I still don't own anything or anybody, sorry!
Thank you very much for your continued support! Yes, NS and Fairyteyla, I am rather proud of the idea to send Raoul to Normandy for a few weeks. I figured it would get boring if he banged on the door every other day and got the same answer!
And the idea that Mme. Giry would feel protective of her 'family' - I actually got that from the movie. She does know about their love, she does bring Christine Erik's roses. And she sees him lock her dressing room door from the outside and taking the key with him, so that Raoul won't be able to get to her. She knows exactly who Christine will be spending the night with (well, not the way this sounds, but still, they are together that night) and she quite obviously approves. She does not interfere...
Anyway, on to the story, Erik is finally waking up and things are getting a bit fluffy.
Chapter 8 – Healing
In the late afternoon Erik began to stir, thus showing that he was about to wake up. Mme. Giry left the room to give Christine some privacy for her first conversation with Erik since his injury and to make sure Erik did not feel too crowded. After all, he was used to solitude. She went down to the kitchen and heated some of the chicken broth that Meg had prepared earlier. Erik would probably not eat much, his stomach would not be used to food anymore, but even a few spoonfuls were better than nothing. He had lost a lot of weight and the fever and blood loss had weakened him considerably. Now that his fever had broken, the next step would be for him to regain his strength. It would take a while, but with Christine at his side to encourage him and to boost his morale, Mme. Giry had no doubts that in a few weeks Erik would be back on his feet.
Xxx
Christine was sitting at Erik's bedside, watching him quietly. She knew he was about to wake up. She was a bit nervous. How much would he remember? Did he know it had been the Vicomte's men to shoot him? Did he remember anything she had said to him during his fever delirium? Did he remember that she loved him or would she have to tell him again? What exactly had she said to him that night when she had found him half-dead in Mme. Giry's garden? Had she even told him yet about her love? No, there had not really been time for that, he had been in such bad shape and tending to his wound had been her first priority.
She suddenly had a feeling of being watched. Her thoughts immediately returned to her patient and looking back to the bed she saw that he was lying there motionless, his eyes open, gazing at her in wonder. Christine beamed. Erik had finally woken up, his eyes were focusing on her in recognition. He definitely was fully conscious and aware of his surroundings. Even though since late last night she had already known he would be fine, to actually see him so much improved made her heart sing.
Christine smiled at Erik, her eyes bright with love. "Angel," she whispered, relieved. "Angel, thank God, you are finally awake." Erik observed her quietly. He was doubting his sanity. He was not quite sure where he was, but it was obviously a room, and he was lying comfortably in a bed. What was he doing there, how had he gotten there? And what was Christine doing there? He vaguely remembered being dead, or almost dead. Ah, that was it! He had found a logical explanation for the situation at hand. "I must still be dreaming," he muttered. "I am imagining my Christine being with me and caring for me."
The dream was getting better by the minute. Now Christine took his left hand in both of hers and held it close, smiling. "You are not dreaming, Erik. I am really here with you. And I am not going to leave you ever again. Can you feel that I am real?" she asked teasingly. Erik did not dare to move for fear the dream would dissolve somehow and Christine would disappear. Surely she could not really be there at his bedside, smiling at him, telling him she would never leave him again? That dream did feel so real, though, he swore he could sense her little hands on his. But had she just called him Erik? He did not think he had ever told her his name. The real Christine would not know. He must be imagining this.
Another thought crossed his mind. He did not remember much, but he was fairly sure he had not been wearing a mask, he had not brought one with him when he had fled from the mob, so his face must be uncovered, bare. Surely she would not look at him like that if his deformity was exposed? His right hand tried to reach for his face to feel if the mask was in place, but he found he could not move his arm, that it was pretty much immobilized by a sling. "Do not worry, Angel," the apparition of Christine told him. "We had to put your arm in a sling to help your shoulder heal. Soon you will not need the sling anymore and you will regain full use of your arm and shoulder."
Erik nodded. That made sense. Unlike pretty much everything else he was experiencing at the moment. But he did remember the bullet wound to his shoulder now. And his face felt definitely naked, even though he was not able to touch it with his right hand – and Christine's fingers still caressed his left hand – he was fairly certain now that he was not wearing a mask, that his hideous face lay bare for everybody to see. And Christine was looking at him – not just without disgust, fear or shock, but actually lovingly? He once again decided he must be dreaming. There was no way this could really be happening. Soon he would wake up and Christine would be gone. But, he thought, there was no reason he could not enjoy the dream while it lasted.
"My face," he finally asked. "How can you bear looking at it?" Christine put her left hand on the right side of his face and tenderly cupped his disfigured cheek. "It is part of you, Erik, I love you, all of you, that does include your face. You do not have to hide behind a mask for me. And I have told you before, that your face holds no horror for me anymore. Even when I saw it for the first time I was more shocked by your anger than by your face. And since then I have learned to see the person behind the mask." She smiled at him encouragingly. "But," she added. "We do have one of your masks here at the house. Meg brought it home the night of the fire. She had gone with the mob to look for me and while in your underground home she found one of your masks and took it with her. Once you are well enough to get up and leave the house you will have a mask to wear, if that thought makes you feel more at ease." Erik barely listened to what she was saying. He was on cloud seven. He relished her gentle touch on his deformed cheek – her caress felt so real, and her slender fingers definitely felt wonderful on his sensitive, marred flesh. Nobody had ever before touched the right side of his face so lovingly. He leaned into her touch, abandoning himself to this unusual, but stimulating sensation.
Erik finally remembered that he still had no idea where he was. "Where.. how..," he mumbled. God, he was so weak, he felt as depleted as if he had run the full marathon distance at world record speed. Twice. Fortunately Christine understood what he meant. "You were suffering from pneumonia and a bullet wound to your shoulder. You thought you were dying and came to see me. At least that's how I understand it." She blushed. "I found you in the garden, you were on the verge of collapsing, you needed help, so I brought you in and Mme. Giry and I have cared for you ever since. You had us worried for a few days, you were unconscious for over a week and your fever was dangerously high, but you are on the way of recovery now. You will soon be strong and healthy again," she added encouragingly. Listening to her, Erik's memories of the last hours before he had passed out returned. Yes, he had tried to reach Christine, to see her one last time before he died. Was this real after all? Her hand caressing his deformity certainly felt real. "Christine, I love you," he whispered. God, he was beginning to think that maybe this was not a dream, that his Christine was really here with him and he was way too weak to take her in his arms and kiss her!
Christine's face seemed even more radiant than before at this confession. "I love you, too, my Angel," she whispered, her face turning the most becoming shade of pink. They looked each other in the eyes, overwhelmed by their feelings.
A knock on the door brought them back to reality. "Excuse the interruption," Mme. Giry said. She stood in the door, a bowl of something steaming in her hands, and was quite obviously touched by the mutual adoration in the eyes of the two lovebirds in front of her. She thought to herself that these two really were made for each other. "It is good to see you are finally awake, Erik," she continued, smiling at her friend. "I brought you some chicken soup. Try to eat at least a few spoonfuls. You do want to get your strength back, don't you?" Erik nodded. Now that she mentioned it, he felt hungry. Not ravenous, but a bit hungry.
"Are you strong enough to sit up, or do you need some help with that?" Mme. Giry inquired calmly. Erik tried, but he was far too weak to even raise himself up on one elbow. Mme. Giry put the bowl down on the nightstand and motioned Christine to get another pillow from the chair where Christine had used to nap while Erik's condition had still been critical. "Here, Erik, let me help you," she pulled him up into a half-sitting position and Christine shoved the second pillow behind his back to prop him up against it. Then Christine actually sat down on the bed beside him, the bowl in her hands, and began to feed him. Erik was not quite sure if he should feel ashamed at his weakness and helplessness or delighted that she was coddling him like that, he finally decided on the latter and obediently opened his mouth when she approached it with a spoon full of chicken broth. The soup was rather bland, of course they would use salt and pepper sparingly on food for a convalescent patient, but he was hungry enough – or motivated enough by Christine's presence and willingness to help him - that he ate about half the bowl's content.
Mme. Giry was satisfied. Erik had indeed eaten more than she had expected. If he continued like that, he would not be quite as weak and helpless much longer. "Now let me have a look at your shoulder, Erik," she told him, "and then you can go back to sleep." Erik had to admit that he did feel sleepy again. He watched as Mme. Giry and Christine exchanged the bandages on his shoulder. The ladies were happy with the result of the examination. Erik's shoulder looked much less swollen and the inflammation was much improved, too, the wound was now healing properly. Once they were finished, they removed the additional pillow again so that he could lie flat on his back. They were barely finished when Erik had already fallen asleep again.
Xxxx
Erik slept a lot over the next week or so, though his waking periods slowly increased, both in length and in number. He was getting a bit stronger every day as well. His progress was slow, but steady. Every day he would get a little bit less dependent on his two nurses . One day he was able to hold a glass and drink all by himself, another day he could sit up without help. After a few days of liquid food like broth and fruit juice, his diet had been slightly adjusted to include soft, mushy food like apple sauce or mashed potatoes. His stomach was slowly getting used to regular nourishment again and Mme. Giry thought that Erik would soon be able to try solid food.
Christine was ecstatic over every small improvement Erik made and barely left his side when he was awake, to help him, encourage him and motivate him again when he was getting frustrated and his temper flared, because his recovery was not progressing as quickly as he would have wanted.
Erik had finally accepted that he was not dreaming, that Christine was really there at his side, helping him, worrying over him, fussing over him. The first days, when he still had been too weak to think about it, he had not questioned her feelings. But the stronger he got and the more he thought about it, he had to admit to himself that he was not quite sure what to make of her sudden change of heart. As much as he wanted to believe in Christine's feelings, he could not forget a certain night on the rooftop of the Opera Populaire, when his beloved Christine had kissed that boy and had exchanged vows of love with him. Memories of her dancing with the Vicomte at the masquerade on New Year's Eve and of her leaving him in the boat with the Vicomte haunted and tormented him. There were other memories, though, as well. Memories of Christine begging her Angel to finally show himself to her, of her trustingly following him to his lair, of them singing together on stage and her allowing him to hold her close and caress her. She had seemed to enjoy his caresses, and then… his heart ached again at the memory of her betrayal, when she had ripped off his mask and exposed his horrid face to the entire audience.
No, he could not trust her anymore. It was impossible that she loved him, but maybe she had somehow convinced herself that she did so now? But she kissed you later that night, a voice whispered in his mind. You had not asked for it, all you wanted was her promise to stay with you. She would not have had to kiss you, yet she did it nevertheless, twice. Maybe she does like you after all. No, he silenced the voice in his mind. That was not out of love. She kissed me out of pity. Pity… could that be what she was feeling for him right now? Erik considered the possibility. Yes, that would make sense. He had been very ill, she had seen him in his miserable condition and her kind heart had suffered at seeing him so weak and helpless. She felt sorry for him and mistook her pity for love.
Once Erik got stronger and they felt he would be able to deal with unpleasant news, the ladies also told him that part of the story that he had not known yet: that it had been the Vicomte's men who had ambushed and shot him at the Vicomte's orders. Erik thought he now understood Christine's attitude towards him. It was not just pity but a combination of pity and guilt. She obviously felt somehow responsible for her fiancé's actions. Maybe she also was a little bit mad at the Vicomte for what he had done – it felt good to imagine her actually caring enough for her fallen angel that she would not want him to be shot in the streets like a rabid dog. She must mistake this combination of pity, guilt and anger at the Vicomte for love for him. Yes, that was the only explanation that made sense. Erik was proud of himself for having figured it out. Of course, now that he knew the truth, he should tell her to leave him alone. It was undignified that he continued to accept her acts of pity now that he knew them for what they were – he had not wanted her pity the first time around. He had sent her away despite her kisses.
But… then his body had been strong and healthy, except for the madness induced by his jealousy, and even then sending her away had very nearly broken him. Now… he was so weak and only slowly regaining his strength. He was not even able yet to stand on his own two feet again, so helpless was he at the moment. If he sent her away now, his heart would definitely break. For a few moments he wondered if it would make any difference, whether his heart broke now or later, but his will to live was already strong enough again that he decided he would put off the inevitable as long as possible – until he would be strong enough to physically survive the pain of losing her again. As much as his mind kept telling him to reject Christine's affection, since it could not be genuine love, his body and his senses craved her attention, and when she looked at him, her eyes shining bright with adoration, when she held his hand, caressed his face or just called him "love", all his resolution was gone and he gave in to the wonderful feeling of being with his loved one, and he imagined what it would be like if she actually meant it and if he were loved – like any other man.
Christine was not aware of Erik's doubts regarding her feelings for him. She showered him with her love, seeking physical contact by holding his hand or caressing his face – something he seemed to particularly enjoy -, using all sorts of endearments when talking to him, smiling at him and singing for him. She saw how he craved those tiny signs of her affection, how just a word like her calling him "my love" would wake the old fire in his eyes and she knew with the sixth sense of a woman in love that her feelings were returned. As long as he was pretty much helpless, she did not expect anything from him, but when he started to regain his strength, she slowly began to grow a bit restless, for despite all the very obvious proof she had of Erik's unchanged love and devotion for her, one day after the next passed, the days turned into weeks, and Erik still had not asked her again to marry him.
