bit wild as she looked at him. The flame that he admired in those eyes became a blazing fire.
"Where were you?" she demanded as the door closed on its own accord behind her. "You said you would meet me."
His mind was so unforgivably slow in processing her words that he struggled to grasp them into sensible thought. "Pardon?" Even saying a single word proved difficult.
"Where were you? Why didn't you meet me?"
That registered, and he raised a heavy hand to fish the gold and silver watch from his vest pocket. He released the lid and blinked several times before the numbers came into focus. Half past…three? Over two hours? It felt like it should be no more than a few minutes after one o'clock… A few minutes late at most.
"I… I must have lost track of time," he murmured, his words slow. "I have been trying to make it more comfortable here for you…" He raised his hand, bent at the elbow until it was above his shoulder, then let his wrist and fingers roll back to motion to the stairs behind him. "I intended to rejoin you above…"
She hesitated for a second with her eyes flicking over him before she snapped, "But you didn't."
He flinched at her tone and felt the roil of his temper starting to flare.
"I've spent the better part of the day worrying about you, and what the managers could possibly want with you. If they found you out, or are demanding that you never step foot in the opera again; all made worse by you. If you just took a moment to tell me what happened instead of dismissing me—"
"And what?" he bit back with venom. "Ruin you by declaring that our relationship is far more familiar than appropriate? Have them think that you prostituted yourself to a thing like me for lessons?" he shook his pounding head with vehemence. "I think not."
Christine stiffened and fell into stunned silence, her eyes wider now.
That look took the fight out of him, but the renewed pain in his soul made him take a deep breath as he closed his eyes tight, willing the discomfort in his mind and body away. It did nothing. He briefly touched his unmasked temple as he spoke in a softened cadence, "Everything I do is with you in mind, Christine."
She said nothing, and he did not fault her for it as she watched him with watery eyes.
The room began to spin again, and he braced a hand against the stone bricks of the spiral stairwell as he turned away from her to ascend the steps. "Do as you please. I am in no mood for further discussion right now."
Erik started climbing the stairs and rather than hearing the click of her boots approach him, a warm form slid under his arm with a small hand on his back.
"Erik, what's wrong?"she asked, worry filling her tone now.
"My head," he groaned.