Thanks a lot for every one of my dear readers, as always.
"I would do it a thousand times again," Christine said, taking the rose from her husband's hand.
"Even if you know what came of it?" Erik asked.
"Especially that I know what came of it. I love you."
"My dear Christine, I love you, too."
The mask easily slipped free from his face when her fingers reached under its edge but then it was him who kissed her first. How far he had gone from their first time… That night was still vivid and real, even after all these years. His unmerciful demands, the threats, her own unforgiving words and then that kiss… As soon as her lips touched his she felt the tension leaving him, felt his confusion; for a moment she even felt his tortured, desperate state of mind – and as much as she waited for his touch, his arms remained unmoving, hanging limply by his sides.
But not now. Sometimes realization struck her with a forceful blow that this would she be missing had she decided differently after those four days – but she was saved from that fate. They would never be parted again.
The little present was for the anniversary, he had said her previously, and though it had become a regular occasion through the years she was still moved by the reason behind it. The first time she had been utterly surprised that he had chosen to celebrate such an uncommon occurrence but given a thought to it – it made sense. For him it was one of the most important moments to remember in their relationship.
His hand slid from her nape down on her shoulders then her back, finally coming to a halt on her waist. Blindly she let the mask drop on the vanity and reached for his face, caressing it with her thumb, and she felt his almost undetectable shiver against her. Never again. Steady hands pulled her closer as if his thoughts mirrored her own – and she knew that they did – and not once did he break the kiss while his fingers slowly unwound her curls by pulling out pin after pin from her difficult stage bun.
Something gave a cracking sound behind them.
"Have you…"
Meg…
Immediately he froze against her, tongue and lips disappearing while his grip on her waist became only tighter. Her hand flew up almost without her knowledge to cover the worst parts of his deformity but she knew it was too late. She looked up into his eyes but he was looking past her face.
"Close the door."
In an instant Christine heard the soft sound that signaled that it was closed indeed. His voice was low and angry but when his eyes returned to hers, though, for a moment she caught a glimpse of that long ago seen fear and shame in them.
His chest heaved with his rapid breathing.
Swiftly turning away he reached across to the vanity in search for his mask; when he found it she slid her hand from his face and he quickly replaced the white leather. His back straightened immediately when it was done but from the corners of her eyes she saw how his wrist gave an almost undetectable twitch when lowering his arm to his side. HHHHHnuskhfuihspfuiokjsdhfkl e didn't turn back even after his face was once again hidden beneath the mask, instead he busied himself with packing away her necessities into her little satchel.
"The hall is flooded with gendarmes," came Meg's frail voice from the other end of the room. Our visitor…
"Do you know what they want?" she asked, turning to face Meg. Erik continued to throw her items into the satchel, then flipped through her music sheets, rearranged them and tucked them away as well.
"I think they are looking for something. Or someone," Meg added carefully.
Christine took a deep breath, looked down on the floor, then back at Meg again.
"How many?" She asked.
"About forty, I guess. They're everywhere all around the theater and I wanted to…" Her voice drifted without finishing the sentence and ventured a short glance at Erik, who meanwhile approached the mirror. He lifted one hand but withdrew before reaching the hidden mechanism that would open it, then with a sudden movement he turned around, reached the door with a few long strides, took her coat and held it out to her.
"We are leaving," he told her.
She was already on her way towards him. "What about the gendarmes?"
"I'll be leaving through the cellars. You're going with her." There was a slight pause before the last word and a slight shiver shook Meg's frame.
"Meet me at the back door?" Christine asked him.
"Ten minutes."
He gave her a quick kiss.
"Erik…"
There was a short, impatient knock on the door and Christine choked on a breath.
His palm cupped her cheek gently. "Nothing will happen, love."
Nothing will happen… "All right," she agreed and he was gone.
- o -
The guiding torchlight was calming her somewhat, though her heart just refused to leave her throat. It was horrible, strenuous – and they weren't even questioning her! Blood pounded in her ears. Christine, though, was rather composed, however worried and anxious Meg knew she was. She had all the answers, all the details, and was endearing and confident, the celebrated diva of the opera house.
She was lying all along.
Not even a waver of her voice betrayed her fears but when the two of them left the prying eyes of the gendarmes her whole countenance was shaken; her face crumpled for a moment before she left for the other corridor, leant to the wall and stepped through it hastily. Meg followed her without a thought, and this occurred to her sadly only after the wall closed behind them.
A torch was lit seemingly out of nowhere…it was all too absurd to be true.
And Christine was moving so fast in that darkness! Meg had to practically run to catch up with her.
A turn here, another tunnel there; it was like they were moving in a labyrinth – and thinking of it, they really were.
The Phantom's labyrinth.
She shuddered as the rustle of dresses echoed around them.
He was waiting just outside of the building for them to appear – and she had seen his face.
Christine took a turn to the right and she followed her. Just outside of the building. Another minute and she would be standing in front of him again. And I have seen his face. What could be the fitting punishment for that?
They stopped in front of something that looked like some kind of door and when Christine opened it, night's cold air hit Meg's face. As much as Christine seemed to be familiar with the route it was still a relief to see the well-known walls of the nearby building once again.
No one was around and when they stepped out to the street the wall closed behind them almost without a sound.
A couple of blocks in front of them there were a few passing people from the audience, another while away from them a couple walking but here – no one. Light was painfully missing in this street, which was probably the reason why they had chosen this particular entrance, after all. Christine looked back at her absently then looked around, then pulled her coat tighter around her body.
Her shaking didn't cease the slightest, though.
Only a few steps ahead of them two little burning spots appeared and Meg staggered back to the wall. It was exactly like in those ghost stories that older girls scared the little ones with in the dormitories; the eyes of spirits and… phantoms. Was that any chance at all that those stories were actually true?
The two spots seemed to come closer and Meg closed her eyes momentarily.
When she opened them again Christine had already started towards those lights, hastening her steps until she reached the source of them and embraced him tightly. Her husband. The Phantom.
His arms were folded around Christine's frame and they were speaking softly.
"I told you nothing will happen," came his low voice.
"I know," Christine answered and pressed a short kiss to his lips, then let go of him.
How can you… She herself seen what lay beneath that mask but Christine wasn't bothered by that the slightest. And Meg also knew that they didn't stop at such heated kisses that she had seen in the dressing room when it came to marital relations.
He leaned down to kiss her and the two burning spots disappeared for a moment while Christine took the visible side of his face.
He had killed more than just once yet it was obvious she loved him dearly – and that he loved her just as much. Nothing will happen, love. It was there in every touch he had given her. The ring she had seen him wearing on New Year's Eve was still on his finger when she'd seen them earlier in the dressing room.
He loved her.
It would mean very little, though, when it came to another person seeing his face.
Steeling herself with a deep sigh Meg closed that small distance between them.
"Thank you for coming with me, Meg," Christine said while pulling back from him, though she didn't let go of his hand.
"It's nothing," she said, tearing away her eyes from their linked hands.
"I hope I didn't tire you," Christine continued.
"I'm fine, thank you."
"Is there anyone walk you home?" Was Christine's next question.
"Mother is waiting…"
A low voice cut her off suddenly. "Silence."
Before she could ask why a hand forced her to the wall and in the next moment two men appeared on the corner.
"Why here?"
"If gossips are true, that's where they have seen him the most years ago."
Light glinted on their bayonets and she tried to swallow her thumping heart. They were only a few steps away from them now. Gendarmes.
"Is he really that monstrous as they say?" Asked the first man again, judging from his tone the younger from the two of them.
"I have no idea. Not many saw him and lived. But a few years ago…" The rest of the sentence drifted into silence as they turned on the next corner.
For a few more minutes they waited before first he, then Christine stepped out from their hiding place as well. Not many saw him and lived. She was certainly still alive…
"Are you all right?" Christine asked her. She was busy with adjusting the hood of her coat on her head while he took the bag from his wife's hand.
"Fine." She licked her lips, venturing a glance at the direction where the gendarmes disappeared. Nothing. "Fine, really."
"You're no way in danger," Christine assured her. I hope she's right. She hadn't seen or said anything untrue, after all.
"Yes, but you…" Her eyes wandered uncertainly up to look at her companion but quickly returned to Christine's.
"We'll be fine." Christine's lips tugged into a smile, kind of a nervous one, if her judgment was right. "See you tomorrow, then."
"Yes. Good night." And take care.
She threw one last glance at the two of them before leaving – and felt absolutely no regret for helping the Phantom.
- o -
As soon as the door clicked shut behind Meg, Christine's arm darted out to wind around his neck, drawing him down for a profound, shameless kiss. Eager lips tasted him, tongue reaching for his and he responded with the same intensity. The heat of his palms appeared on her waist a moment later, fingers set into a firm grip, keeping her close with a secure hold.
He's fine. No one can find him. Her free arm slid down to his back, fisting her hand in his coat and she felt his short sigh on her face in reply. It all lasted no more than a minute but when she pulled back her head was spinning.
He licked his lips absently. "What was that?" He asked her breathlessly.
"Correction. This was the kiss I wanted to give you five minutes ago."
He straightened the mask that had slipped aside. "Five minutes ago?"
She swept a curl that had come loose back in place. "I thought you wouldn't have approved in front of her so you got the decent version."
"No. She'd been already disgusted enough."
"Erik…"
He didn't let her finish it. "Don't. Let us go home."
He took the bag from her hand and started to walk, but when Christine reached for his hand his fingers curled around hers immediately.
It was a rather quiet journey to home; they used the same route where they usually went home – probably not to awake any possible witness' suspicion – but from his demeanor it was obvious he was taking double care tonight. After a while he complimented her performance and though she knew he meant every word it was obvious that his mind was far away.
His fingers were holding onto her hand tightly.
She wanted to say that it didn't matter, that she loved him; that Meg wouldn't turn him in, that she came only to help – but he already knew all of these.
Don't pity me.
It was hard not to when he was so ashamed because of something that was not his fault.
They arrived home in silence and Erik closed the door behind the two of them.
"Were we not followed?" She asked him.
"They didn't even see us," he answered, shedding his coat. His hand stopped in front of his face for a moment before tossing the mask forcefully on the small table beside the door, and Christine turned to hang her coat with a relived sigh.
By the time she turned back he had walked to the center of the room and was looking down at the carpet.
"How much does she know?" He asked her suddenly.
"She's been in there with me for the whole time," Christine answered.
He looked up at her. "What happened?"
"A man was killed last night in Rue Scribe. Strangled." She fell silent for a moment, then continued. "They thought it was the Phantom."
"What did you tell them?"
"That I know nothing about it," she answered. "I would have been informed about it by now," she added a moment later.
He nodded.
"No one talked about the Phantom for months," he said after a minute.
She took a few steps towards him. "Someone saw us entering box five together and leaving me alone." His eyes snapped up to hers. "They didn't see what happened inside," she assured him. "I asked Meg."
His hand fisted and unfisted slowly but he didn't say anything. Tension was seeping from his stiff form and as she stopped beside him she felt it swirling around the two of them, anger seething and bubbling inside of him. It was only a matter of time when his resolve would break.
"They don't see you very often and authorities believe it is so because I've married the Phantom," she offered softly.
He turned to look at her. "You have."
"Well, according to my confession I married a businessman, who has been falsely accused with spying by the Turkish government during the French railway construction and now has to hide from their ravage."
His arm twitched as he lifted it, then turned away and ran his fingers through his hair. He took a few strides towards the window then turned suddenly. "Christine, do you… You've just…"
"I told you we are doing this together," she told him calmly.
He took a few steps towards the piano then whirled around again. "If they ever…"
"Only I know your tricks and secrets; without me they'll never know where to look for you."
He let out a forceful sigh and walked to the piano, bracing himself on the edge of it. When he didn't speak even after minutes she followed him but he didn't look up as she stopped beside him. She placed a hand on his tense shoulder.
"Erik."
"Is there anything else?" He asked. His voice was strained and distant and his gaze was fixed on the top of the piano.
"I had to say you're not fond of opera music."
His eyes snapped up to hers. "What?"
"They asked where you were and I said you've gone home." She gave him an uncertain smile then it was silent in the room for a long while.
"Did he believe you?" He asked her at last.
"He offered me a handkerchief. I think he did."
"You cried?"
"Sure I did. I had to be convincing."
He didn't say anything and that strange flutter in her stomach refused to cease; especially after he drew a gentle caress down on her cheek, only barely touching her skin. She shivered. His eyes looked painfully the same that on that night he had let her go after the fire… With a sudden movement he tore his hand away and marched towards the door, then halfway turned abruptly and rushed past her until a moment later he approached her anyway, pulling her to him in a tight embrace. Her arms returned his hold in a second.
Only a moment earlier he was shaking with fury but now he was completely still against her. His clothes had that faint damp scent from the cellars again. It has been so long ago.
"I love you so much," she breathed to his shoulder. His hold tightened on her in reply but he didn't say anything.
"Forgive me," he rasped into her hair at long last.
"You haven't even done anything," she responded.
"You had to lie because of me."
"I don't really care."
"I know you're quite aware of what that means."
"Yes." Her fingers curled into the back of his coat. "And he didn't fail to point it out to me, either."
"I would never let any harm come to you," he vowed fervently, his arms enveloping her in a warm embrace. She breathed him in deeply.
"You never do," she told to his shoulder.
"No," he vowed again and she shifted a little to rest her forehead on his shoulder.
"I would lie again, every time they come back for answers."
Keeping her close a minute longer he finally let go of her, pulling back just enough to slip his fingers into her curls, then let her hair slip from between his fingers slowly. "I wish I could make it up for you for everything that happened to you because of me."
"You've already done that." Briefly she glanced down the rose that she was still holding, then smiled up at him. "Like keeping in mind the exact date when I took your hand for the first time."
"Did you tell her?" He asked, continuing the leisure motions on her hair.
She smiled. "No. I said it was for the anniversary of my success in Hannibal." She looked up at him, still smiling. "Your deepest, darkest secret is safe with me."
He swept a thumb across her lips. "I like when you're doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Smiling. It makes me feel less guilty about spiriting you away."
"I trust you have had an extremely good time in box five, then," she giggled, slipping her fingers in his palm finally.
"They really don't know what happened in there?"
"No. Meg would definitely know about it."
He kissed her briefly on the lips. "Good."
A deep sigh left her along with most of the tension of the evening and her body seemed ridiculously lighter than through the whole day. He was making her feel good, mostly with simply being there with her or holding her close. Laws be damned. She had forgotten him long ago.
"I won't let them hurt you," she said determinedly.
"I can take care of myself, Christine."
"Yes, I know. But I promised to be your companion."
The pads of his fingers brushed her cheek lightly. "You're more stubborn than I ever thought."
"You didn't wish for an obedient wife," she smiled, clasping his palm to her face. "You got what you wanted."
"Even more than that," he breathed against her temple before kissing it gently.
For a few moments they stood unmoving, and then it was her who spoke first. "Come bath with me," she told him, moving one hand down to his chest.
His eyes left hers briefly to observe her ministrations. "Hmm?"
"It's my turn to make you smile," she promised and a small smile was already forming on his lips.
He was not the only one who got more than ever wished for.