Blemishes
Chapter 7: Dancing
They had grown much closer since that incident... in fact; she had even begun to consider suggesting that they share a bed. Nothing more, but just to share one… at least so he was no longer sleeping in a coffin. She hated the coffin and the idea of her very much alive husband sleeping in it. He was so dark sometimes; he had such a morbid sense of humour and his idea of fun mostly consisted of tricks and teases. Once or twice he had hidden one of her books or works of stitching and made her search for them – he'd thought it all rather amusing (if she had done anything similar to him he would have probably called her ridiculous and emptily threatened to lock her up in her room). Her idea of fun was a very giddy sort of gaiety, and she had convinced him to join her a few times as well. One of her favourite moments being when she'd gotten him to dance with her. It had been later in the evening and she had been feeling very frivolous and playful, enough to grab his book while he was in the middle of reading and begin balancing it on her head.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Practicing being a lady, can't you tell?" She began walking with faux kind of haughtiness.
"Yes, you look quite lovely, now give me back my book."
"Oh, you are no fun at all. Why don't you come play with me?" She giggled, refusing to return his book.
"This is not fun, this is folly. Maybe you ought to go to bed, Christine, you seem a little tired."
"I'm not tired. Not in the least bit! Don't you ever just want to be a child; to run around and skip and play and dance?" Christine removed the object from her head and put it back in its place on the shelves.
"No."
"You sound like an old curmudgeon."
"Well, then do I have news for you."
"You're silly."
"I think, madame," madame, how strange to be called that, she thought, "you will find that it is quite the opposite. You are silly. What are you doing now?" She had grabbed his hands and began pulling him out of his large chair.
"Proving you wrong."
"Proving me wrong about what?" She didn't answer and instead brought him into the space between the dining and living rooms, smiling so sweetly all the way that he couldn't possibly bear to pull away. That is, at least, until she put a hand on his shoulder and told him to put his hand on her waist.
"Oh, no, no-no-no, I do not think so." He started to walk away but then she attached herself to his arm.
"Please! One dance, Erik, that's all I'm asking for. It's what normal everyday husbands and wives do, they dance with each other and have fun with one another."
"We do have fun – this is not fun. How about I show you another magic trick instead?"
"Erik," she sighed, "I don't want another magic trick, I want to dance with you."
"Christine..."
"Just one?"
"I don't know how to – I never learned, don't you understand, you silly girl? I simply can't."
She sighed, "I do understand, Erik. That's why I want to teach you." His eyes softened and his heartbeat quickened, with love or nervousness he wasn't sure though he highly suspected both. He nodded then, he could deny her nothing. It wasn't, necessarily, that he did not understand dancing – for he knew most things on a purely scientific level, with all of his travels and experiences it was impossible to not know a thing or two. Not to mention that he lived beneath an opera house and he'd seen the occasional ball (even attended a few, though more for business than for pleasure) and frequented the operas and endured many of the ballets there. Some days he enjoyed them, other days he felt the opera could do without. But he did appreciate dancing, he had four or five books on it, two of which were instructional and three were historical. He had taught himself what he could, and he was sure that he would not be a terrible dancer when given the chance... but the fact of the matter was that he hadn't been given the chance... not really. And there was something very different about dancing –
" – dancing with air and dancing with an actual real life person. When I was younger, I would dance all of the time. Papa had taught me three or four different kinds. Unfortunately, I haven't had much practice dancing with someone else since then, so I'm a bit unused. But I remember enough. Would you like me to show you first or do you just want to try something right away?"
"Whatever you would prefer, Maestra." Christine blushed at the moniker, she had never really taught him anything before, at least, nothing like this. It was odd to be the teacher.
"Right... yes," she straightened, "Hm... so, the Waltz would probably be easiest for the both of us to get used to, then maybe we can try the Polka or something of the like later on. Sound suitable?"
He shrugged and crossed his arms, leaning against the back of his chair as he watched her expectantly.
"I have never been all that great at dancing, I seem to lack in grace, so you will have to bear with me... and not laugh." He raised an absent eyebrow at her reluctance, she was the one that wanted to.
"When we start," she held out her arms then, one hand carefully holding the top of her skirts and the other in the hand of an invisible partner, "you place your right foot like this and I will mirror you, like so. And then you will move clockwise, leading me, and then you will walk forward three steps while I move backward three steps. Counterclockwise, I move forward three steps, you move backward three steps. And then you can pick up the pace a little, perhaps add a sashay here or there, and then sometimes the lady may do a little twirl or the gentleman might lift her. And just like that! – you are dancing... one, two, three and one, two, three, and – "
"You lied," he said suddenly, and she stopped, dropping her hands instantly and looking up at him with unease, "In all of my years... I have never seen anyone dance as gracefully as you have just done."
"You're just saying that," she said, but she could not stop the huge grin from spreading across her face.
"I never say anything just to say it, my dear." And what he had said was the absolute truth, at least in his eyes. He had seen hundreds if not thousands of ballerinas, all quite beautiful and extravagant. He had seen streetwise dancers jangling their ankles and spinning madly like tops. He had seen the Shah of Persia's most celebrated and exotic entertainers strutting and swaying. But never had he beheld any as glorious or elegant or enticing as his Christine – for she danced like she sang, with her very soul. Oh, it took his breath away. He bowed to her then, holding out his hand, "Now, you were going to teach an old fool to dance?"
"Yes," she curtseyed, taking his hand and blushing lightly when his other closed over her waist and pulled her near. He had held her before, but there was something so very acutely... romantic about it all that it made her heart beat just a little faster, "and you aren't old."
"Never mind that, which foot is it again?"
"Um, your right. And then you go clockwise, like that. Forward, one, two, three, and – "
"Counterclockwise?"
"Precisely, one, two, three, forward, one, two, three, and clockwise, one, two, thr – "
"Christine," his tone was amused and his voice silky and warm, "you do not have to keep reminding me."
"Oh, sorry," she chuckled nervously, "you're right. You seem to have a pretty good handle on it. Erik, are you sure you've never danced before?"
"Yes."
"But you're doing so well! You are positive you've never danced before? Or did you just tell me that so I would make an idiot of myself and dance for you?"
"You paint such a very wicked picture of me, Christine. No, my dear wife, as wonderful as it was watching you - and it was wonderful, I can assure you that I have never danced before in my life. Didn't you say something about a twirl?" He let go of her waist then, smiling at her as she laughed aloud and gave a little spin.
"Yes, I did, and also something about – " He promptly lifted her up and then set her back down again. He began to move at a wider gait and quicker, dancing with her in a more vigorous variation of the Galop.
"I don't," she breathed, "remember teaching you this yet!"
"You haven't."
"Then how do you know?" He didn't answer quite yet, twirling her a second time and going in another circle around the room, she tripped a little then and he caught her easily, "Sorry... clumsy."
"Nonsense," he eased up, moving into a much slower waltz, "As to your question: I have never danced before, but I have studied. I understand a great variety of different dances, I have simply never been able to practice them before."
"Oh, so now you're a master dancer, too?"
"No. My technique is horrendous. But I am very sure I could become one, if I wanted."
"Has anyone ever told you that you are a bit full of yourself?"
"The daroga has told me as much over a hundred times, why?"
She snorted, moving her hand from her gown to his shoulder, "What do you think?"
"Are you blind?" He asked her, he sounded completely earnest.
"No?"
"Are you sure that while we were dancing I didn't rattle something loose in that pretty head of yours?"
"What do you mean?"
"Are you looking at my face, Christine?"
"Yes."
"With a face like mine I think I am permitted to be a bit full of myself where I am due praise, thank you."
"Ah."
"Ah," he mimicked, bringing their hands to rest together on his chest. They had taken to moving no more than a few steps at a time now.
"This is... very intimate dancing." It had only been an observation, she had never danced in such a way before.
"We are married."
"I know."
"Do you? I am not always so sure."
"Erik..."
"Forgive me, I know you do not like being reminded."
"Don't."
"Are you thinking of him right now? Don't say anything."
"I – "
"Do you ever listen to a thing I say? I said don't say anything." He sighed exasperatedly, rubbing the top of her hand with his thumb but more for his own comfort than hers, "Put your head on my shoulder." She did as he asked, resting her head beneath his chin and staring at her fingers enclosed in his.
"I apologize, Christine. That was wrong of me. I do not know why, so do not ask: but it is... it is always most difficult for Erik during moments like these... to believe... to trust his sweet wife, you must pardon him when he is like this, you must be... you must be understanding, though it is much to ask for."
"It's not."
"You were right, Christine. This was... fun." Before I ruined it.
"Don't feel bad, Erik. And it really was, it was a lot of fun. This is nice, too. I like simply being in your arms like this. We should do it again sometime – perhaps during one of the operas, so there will be music for us."
"Even... no. Yes. That is good: a fine idea, my dear."
"Indeed it is." He said nothing in reply, and it did not bother her, for she knew it was likely for fear of breaking down. She just enjoyed being close to him and listening to him breathe while he did the same with her.
Author's Note: I'd like you to just take these next few moments to imagine Erik actually going out of his way to figure out how dancing works and teaching himself how to dance. Why would he do that, you ask? I dunno, just in case. Maybe he only decided to try to learn when he fell in love with Christine. I imagine he started to plan a lot of things when he started dreaming about married life, like going out on walks and gardening and dancing and stargazing, but now that he has the chance to, he's all apprehensive and he doesn't know exactly what to do or how to approach the subject. He only knows what he's seen. He mimics. What a precious little awkward baby that doesn't know how to have fun.
I told you fluff and what happened? Fluff.
