The Dark Night

Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera...or Erik...sadly

(I'm sorry it has taken me so long to update. I have no excuses for you =[ thanks for reading! =D )

After some time Erik awoke to discover that the fireplace filled with charred embers and half the blankets were missing from the heap on the floor. He rubbed his eyes sleepily and looked around the room for any sign of them only to find that his wife was no where to be found and neither were the blankets. Erik doused the remaining ashes and hastily prodded them to ensure the fire was completely out. Shivering he tottered up the stairs as he picked up a couple of blankets which had been dropped along the way. Upon entering his room he found Christine swathed in an impressive amount of quilts sleeping lightly on the bed. He shook his head at the sight as he padded into the adjoining room, glancing back at her once more.

Moments later Erik stood in his bathroom leaning over the sink at his reflection in the mirror.

"Coming to bed, love?" a voice mumbled drowsily from the adjoining room.

"In a minute," he called back distractedly. He took a rare moment to admire his left side in the mirror. His profile was nothing to sneer at. Everything from his well-defined jaw to his emerald green eye held an air of masculinity. His fair skin complemented a head of thick wavy black hair, which ended in a curl at the nape of his neck. Though his face was lean, bordering on gaunt, he maintained a regal quality with his high cheek bones and perfectly arched brow. While he could no longer deny, thanks to Christine, that the left side of his face could be considered aesthetically pleasing, as he turned his head to look at his mask, one could have seen his spirit drop through his eyes.

He attempted for a moment, to unfocus his vision, and if he tried hard enough he could sense the beginnings of a face in place of his own. When masked, he looked almost normal; like any other man with the exception of his gleaming golden eye which shone from the depths of his skull. But he knew that, upon removing it, he would reveal a thing hardly worthy to be called a face.

Hesitantly, he reached for the cords of his mask, stripping himself of his one defense and peered into the unforgiving mirror. The malformed flesh below stretched across his features twisting over his overly-pronounced skull, sunken cheeks, and ended abruptly at the bridge of what would have been his nose. Instead, he had a hole where his nose should have been, giving him an almost skeletal appearance. Finally he met his mismatched eyes taking in his less-than-satisfied expression, resigning himself to this constant hindrance which had formed an undying attachment to him

Shaking his head in mild disgust he pulled open the mirror to reveal a medicine chest. Reaching inside he took out a jar of salve to ease the irritation from his mask.

When he closed the mirror again he could see Christine's perfect reflection, mussed hair and all, next to his as she leaned in the doorway staring at him lovingly through heavy eyes. He looked down smiling to himself opening the jar as she crossed the bathroom floor to join him at the counter dropping another quilt as she approached. Taking a liberal amount of the cream he looked up tentatively, not wanting to see himself again.

"Come here, love," Christine whispered taking the jar from his hands and guiding him into the bedroom. Erik smiled to himself and followed her lead. She motioned for him to sit down on the bed as she pulled up a seat from her vanity and reached across to touch his face.

Upon sitting, Erik visibly tensed out of habit; he was still not entirely used to being touched, even if it was pleasant. He welcomed any contact with Christine, obviously, but it often took him a moment to adjust to what was still, to him, a new sensation.

Gradually he relaxed into her touch and she began to hum to him softly as she gently touched his face. Erik's eyes grew heavy with adoration and a mild sense of disbelief. He sighed into her hands, blinking lazily; entranced by her song.

Still humming, Christine set down the jar, and began to innocently kiss his face. Erik, now beyond pleasant surprise, could do nothing but kiss her back. She caressed his face with kisses, making sure to reach every inch and paying special attention to the lids of his heavy eyes, his brow line, both his cheeks, and of course, his lips.

As he relishes in the feeling of her lips on his disfigured skin, he cannot help but wonder how such an amazing woman could take the devil's child and make him feel like a god.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Later on that night Erik lay awake holding a sleeping Christine in his arms, mindfully stroking her chestnut curls, and listening to the rain. Her mane fanned across his chest and as her face pressed against his collarbone. He mused about his recent good fortune and pulled her frame closer to him. How far he had come to have this woman in his arms now? He thought back to a time when he was still her maestro; when their lives were still worlds apart, divided by a pane of glass. He used to stand behind it long after she had left and press his unmasked face to its icy surface pleading to be closer.

Now he could scarcely be nearer to her. Reverently he ghosted the tips of his fingers along her back, still hardly daring to believe she was real. Everything he had endured in his life, everyone he encountered protested the sheer improbability of the place where he was now. Time and the constant reassuring presence of his beautiful Christine had helped to continuously reaffirm his significance and worth but nevertheless he found himself haunted by the vaguest shadows of his past…the leering faces that spat and threw things at him through the bars of his cage…the man who had beat him with the same shackles that imprisoned him, that mocked his weakness and bound him to self-pity and loathing…the horrified expressions of people he merely passed on the streets…the pitiless unwavering hate his mother bestowed upon him since birth.

He touched his face in thought, feeling its ravaged surface. In the darkest recesses of his mind he continued to believe himself inadequate, unworthy of a normal life, undeserving of love.

There had been less than few who ever treated him with more than revulsion until Christine. She was the first to show him friendship, to deign to grant him affection. He only had eyes for her; he bet it all on her. It was up to her heart whether he had a shot at a normal life, whether or not someone could love him. She held the key that could have broken him, but instead she opened her heart. She showed him he was capable of being loved; that a face was of no consequence when one loved unconditionally. She could have had anyone, but she chose him. For him, there was never anyone else, she was his only. Christine carried the weight of that responsibility with her. But with that responsibility came his love unbounded.

He loved with a love that was radiant and overwhelming. There was no end to its supply. Every drop of love his heart was capable of possessing came showering out upon the only person who cared for him in the entire world, the only one he considered loving in return. The world had not rendered him incapable of love, simply unable to find someone worthy of it: the purest love of all kinds. It was a child's love for his missing mother, it was a father's love of his unborn daughter, it was a boy's love for a friend he never had, it was the steady, unwavering love of a man for his lover whom he sought all his life and had finally, finally found.

He pulled her even closer wrapping his limber arms around her petite body. In this moment, his fragile arms looked like that of a child holding on to someone he was sure of for dear life. While Erik remained thin despite his recent good health, he was no longer as hauntingly skeletal as he was before he had Christine to look out for him. It was of no consequence, in his mind, if he was thin or fat, but now he had more than just himself to live for. Christine's presence offered his life an entirely new meaning. His dependence, though he desired greatly to conceal it, came out more often than he would like to admit. As now, how tears flowed freely down his cheeks at the horrifying thought of life without his bride.

His trembling and quiet sobs caused Christine to be roused from her sleep.

"…mm, love," she mumbled sleepily, then began to sit up, "Erik…what's the matter?" He now trembled fiercely looking up at her with his pleading, gleaming eyes. Mildly confused, but far from utterly baffled at her husband's sudden change in mood, Christine calmly sat him up and took him in her arms holding him warmly. "Shhh, shhh…it's alright," she soothed, "It's alright, I'm here."

This seemed to relax him. His breathing regained a semblance of normality, still Christine made no move to lie back down; she simply held him stroking his back, reassuring him once again.

"I love you Christine," he choked.

"I know, love," she cooed.
"Please," he whispered, almost ashamed for asking, "Please tell me again."
"Always, love," she smiled into his shoulder, "I love you, Erik. I promise I do. With all my heart." As if to affirm her words she took his hand in hers and placed it over her chest.

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. He loved her ever more for her enduring patience with him. Many others would have grown tired of his constant doubting, even angered, feeling as if he did not trust them. But Christine understood that it was no fault of hers that he needed constant assurance, nor was it a flaw of his person. Life had simply trained him to be self-depreciating and suspicious of everyone who claimed to care for him.

"With all my heart," she breathed.

With his free hand Erik moved to brush the tears from his eyes. Eventually he once again grew sure in her embrace and kissed her hand in thanks.

"Forgive me my blubbering, love…I've made quite a fool of myself."
"Never," she insisted. "There is nothing to forgive."

He sighed in tremendous appreciation as his face relaxed once again. "You are so good to me," he mused, "Never at all impatient or selfish."
She shrugged off his words modestly. As they lay down together once more.
"What can I do to make it up to you?"
"Your love is enough."

He frowned. He did not consider his love an extraordinary gift. It took no effort; it only flowed from him naturally nor did he feel satisfied with giving her merely 'enough'. He wanted to offer her abundance in any way he could; it was a mere token that represented the depth of his love for her.

Seeing his frustration she chuckled silently to herself.

"Hold me?" she asked.
Erik smiled, glad to be actively giving her something, even as small as an embrace.

Christine smiled as he settled himself so that he held her close feeling his arms come around her. She faced him, winding her own arms around his neck she gave him an innocent kiss on the cheek. Feeling the desire to assure him further she hummed,

"Do you have any idea how wonderful it feels when you hold me?"

Erik raised his eyebrows at her sudden earnest declaration but said nothing.

"I love being in your arms." She offered, "It makes me feel like a goddess."

Erik saw stars, balking at the similarity of the thoughts that dwelt in each of their minds. It absolutely thrilled him beyond anything he had ever known to discover that his wife was as utterly elated to be near to him as he was to be near to her. While he did not presently doubt the extent of her love for him, he often found himself pleasantly surprised by the pleasure she derived from simply being near him. Too often he felt that he was begging for her affection, it was beautiful to know that her heart ached for him in return.

"I used to hold a teddy bear, do you remember it? I wouldn't sleep without it, especially after my father died. A teddy bear, however nice to hold, is but cotton in the end. A human, on the other hand, can choose whether to stay with you or not. While a stuffed bear can never leave you, it is infinitely more rewarding to find a person who chooses never to leave you and vows to love you back.

There is something vitally, irreplaceably, wonderful about holding a living person in your arms with whom your love is returned," she wondered "…feeling their presence…their embrace…the pliable, warm softness of their flesh beneath your hands… knowing that the warmth you feel is a product of their heart which beats only for you…the same heart that is nestled so deeply in their chest, in the circle of your arms." She held him tighter.

"Promise you'll always love me?" She beseeched.

"Always," he returned, "Please don't ever doubt that."
"No, I never doubt it…I just long to hear it sometimes."
Erik's chest swelled. "I love you Christine."

She beamed. "I love you Erik."
He smiled.