Chapter Twenty-One: Sorry For Nearly Killing You, Let Me Help Now

                                    

                                          
    Erik tried not to notice how Grace sank down on the piano bench - which was the closest seat she could find. He tried to ignore the way her arms wrapped around her ribs as she closed her eyes and attempted to even out her breathing. He hated and was ashamed of himself for being the cause of her pain. He had nearly murdered her without a second thought. Without a feeling. Christina would have been so disappointed that he had broken his promise. But what was worse - he nearly destroyed the girl who stopped his manager from ruining his theatre! It scared him that he was capable of such violence, that he nearly exterminated something so valuable. Someone. He could be a thing, an it. He just had to remember the rest of the world was not. 
   Erik took out all of his medical supplies and the chair from his study. He set the chair in front of her and lined the medical things up on the keys of his organ. He wasn't happy about putting stuff on his beautiful instrument, but Grace looked like she would pass out if she moved so much as an inch. And the sofa was five feet away, and he doubted she would accept an offer from him to carry her to it. She glanced hesitantly at him now, unsure of what he was doing. 
   He sat down across from her, leaning closer, his gold eyes burned by her hazel ones. 
   "What injuries do you have that I have not yet seen?"
   She stared dumbly.
    "Please list all of your injuries."
   "I can take care of them myself." Her grinding voice made them both wince. "Will I... be able to sing... again?"
    This question surprised him. "Yes, of course. Not for a few weeks, but no damage was done."
    Grace nodded. Trying to lighten the mood, she let out a gritty laugh. "Fine. But if it's not back in three weeks, I'll kill you this time."
    "Fair enough." The visible corner of his lips twitched. "Now where are you hurt?"
   She held up her bleeding hand and the hand with the rope burn.  He raised his eyes to hers in question. He hadn't cut her or tied her palm up.
   "I slid down a rope too quickly."
    Which is one of the reasons I always wear gloves.  "And the cut?"
   
   "Scissors are sharp."
   "A well-known fact. But thank you for cutting that sandbag. It was the perfect touch. Your timing was impeccable."
   "Oh no, I felt your appreciation." She tapped her neck. "Not something I want to experience again." 
  "Whatever you wish." And he started treating her wounds. 
   Her sliced hand did not need stitches, just intense bandaging. He was able to clean the dried blood from her nails and skin, and rubbed a salve into her burn. He insisted she take it easy.
   But she couldn't. Nora and George were coming back the day after tomorrow, and she had to meet them at the docks at ten a.m. (Erik said he'd excuse her from practice.)
   She bit her lip, gasping at the pain. She'd forgotten she'd already bitten it once that night. Erik handed her a handkerchief to dab at the fresh blood. 
   "Thank you." She held it to her bottom lip. "What was it you tried to kill me with?"
   Erik sighed and pulled from his pocket a silver wire. It looked a little bit like a violin string. "A punjab lasso of my own design. Made of catgut, violin string."
    Grace nodded. "Where did you learn to wield it?" 
    "I'd rather not say. However, I do apologize for trying to kill you with it."
   She waved away the remark. "It's nothing. As long as I can sing again, all is forgiven."
   Erik leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Why is singing so important to you? You have a marvelous voice, but you trained to be a dancer."
   Grace was not about to tell him her story. But she would offer him part of a reason and a question. "I can't sing in public. I like to do it privately. It makes me happy sometimes. Yet you hired me because of my voice." She paused to breathe for a moment. "In the back of my mind, something was asking me to sing. I always feel it, but that day... something made me. And you liked it."
   "Yes. I did."
     "Why? As you have said, I'm a dancer."
   "You are a very good dancer. But I wanted you to work in my theatre because I found your voice favorable. I can't say exactly why. I just like the way you sing. You take on the lyrics and sing as if they are about you, or as if you've felt their emotion."
   "You hired me even though I can't sing in front of people? Please know that that audition was a fluke."
   "I haven't gotten to that yet."
   "What is there to get to? Even you can't change a fact."
  Erik's gold eyes darkened. His features twisted and Grace leaned away from him. The darkness faded though, and he suddenly produced a bundle from his pocket.
   While he handed it to her, his eyes fell on a very... hard to miss place. Grace had removed his overcoat before she slid down the rope to reach the ground. His cravat had fallen from her neck after his lasso had wrapped it's single steely finger around her throat, and his white poet's shirt, which was large on her small frame, had slipped on one side, revealing more skin than he had ever seen before on her. When she had leaned away, it had moved further. As she stretched to take the money, he received an eye full of a very interesting sight. A long scar ran from just below the base of her neck, down her collar bone, with a branch extending sideways and up the front of her shoulder, while the original jagged line dove down beneath the shirt. She didn't realize it showed, and it didn't matter because when she moved back, it was once again covered. 
    "I said pocket change," Grace said, staring at the pile of money in her hand. 
   "I need to take you back. This is a suitable amount. I know it is, I am a very fair person and I enjoy  tipping those who deserve it."
   Erik stood and walked towards the hall they had come from. Grace counted the money as she followed, but stopped dead in her tracks. 
    "There are five hundred francs here."
    Erik looked at her like she was stupid. "I know." He was not at all prepared for her reaction. 
   Grace shrieked as loud as her damaged voice permitted her to after finishing her calculations. The sound is sharp and shrill, and so entirely happy that it sounded more like her than anything else. With an apparent disregard for propriety - not that this should be shocking, she is wearing his clothes after all - she launched herself and flung her arms around him, grinning madly.
   Erik tensed as she rushed at him, fingers reflexively landing on his lasso. But this is Grace. She wouldn't hurt him. It's the memory of the damage he inflicted upon her more than his realization of it being her that stills his hand. And then it's too late. He barely understands the sight before him. The emotion he was feeling, or the warmth penetrating his coldness. Grace embraced him for a moment, while a century passes for Erik. Only three people had embraced him in his life, and one had been horrified and revolted afterwards. The other was too young to know what he was. Grace had been the only one to truly know and still willingly come near him. 
   Grace was oblivious to his darkening mood. She was exquisitely happy.