I just want to note that this is supposed to be a slow E/C, and these chapters should be the hardest for the two of them. By chapter 10 (Maybe 12) they should be relaxing into marriage, I think, and then we'll have less of these arguments and more forgiveness and love.

The rating WILL NOT CHANGE, btw, if you were hopeful. It's only fluff, more fluff than I ever thought I'd write... And they're still arguing!

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CHRISTINE

I woke up to Poco whining and pawing at my door. Out the window, the sun was dipping below the trees, and I went over to see this better, callous to the wants of my puppy. I could see the darkness approaching, the darkness I had screamed at and run from as a child, the darkness Erik wore to hide himself from the world...

So strange that for one person, darkness was her fear, and for the other, his solace.

I pulled myself away from the sunset, trepidatious as to what the rest of the day held, but unable to resist the needy puppy at my door. I scooped him up into my arms and he covered me in kisses until I couldn't help but smile in my pain.

Then I heard Erik begin to play the violin. It was a single note, full and rich, but it quavered and ceased, humming in the air.

I didn't want to see if he had unlocked the door, because I knew he couldn't have. After having nothing of love, why would he not want to lock me away for himself? He had planned to before...

But I went downstairs, the puppy bounding behind me. I stopped suddenly at the bottom, marveling at the sight that met my eyes and feeling my heart grow faint with relief.

The lock had been removed! And not carefully, but violently, carelessly, denting the wood surrounding it.

I walked into the living room as if in a daze, my fingertips gliding along the doorway frame. Erik turned to me, the violin beside him atop the piano.

"You broke the lock," I said.

"Broken things can be mended," he replied strangely, setting the violin beneath his chin.

"Thank you."

He ceased, removing his bow, the silver ferrel of which caught a string.

"What's wrong?" I asked, wary as to his behavior.

"Nothing," he replied, preferring the window to my face.

"I had hoped to kiss you in gratitude for your decency, but I see I'm unwanted," I told him, turning towards the dining room doorway. He grabbed my arm.

"Christine, forgive me," he said, hesitant.

I turned to face him, and his grip loosened.

I asked gently, "What for?"

"Not being captured under the opera house."

"Erik, I don't understand-"

"Yes, you do," he told me painfully. "If I was dead, you would be happy and free-"

"You think I wouldn't be distraught? I would've mourned you, Erik, murderer or no, I would've mourned and wept. I love you-"

"In what way?" He demanded, growing suddenly irritable. "You say that rather often, 'I love you...' Well? In what way?"

"I can't explain."

"You must explain!" He cried, his hand tightening about my arm as he shook me. "Who am I married to, am I even married at all? What do you want from this? What is yours to gain?"

"You're hurting me," I whispered.

He released my arm, not meeting my eyes in shame, "What is yours to gain?"

"Your happiness," I replied simply, rubbing where I now ached.

"And what of yours?"

"I hope for it eventually... but it's my fault if it never comes. I brought myself here, not you. I'm wearing this ring of my own accord... I sacrificed my immediate happiness in the hope that... that whenever I was happy again, it would be greater than that. And besides, you know I can't help but make myself miserable."

"Do you love me?"

"It's hard to tell," I told him, holding my arm for emphasis.

He refused to acknowledge this, "How so?"

"You just hurt me, and I was a prisoner mere hours ago."

"A prisoner..." he repeated, his eyes soft.

"But not anymore... I'll be your wife, if you'll be my husband. A good husband, mind you-"

"You deserve nothing less," he told me firmly.

"Then why did you shake me?"

"I didn't mean to... I'm sorry."

I took his hand, "I forgive you."

He brought my hand to his lips, brushing against the surface. He only needed time to adjust... and he hadn't meant to hurt me...

"Could I make dinner?" I offered as I brought my hand back to clasp my other.

"If you want to," he replied.

"What do we have?"

He gestured to the kitchen, "Go see."

"Oh, wait, before that, would you show me all the things you bought?" I asked, glancing at the still-unopened parcels and packages coating the dining room table.

"If you want... But I thought you opposed that."

"I don't oppose that... I was merely afraid of what they could mean besides that you love me."

"What else could they mean?"

"You know what else."

"You are not a doll!" He cried vehemently, causing me to take a step back. "Where did you get this idea from?"

"Where do you think?" I retorted, concealing my fear, but clutching my arms to my chest for protection. Why was he being like this? "You had a doll of me under the opera house."

"That's not-... that doesn't mean I wanted you to be a doll."

"Then what was the purpose of that thing?... What was the purpose? To scare me half to death when it lunged forward?"

"Christine, do you know what it's like to be wholly alone?"

My eyes softened in empathy, "You know I do... But I didn't make a doll version of my father-"

"That's not what I meant, you know it's not."

I bit my lip, sighing, "You wanted to have company... and even the company of someone who wasn't real was preferable to no one... I'm sorry, it's been troubling me for some time now is all."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, but it was preferable to the unpredictable anger I had just witnessed.

"I'm going to make dinner," he informed me, and I opened my mouth to object. "See if I've purchased anything you like, organize them how you want."

"Erik-" I bit my lip. "Please, I... I would quite like to make dinner myself. It'll make us feel more married, perhaps... Thank you for offering, though, I would just prefer to."

His malformed lips twitched, and his voice came out tense, "If you want to so very much."

I swallowed my indignity and went to take inventory. I was a bit overwhelmed with all the spices and the fine cut of beef he had bought; I was used to making myself simple soups and bland chicken.

But it made me feel safer to be doing it all myself. There was so little trust between us, and though I sincerely doubted he intended to take me, I was still so afraid. It was terrible to live in fear, to keep glancing over my shoulder in search of something I prayed would never appear.

"Erik?" I called, realizing I had been stupid not to simply ask for assistance.

He came into the kitchen, and asked rather rudely, "What?"

"I'm sorry... I need help."

"I'm not quite in the mood for helping," he told me, turning to leave.

"I'm sorry I don't trust you, Erik, but please don't be rude."

He paused in the doorway, turning back to me. His features were hard as his mask, and he hesitated to speak.

"When..." he said, his voice crackling a little, "have I ever shown any sign I would violate you?"

I swallowed, glancing down at my feet, "You said before, underneath the opera house... You hinted at it more than once."

"Then why did you marry me, if only to live in fear?"

"Because I do trust you quite a lot in that respect, that's why I came back, only I..." I exhaled. "I don't believe any woman ever fully trusts a man she doesn't know very well. It's only a common fear for women is all, as we're generally smaller and-"

"You know me, though."

"But I don't." I argued. "I know you barely at all! All I know is what I've seen since I married you."

His features tensed, "And I haven't been careful with you?"

"Well... I think you've done your best-"

"Ah, but my best is rather poor in your eyes, isn't it?" He said bitterly. "What is the deformed man's best? Far less than another-"

"Why do you twist my words?" I demanded, welling up with hurt. "What does your face have to do with your actions-?"

"Oh, you've shown me it has nothing to do with those, but it deals with expectations. You expect less of me, don't you?"

"No- yes, but not because of your face-"

"Then why?"

"Because you've never been loved," I argued, restraining an indignant sigh. "You've been abused in ways you'll never confide in me, and so you don't know a lot of things, though you won't admit it... But I love you, so yes, I've set my expectations rather low in the hope that you will transcend them. And if you love me you will transcend them."

"What are your expectations?" He said in a mocking tone.

"That you won't hurt me, and that you'll try your best to be kind... a-and no more murders, of course."

"Is that all?"

"Yes. That is all."

"And apparently I have not done well with those-"

"You were doing well, and then-"

"Then what?" He demanded. "What must I swear upon to earn your trust?"

"Nothing," I replied brokenly, "b-because you could break whatever promise you make. You've lied to me for almost all the time I've known you save this past week... And even then, how do I know this isn't also a lie?"

He clenched his fist, "How do I?" Then he sighed wearily, "Go look at what I've bought and ridicule them, why don't you? Occupy yourself. Or go hide in your room, if you're so afraid of me."

I resisted the urge to slam the kitchen door behind myself as I left, and I had a mind to run out the front door then and there. He had hurt me, inside, I could feel pain from his words. And there was the lingering soreness on my arm from minutes ago...

What if he wouldn't get better? And what if he hurt me again?

"Let's see my new possessions," I whispered calm myself.

I began to open the white-and-brown-wrapped items coating the table. He had purchased three simple dresses: one in pale blue, another in pastel green, and one in a darker shade of blue. They had small bustles, no ruffles or embroidery, buttons down the bodice, all plain as I had requested.

At least this proved he could listen to me.

I didn't much like the idea of him selecting my underthings, so I set these aside, though my glimpses showed them to be rather fine. There were two nightgowns, both appearing a little long, but I could hem these. Both were a cream color, and with embroidery around the edges in white that seemed floral.

He had neglected only what I had expected him to, but I shouldn't have need of those until the following week, so that wasn't a pressing matter. But he had also bought me a few far more expensive items I had no need of: a shawl that felt like water, real silk stockings, and a few pretty combs to put in my hair. He also bought me a pair of slippers and nice gray boots, though I had two pairs of shoes already that I had brought... True, their soles were worn...

I went up to my room to put everything away. Then I tried on the dresses, needing a distraction more than wanting to view myself in the mirror. Two of these needed to be hemmed, and one was a little too loose about my waist. The pale green fit nearly perfectly, however, so I wore this, put combs in my hair, and stared at my reflection.

Tears gathered behind my eyes. I took deep, shuddering breaths to keep them from falling. This had to get better, it had to, we just needed to trust each other...

Could we ever do that?

I took tentative steps down the stairs, hesitating a moment beside the doorway of the dining room. My wearing what he had bought was to, hopefully, bring him out of his rather cold demeanor.

I stepped into the doorway, and he glanced up from setting the table. He placed the plate in his hand down and straightened up, his eyes examining me in a way I couldn't tell made me feel uncomfortable or admired.

"I like everything," I told him softly.

"There's not much of a point in changing clothes now." He replied, continuing to set the table. "You'll be going to bed soon after this-"

Before I could calm myself, I started to weakly cry, wrapping my arms about myself. Through my tears I saw his entire demeanor shatter. He came over to me, his eyes taut with concern and regret.

"I didn't mean-" but he ceased, searching for something to say. "You look beautiful, Christine, you always look beautiful... Is that why you cry? I didn't mean that you should change back, you look so very beautiful."

He extended his arms out timidly for me, but I made no move to accept them, so they fell back to his sides. I could tell he had no idea what to do with me. I had no idea what to do with me.

Perhaps I had made a foolish decision to come here after all...

"Do you want to... sit down?" He offered.

I took a few shuddering breaths, shaking my head.

"Is this like last night?" He asked, pained. "The same reason?"

I shook my head, sniffling, "It's different... c-could you get me a handkerchief?"

"Yes, of course," he told me, hurrying up to my room.

I leaned against the wall. His voice could do more harm than his hands could ever manage...

He came downstairs with a white handkerchief, and I thanked him for it as I wiped away my tears. Breathe, breathe...

"Why are you upset?" He asked, more gently than before.

I stared at him, "I... thought that the lock being removed... w-would help, but now you're upset with me, and I'm c-crying because my arm hurts, and my head hurts from your words, and I'm so silly for crying because you weren't happy with what I was wearing, and... You h-hurt me."

"I didn't mean to."

"But you did hurt me."

"I won't touch you anymore, then," he offered, "if that will appease you."

"That was an accident before, I mean you spoke just now... like you didn't love me."

"How else am I supposed to reply with you hurling accusations at me?" He retorted, then he put his head in his hands. "Don't cry, please... forgive me, come eat dinner, just forget this happened-"

"Forget? It's going to keep happening over and over and over, isn't it? It happened on the journey here, and now it happened worse, accompanied by physical hurt-"

"Christine, I'm sorry!" He cried desperately, turning away from me to conceal his tears. "Do you think I want to hurt you?"

"Of course not... I know you don't, but it happened-"

"Yes, it happened... a-and you're right, it's going to happen again and again-"

"Erik-"

"-until we both go mad!"

"Erik, no, you can get better, can't you?"

He chuckled bitterly, "Get better? Like I'm sick..."

"I'm scared," I pleaded. "You shook me, and I was scared."

His hand trembled, though he remained facing away from me, "I know you were... You've always been scared of me, even when I was an angel, always..."

"And why is that?" I asked, trying to make him understand.

"Explain to me, you seem to enjoy telling me my innumerable faults."

"That's not my intent-"

"Then what," he asked painfully, "is?"

"To help you remedy your faults. Everyone had faults, I do, and I try to fix them-"

"Murder and eating one too many chocolates are quite different, Christine."

"I don't ever eat chocolates- but that's besides the point!" I was becoming indignant at all of this, his tone, his demeanor. "I just want you to love me... That's all I came here for, I know for certain now, I came here to love you, but I can't if you're treating me like this."

He turned around swiftly, and I backed away into the wall. Then he sunk to his knees, as if suddenly without the strength to stand. He kept his eyes on the floor.

I sat down in front of him, quite close, on my knees as well. I extended a trembling hand to his face, and he grabbed it and held it to his chest, shattering.

"I shouldn't have taken you here," he sobbed, caressing my hand rather roughly between his. "It was a mistake... Y-you... you said it yourself, you've put yourself in a cage with this." He gestured to his face with disgust. "You can't have children, anything you want, even your possessions are tainted... everything..."

I placed my arms about him, and he curled up awkwardly into me, still tense.

"It'll get better," I whispered. "We'll be better."

I could've sworn he nodded, but he might have only shuddered.

"The food must be cold by now," he whispered against my breast.

"You want to get up?"

"Not yet... u-unless you-?"

"I'll stay as long as you want."

He seemed unable to process this, and pushed me away as he rose with haste, glancing about the room in search of something.

"What's wrong?" I asked, still on the floor.

"I'm not hungry, I need-"

His gaze fell upon the piano, and he removed his violin from the top, placing this in a case. Then he opened the lid of the piano and sat down to play.

"But you haven't eaten-" I argued.

He forced himself to ignore me, and at that point I was so exasperated with him that I dragged my feet into the dining room. I prayed for him, then for Raoul, and stared at my cold steak with my head in my hands.

Poco whined and pawed at my skirt, so I fed him pieces of meat, to his delight. There was a bowl of water in the corner for him that we had placed there before the picnic.

I gave him a bit of baguette, and he continued to whine until I drowned him out with my conflicted thoughts. Erik's playing in the background became a dull hum in my occupied mind.

I must have been finished for quite some time before I realized my plate was bare. I let Poco lick the rest off, causing him to wag his tail so violently his entire body swayed. I went out to Erik while the puppy attempted fruitlessly to pull himself up onto a chair.

"Erik?" I interrupted softly.

His hands hovered over the keys for a moment, wanting to continue, but then they fell into his lap, and he answered with surprising amiability, "Is something wrong?"

"Nothing with me..." I lied, there was so much. "Are you not going to eat?"

"I'm not hungry yet... Why don't you read a book? Or knit, I bought yarn for you."

"We haven't sung together in a while."

I suddenly recalled that the last time we had done so was on the opera stage, singing about passion neither of us truly understood. Why he had chosen to write that opera was beyond me, surely he had never... Unless he had?***

"Would you like to sing now?" He asked.

I smiled gently, "Yes, but I need to clean up dinner-"

"Don't trouble yourself. I'll do that later, sing now."

"By myself?"

"I'll accompany you on piano."

"Okay... I won't be very good at the moment, I fear."

He waved away my words, "Even if you didn't sing for a year, you would be better than all the opera singers in Paris."

"Except you."

"I've never sang in an opera..."

"You did in yours... for a song."

"I suppose..." he said softly. "Did you drink water after you ate?"

"For my voice, yes."

"Good... then let's begin."

We couldn't stop ourselves. Music was an escape from the world into somewhere far more wonderful. I smiled after each piece, returning to my earlier state of happiness and helping Erik to his.

"Are you tired?" He asked. "It must be late..."

I sighed, "I think so... Goodnight... D-do you want a kiss?"

"If you're willing to give one."

I kissed his unmasked cheek, "And give me one, too. If you're willing."

He repeated my action, though more swiftly, and I went up to bed, feeling far better than earlier. I slipped into one of the new nightgowns with a hem that dragged on the floor, then under my covers and blankets, sighing. Poco whined and pawed at the side of the bed, so I pulled him up by the scruff of his neck to sleep at my feet.

He proceeded to take the pillow beside my head instead. I smiled gently, thankful my hope had renewed. Living with Erik would be difficult, incredibly difficult, but not impossible. Not impossible...

And when all else failed, we would have music.

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What's up with Erik? Oh, he likes to be in control, a common attitude in abandoned/abused people? So knowing that Christine isn't completely in his power is distressing him in ways he cannot comprehend, and causing him to treat her poorly and regret it moments afterward?

At least, that's my take. But what's Christine supposed to do about that? Give up her control, or try to help him understand her liberty? We'll see...