Fluff drops off for a bit, in place of some heavy hurt/comfort. I love that, too, especially for characters who didn't get enough love in the actual story they're from. Am I right, guys? Don't we all love to see our favorite characters sick or hurt, just so we can read about them getting all the love and care they deserve?

Anyway, on with story!

Short Ends
XxX

"Damb gold," Erik groaned, sniffling thickly and coughing. He sank shakily into his chair by the fire, shivering beneath the blankets. Christine gently pressed a cup of spiced tea into his hands.

"Erik, you've had that cold for a week now," she worried, gaging his fever, and frowning when she found that it was higher than it had been, "and it's only getting worse. Are you sure you do not want me to get a doctor?"

Erik shook his head, pulling her to sit on the arm of his chair. Christine wrapped her arms around him, and pressed his head to her chest, softly stroking his hair.

"Doh," he replied, shaking his head against her smooth skin. It was cool, and felt good against his warm face. "I'll be alrighdt, Christinde. I prombise."

Christine frowned, and took his face in her hands, tilting his head back until she had his eyes in her gaze.

"Erik, you're not getting better. I'm afraid this will turn to something serious, my love. If you get any worse, I must call a doctor for you."

Erik shook his head.

"Don't," he whispered, a tiny bit of fear creeping into his eyes. "Please, Christide." He broke off, sneezing explosively, then coughing deeply, the sound rattling out of his lungs with his wheezing breath.

When the fit passed, he pressed against his chest, frowning at the pain he felt.

Christine about panicked. He was already weak from the cold, he couldn't have an attack now; it might kill him if it was bad enough.

"Erik?!" she gasped, clutching at his arm, eyes wide.

"M... my lungs hurt...." he rasped, panting. He blinked against dizziness, and sagged against the back of his chair, wheezing tightly, eyes shut.

His face was slick with sweat, and Christine about broke into tears seeing him so weak. She gently stroked his hair, wishing she had been watching him closer when he'd started to feel a bit out of sorts at the beginning of the week.

"You must be seen, Erik," she whispered, taking a cloth from the night stand, and using it to wipe the sweat from his forehead, cheeks and lips. "You need a doctor."

Erik shook his head as vigorously as he could, grasping tremulously at Christine's wrist.

"N-no..," he replied, voice hard despite it's hoarseness. "I dond't, Christide. I wond't!.....I cand't...."

Christine smiled sadly, and took his face in her hands.

"My darling Erik," she sighed. "I understand you're worried. I know what you've been through. I promise, if you want, I'll stay right with you the entire time. Wear the mask if it helps you. But you must be seen by a doctor, Erik. What if this cold has already progressed to pneumonia? You can't die, my love. I need you, Arabelle needs you."

"I dnow," Erik replied. "Ad I'll be find. Beliebe me."

Christine looked at Erik's tired smile, and couldn't help a slight smile of her own. She kissed his cheek, and rested her head on top of his.

-

-

In the morning, Erik's lungs felt like they would rip apart with each breath, and he couldn't get enough oxygen into his system. The cough had gotten worse, and his fever had spiked in the night. And though the congestion had left his throat and head, it had filled into his lungs, making breathing almost unbearable. The doctor was there by noon.

"He's in our room," Christine muttered, leading the doctor - an older man named Mason - to the secondfloor bedroom.

Erik tensed when the strange man walked into the room, but relaxed when Christine entered, and came straight to his side, sitting in a chair and taking his hand gently in hers.

"It's alright, Erik," she said gently. "I am here."

Erik smiled faintly.

"I will see to him, Miss," Dr. Mason assured.

There was a pause, and Christine realized that Mason wanted her to leave.

"It's Madam," she corrected, "and I will stay. Erik will be more relaxed with me here. Won't you, love?"

Erik nodded, eyes and hands locked onto Christine's.

"Can the mask come off?" Dr. Mason asked. "It is obviously obstructing his breathing, and that is important in assessing his condition."

Erik shook his head almost frantically, looking to Christine.

"It's alright, Erik," she soothed, stroking his hair, and smiling reassuringly. "But the doctor is right, my love."

Erik gripped and regripped at Christine's sleeve, eyes wide and frightened behind the mask, nearly in tears.

"....please...." he rasped, already labored breathing becoming even more rapid and shallow.

"Erik, it will be alright, love," Christine assured him, still gently running her hand over his burning forehead. "I promise you."

Again, Erik shook his head desperately.

"N-no... Christine....... please.... I can't.."

Christine hated herself for making him take off the mask when the idea clearly frightened him. She felt wretched for putting him in such a situation, but he couldn't breathe right.

"Erik, trust me," Christine whispered. "I won't let any harm come to you. I swear it Erik. Everything will be alright. Now please, my dearest love, let me take off the mask."

Trembling like a leaf, Erik clenched his eyes shut, and nodded weakly. He trusted Christine, trusted her with his life.

Christine bent and kissed the small, uncovered part of his left cheek, reaching at the same time for the ties of his mask.

She heard the doctor gasp quietly behind her, and stiffened. She knew Erik would have heard it; he had excelent hearing.

"You were called to diagnose his illness," she hissed after a silent moment. "Not oggle at a mere physical deformity."

She didn't see Mason nod, but she felt his shame heavy in the room.

Dr. Mason listened to Erik's chest, had him sit up and take a deep breath. Inevitably, the deep breath led to a roung of wracking, deep coughs that sent intense pain lancing across his chest.

Christine held him, and rubbed his back in firm little circles, intent on helping him regain control of his body.

Once the fit passed, Erik slumped weakly in Christine's arms, shaking and muttering about the cold.

Concerned, Christine lay him back against the pillows, and pulled the blankets back up over his shoulders, tucking them around his chin to keep him warm. She crossed to the fire, promising when she stood from Erik's side, that she wouldn't leave the room, and returned with a warming pan of coals, sliding it beneath the blankets to help Erik get warm again.

After a quick check of his eyes, throat and ears, Dr. mason called her away to a corner of the room. Erik had been anxious about her leaving his side, but again, she promised not to leave his sights.

"From what I've seen, and the symptoms you described, Madam Destler," Dr. Mason said, removing his glasses, and looking for a moment back at Erik. Without Christine at his side, he seemed to be less sure of himself, and the white porcelain mask was back on his face, untied, but doing it's job still. "He does have pneumonia. And with his heart condition, which you mentioned when you called me, his chances are small."

"I don't care about the chances," Christine snapped, her horror at the thought of having to live without her Erik getting the better of her. "So long as there is a medicine you can give him that will help this, he'll survive. I know my husband's strengths."

Dr. Mason smiled slightly.

"Fortunately, it has not progressed to the point where he is beyond help."

He reached into his bag, and pulled out a bottle of capsuls.

"Echinacea pills," Mason explained. "They will help him, I assure you."

Christine took the bottle, and smiled gratefully.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I'll start him on them right away."

"Have him take three in a day," Dr. Mason instructed. "One in the morning, another halfway through the day, and another at night. With caring like yours, he'll be back on his feet soon."

Christine nodded, and watched him leave. She'd have seen him to the front door, but Erik looked wounded when she stepped toward the hall, so she stayed, walking back to their bed, and sitting in the chair, taking her husband's hand again, and gently removing his mask as she ran a tender hand over his face.

Christine wet a cloth from the pitcher of water on the night stand, and folded it onto Erik's forehead, looking at him in sadness. His face was pale, save for a streak of harsh fever-pink across the middle of his face. He looked so weak and frail, almost old, lying in the bed, with the blankets tucked tight around him. Christine could only hope that the doctor was right, and that she hadn't overestimated her dear Erik when she'd said that he'd live, so long as there was medicine, because she knew that medicine could only do so much, and in the end, whether he recovered or not was up to Erik and his body.

Erik looked at her with heavy, feverish eyes,, but beneath the sickness-caused bright, there was a clear lucidity; the fever may have control over his body, but it didn't yet affect his mind.

"Christine...." he wheezed. "I am... sorry."

"Shhhh, Erik," Christine soothed, stroking back his damp hair. "There is nothing to be sorry for. Such things as this happen." Of course he'd heard them, with his hearing. "Can you sit up?" she asked. "I'll help you, Erik love. You need to take this."

Erik looked at the little bottle of capsules, insides twisting in self disgust. He was weak. Too weak to be here with Christine. For the first time in two years, he realized with certainty that he was not worthy of his dear wife. Perhaps God was stepping in at last, stopping this blasphemy of Erik having a family before it went too far?

No, a voice in his mind sighed. You know that isn't true. You deserve her. You fought so hard, of course you deserve her. She loves you, and you love her. You've changed your ways, you love your daughter, you've become a good man, that makes you deserve her. Now start getting better, you old fool!

"That's it, Erik," Christine encouraged, helping him slowly into a sitting position, and pressing the pill into his mouth. "Don't worry, my dearest love. I'm here. I've got you."

"... momma... papa?"

Arabelle's little face peeked in through the door, eyes wide, ready for tears at a moment's notice.

Christine's heart ached for their little girl. She'd never heard Arabelle so frightened. The little girl had been horrified by Erik's attack two years ago, but then, she'd been still too young to understand, and Erik had been back on his feet in a matter of days. This time, he would be in bed at least a week, if he -

STOP IT! Of course he'll survive! You're being ridiculous, and you know Arabelle has his ability to pick up on emotions. She'll see your despair, Christine, and sink into her own, and then Erik will never recover. Don't give up on him. He never gave up on you.

"Arabelle.."

Erik reached out his free hand to her, and his young daughter ran to his side, tears rolling down her cheeks as she buried her face in his chest.

"Papa, I don't want you to be sick!" she wailed, clinging to him. "You can't have pumona."

"Pneumonia," Christine corrected gently, choking back a sob. "Don't worry, darling. Papa will be alright, won't you?"

Erik nodded tiredly.

"Of course I will," he agreed softly. But his voice was different; hoarse and weak, and it did little to comfort Arabelle.

-

-

Arabelle wasn't in her room when Christne woke and decided to check on her. Panicked, she ran down to the living room.

The girl was curled with her doll set in Erik's chair, sleeping. Her black curls were mussed and scattered, some falling in her face, and there were pink tearstains down her cheeks. In fact, on closer look, Arabelle was still cring, even in her sleep. She clutched at the dolls, while Phantom licked at her foot, looking up at her in concern, wondering what was so wrong with her mistress.

Christine sighed as she walked forward, and lifted Arabelle into her arms. She broght the dolls, letting Arabelle cling to them for comfort. This February had been hard on them all, thus far, and Christine wished with all her heart that recent events had never come to pass. If Erik weren't ill, Arabelle wouldn't be crying in her sleep, curled in her father's chair. If Erik weren't ill, Christine wouldn't be so worried. They would all be happier.

She was worried. Arabelle's tears had obviously exhausted her, and she'd come here for the comforting scents of her father, and Erik was ill. Arabelle could easily go the same way if Christine didn't watch her closely now.

Gently, Christine tucked Arabelle back into her bed, helping little Phantom up onto the matress where he immediately curled up next to Arabelle, nuzzling her cheek, and settling in to sleep.

But Arabelle woke, and looked up at Christine.

"Mama," she whispered, "is Papa going to die?"

Christine sat at Arabelle's side, lifting the girl up and hugging her tightly.

"No, dearest," she replied. "I've seen him pull through worse, you know."

Arabelle looked up at her in amazement.

"Really?"

Christine nodded.

"Yes, baby. Do you remember that time when Papa's heart was hurting him? Two years ago, when that boy tried to take your bear?"

Arabelle nodded. The memory wasn't very clear, but it was there.

"Well, those little moments used to be more common, and much worse," Christine went on. "Once, when I first met your papa, I took off his mask without his permission. Oh, he was so angry and hurt. And he had one of those attacks. He couldn't breathe well, and for two weeks he had to stay in bed, he was so weak. And I thought, for some time after, that he would die. You see, Papa's heart isn't very strong, Arabelle. If it weren't for that medicine he takes, I don't think we would have Papa today, sweetheart. But we do. And we must never take a moment with him for granted.

"But at the same time, he is very strong. Papa never complained through any of those attacks, and he always recovered. I assure you, dear one, he'll be alright. You'll see. Sleep now, angel." She bent, and kissed Arabelle's forehead, and Arabelle nodded, rolling over to her side, and curling around Phantom with a sniff.

"Papa'll be alright," she whispered to herself as she drifted off.

Christine sighed, watching as a calmer sleep took her daughter. At least she was no longer crying.

She walked back to her and Erik's room, and sat beside him, unable to sleep. She could hear his labored breathing in the dark, and finally, let go and sobbed.

How could this be happening? True, she'd never had any fantasy that Erik might outlive her; she knew he wouldn't with his heart - let alone that he was a good thirty years older than her - but she didn't want to lose him quite so soon. He was so dear to her; her world.

Once, she'd thought she could handle living without him. As he'd lain, slowly fading away that night beneath the opera house, she'd thought she'd find a way to go on, and forget her feelings for him. She knew now, as she had for the past four years, that she would never be able to move on. If Erik died, she would follow him. Perhaps not physically for some years, but her heart would be with him in Heaven. Erik may have believed he was going to Hell, but Christine knew better. He was a good husband, a wonderful father. Whatever he had been in the past was because others had forced him into that roll. He hadn't decided to take it on.

For a long time, she sat on the edge of their bed, crying silently. She cried for Erik, for Arabelle, for herself. Just two months ago, they'd celebrated Christmas, happy and all well. Just two months ago - and less - she'd seen Erik smile, running his hand over her gift of pricy music sheets.

But she knew she couldn't dwell forever. If she let go, and became sick herself, there would be no one to care for Arabelle.

Standing, she walked into the bathroom next to their room, and splashed water onto her face, looking for a long moment at her reflection in the mirror. She looked hassled, and frightened, and she was. She was so scared for Erik's health. What would become of him if he did recover? Would he regain all the strength he'd lost, or would he forever remain just that much weaker?

Shanking her head, she dried her face on a towel and walked back to the bedroom. She took off her dressing gown, and slid into bed next to Erik.

In his sleep, Erik curled into the comforting presence at his side, murmuring faintly 'Christine', as she wrapped her arms around him, and held him close.

She sighed. Somewhere, deep inside her, she knew all this worry would be for nothing; Erik would make it as he always had. He would come out of this as strong, if not stronger, than before. Maybe not physically, but as a person.

Christine almost laughed, wondering how someone so wonderful as Erik could possibly be any better. He was everything she ever dreamed of and never deserved until the last four years.

No more tears, she promised herself. No more gazing across waisted years. He'll live. He always lives. Erik could fall off the top of the Paris Opera House and still live.

She smiled softly, and kissed Erik's bare forehead.

"Sleep peacefully, my sweet Erik, my love," Christine whispered. "I know you're strong enough to recover. I have every faith in you, beloved. And I promise, I'll take care of you. I love you so, Erik."

Sun-colored eyes were suddenly staring at her, weak, but lucid. Erik smiled faintly.

"I love you too, Christine," he murmured, slowly raising a trembling hand to stroke her cheek. "My Christine..."

"Shh, Erik," Christine cooed. "Go back to sleep, love. You need your rest."

"So do you."

Christine nodded.

"I suppose I do," she agreed. "But I am much more concerned for you."

"Will you sing?"

Christine smiled slightly, and kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Of course, my love.

Sleep, my love, and peace attend thee,
All through the night;
Guardian angels God will send thee,
All through the night;
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
Hill and vale in slumber sleeping,
I my loving vigil keeping,
All through the night.

While the moon her watch is keeping,
All through the night;
While the weary world is sleeping,
All through the night;
O'er thy spirit gently stealing,
Visions of delight revealing,
Breathes a pure and holy feeling,
All through the night."

There was a small smile on Erik's sleeping face. And though his breathing was still difficult, Christine imagined that it was a bit less shallow, and a bit more clear sounding.

"He'll be alright," she whispered to herself before sleep covered her.

XxX
Yeah, Erik's sick through next chapter at least. Though don't worry, guys, he doesn't die. Yet. That comes way later. Anyway, I hope you guys liked this chapter, and please review!