Thank yooooooooooooooooooooooooou!!!!! Thank you all so much!!

Mmmm...I've had a couple of people ask what Rosa's up to. I don't particularly like this chapter much, but meh.

The room was in shadows when Rosalie awoke, her throat parched and her fever burning. She moaned, her hand wavering to her forehead. Beads of sweat perspired down her flushed cheeks. She pulled off the sheet which had twisted around her body during her restless sleep, and sat up slowly, moving to the edge of the bed. What was the time? And where was Erik? She looked at herself in the full-length mirror on the other side of the room, gazing at her reflection. Her bedraggled hair fell down her bare shoulders. A kindly maid had helped her remove her dress earlier, and so she was sitting in just her corset and chemise. She still felt so hot…The maid had said to her to call out if she wanted anything. She could benefit from some ice. She stood slowly and closed her eyes as she wavered, her hand still on the bed to balance herself. When she opened her eyes again she collapsed hard on the wooden floor in burnt shock as he stood there in front of her.

She moaned softly, blinking again, but he was still there. Well – the broad-shouldered figure was his, his hooded cloak of black was his – but…But his face!

"Tobias," she slurred as he looked down on her.

He held out his hand and without touching her, he raised it. Her body seemed to obey him as she stood back up.

"You are a ghost," she uttered softly.

A smile of amusement flitted over his features, "Now Rosalie, isn't that somewhat sacrilegious of you?"

She moved forward slowly, her hand reaching out and touching the cloak. When she discovered she could touch it, her hand raised to touch his face. His smooth features – soft to the touch. There was no blemish, no pockmarks, no cracks or bumps from his burns. Her fingers brushed his lips, his nose, and she sobbed as she fell at his feet.

"This…This is a dream!" she cried out.

"Why must you define what it is?" he asked, his hand brushing her hair fondly, "For it is neither really. Think of it – as a delusion of your fever,"

He bent down on his knees, taking her hands in his, "I must ask you though. Am I handsome?"

She looked at him, her head tilting with sorrow, "Toby, you know I have always thought you handsome –"

He laughed, a deep, rich, resounding sound, "Don't be so glib, Rosa. Maybe you aren't the right person to ask though…For you honestly may love me less if my face weren't so hideous,"

Her hand cupped his face again, and tears burned her cheeks as she started to cry, "This won't last long, will it? You will leave me again…I don't think I could go through it all once more,"

"Oh but you won't Rosa. You won't remember this. Maybe a shard of it will remain, but I am not here to cause you hurt," he stopped thoughtfully, "But please tell me whether you think I am handsome. I don't remember much after my death…I remember my face changing, but I only caught a glimpse…And I cannot see my reflection in a mirror. It's important somehow…I need to know whether I have a fair face,"

Rosalie looked at him, refusing to answer, "I told you, you were beautiful before –"

"No!" he interrupted her, almost desperately, "Please tell me, I need to know –"

"Well I need you back!" she shouted, "Is that all you came back for? To have your vanity pampered?"

He opened his mouth to argue, but his hand dropped hers and he brushed back a lock of his hair, "No…I came to ask you something. Rosalie, it's important,"

"What?" she asked, her eyes meeting his.

She blinked again and he was gone. Her heart wrenched as her head swivelled around, "No!" her voice cracked from her sobs, "No, Toby please! What is it that you want?"

She could only hear her sobs in the room as she realised Toby was not coming back. For a long time she remained on the floor, lying down, her cheek resting on the floor as her body shook. After a long while she stood, remembering that she was wanting ice. She pulled the blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her, popping her head out of the door.

She called for the maid, but the corridor was silent. There was no answer. She edged out hesitantly, grabbing the doorknob as her head spun with dizziness. She managed a few steps towards the staircase when her head met the ground as she collapsed. She lay there unable to get up, and she slowly turned, meeting Toby's gaze again.

"Don't leave me again, please," she begged.

He looked at her sadly, "You will be fine Rosalie. You have always been strong,"

Tears streamed down her face as she shook her head, "I'm not strong, I'm not!"

"Yes you are," he soothed her but sighed, "Because I need you to do something for me,"

She scrambled to her knees, clinging to the bottom of his cloak, "What do you want Toby?"

"I need you to look after Janvier,"

That request was so utterly unexpected, she laughed. When she looked up and saw the seriousness etched over his face, she stopped.

"You…You cannot be serious? Janvier is as prickly as a hedgehog!"

"He needs more help than you realise," he said softly, "It is odd. I know you feel incredible strain at my passing, but believe me when I say he needs help more than even he knows. I have always been able to count on you –"

"Oh no!" she shook her head profusely, "Don't you do this – your flattery will not succeed in emotionally blackmailing me into this!"

He laughed, "I am glad to see dear Rosalie, that you have not changed an ounce,"

His laughter died when he saw the sorrow on her features, "I don't think I can live without you Toby,"

He bowed his head before he spoke, "You must…You will. It shall become easier, I promise you. Death was not easy for me either. I wandered for so long, lost…How long has it been?"

"Five months apparently," Rosalie answered bitterly, "I have only known about your death though for a week,"

"Five months…" he seemed not to have noticed her resentfulness, his thoughts on the shock at the short time that had passed, "It seems like a millennium has gone. Time must be different somehow here,"

"Toby," she managed to get on her knees and she blushed a little, "Toby, if I can't have you back forever, I don't want to waste time on words,"

He searched her expression, and with his thumb he brushed her cheek. She leaned into it, savouring the intimate touch, "You have someone to help you, you just don't know it yet, but you will…I know you and I know I cannot stop what will be inevitable because of your damned stubbornness which you think is loyalty, but I wish you wouldn't feel guilty when you realise who the person is,"

"Mmmm…" she mumbled, "I don't care about anybody else. Toby, just kiss me, please,"

He moved forward, his eyes meeting hers as he was an inch apart from her, "Take care of Janvier, sweet girl. And please don't be pig-headed for too long about the other matter,"

She buried her face in his cloak, sniffling, "I love you Toby,"

"I know," she did not hear him as he added, "But that I fear has always been your downfall,"

"What…What is it like to die, Toby?" she asked.

"Now Rosa, do you think I am here to ruin all the mysteries of life?" he then pushed her back gently, "I am sorry Rosalie, I do not want to do this,"

She clutched at him desperately, "No, please, don't leave me. I really don't think I could go through it again," she choked in her tears, "Or at least take me with you! Please!"

"I don't want to do this," he continued over her pleading, "But I do not want you to remember most of this. I am sorry, but I think it will be for the best,"

Gently cupping her face with his hands he bent forward and captured his lips with hers. She gasped, but needed no encouragement as she entwined her arms around his.

"I'm sorry Rosa, goodbye," he murmured in a short break where she moved back for air, and he kissed her again.

A searing heat rushed through her, and she moaned as the fever hit her again full-force. She fell with a thud, weakly to the floor, her hand feebly reaching out to touch his boot.

It had changed to a brown shoe in a moment, the innkeeper confused at the sight of the girl on the floor in the corridor pleading in her feverished delusion, "Don't leave me, please don't leave me,"

"Hush now Mademoiselle," he was saying comfortingly, and bent down to pick her up, "I don't intend to be leaving you out here. Just as well none of those rowdy drunkards found you first!"

She heard a rush of footsteps coming over, and a voice, "What on earth happened?"

"I just found her like this, Monsieur," the innkeeper said and she found herself being lifted into the arms of a masked man.

"Erik…" she slurred, nestling her face in his shoulder, "You're back,"

"I'm so sorry," his voice trembled, and he strode back in the room, closing the door.

He laid her to rest on the bed, and she gazed up at him strangely, "Your face! What has happened to your face?"

Her finger gently traced a busted lip, and as she reached to touch his mask she noticed him wincing in pain.

"Nothing," he mumbled, "But what were you doing out there?"

She had had a strange dream, hadn't she? She tried to recall, as if trying to grasp onto grains of sand with opened hands. What had she been dreaming about? She closed her eyes after a moment – it hurt too think. It couldn't have been that important.

"Janvier," he heard her slur, "I remember I was thinking about what a fool Janvier was. And ice – I wanted ice…I'm so hot,"

By the time he left and returned with some ice, she was asleep again, and Erik gently rubbed her forehead with the cold substance, his eyes turning to the bowl of melted slush which had once been ice-cream. He sighed, it had been such a long day and he had not managed to procure the ingredients for the potion.

He did not recall at all the next day when it was that he burrowed his head on the mattress beside her figure, leaning forward awkwardly on the chair.