A/N: Huge thanks for all of the reviews.
CH 9
The restaurant was dimly lit, warm, and smelled faintly of the old wood it was made of and Cajun food. The first floor seemed to consist of only the kitchen; sizzles and clangs emitted from down the dark hall. A steep oak staircase rose to the right of the main door, pastel paper lanterns hanging from its banisters. Christine and Erik followed a bored-looking teenage hostess up the stairs. Self-consciously, Christine held the hem of her dress against her thighs to ensure no one saw up it.
They emerged from the stairway and Christine paused two steps down. Behind her, Erik watched the light dawning from over her shoulder, the edge of her skin haloed.
The top half of the restaurant was a wide, open space, the far wall paneled entirely in glass; a giant window. It jutted out on the levy, one half opening to a screened deck that reached even further to the river. The far wall faced the sunset and the room was lit in golden light. Round tables with white tablecloths dotted the uneven oak floor.
"Do you like it?" Erik murmured over Christine's shoulder.
"Yes," she breathed. "Really." She slowly went up the last two steps.
Their hostess stood impatiently waiting. She huffed a sigh and led them across the room, through a glass door and to a table at the edge of the screened deck. More petunia-filled baskets hung outside the screen, sweetly perfuming the air and mixing with the scent of the river. Christine gazed around as Erik pulled out her chair. She sat slowly; almost unaware the seat had even moved. Erik sat across from her. The hostess set down menus and left.
"This is so cool!" Christine leaned forward enthusiastically as she spread her napkin across her lap, then peered over the deck-railing, nose to the screen, and watched the Mississippi sluggishly slide forty feet below. "Erik," she smiled up at him, eyes wide and earnest, "this is so cool. How did you find this place?"
His grin grew as he watched her expressions change. "Well, I do live here."
"Pssh," Christine rolled her eyes. "You just sense these awesome original places, right. I forgot."
"Actually," he squinted across the Mississippi, "I used to work here. It was a tavern during the civil war. In fact, the owner swears it's haunted."
"Really?" Christine leaned in again excitedly, eyes darting over Erik's face for some sign of a joke. "Don't make fun of me; I love supernatural stuff. I totally believe in it. Is it really? Are you serious?"
"Yeah," Erik nodded earnestly. "I'll give you a tour later. There's this cellar downstairs that union soldiers used as a hospital when they occupied Baton Rouge. It's pretty interesting."
"Wow," Christine murmured. "You worked here though? I can't see you as a waiter." She laughed.
Erik gave a small smile and looked down at his menu. He reached across the table and twined one of her fingers between his. She looked up slowly, finger unconsciously curling around. Erik's eyes lifted; watched their hands.
A waitress bustled to a halt at their table, a short, motherly woman, who pinched Erik's arm and demanded to know where he'd been.
"You! Tell Antoinette hello from me! And get to her to move those creaky old bones out of Lafayette for once; I'm damn tired of always being the one to visit her. You know, she might be older but she's even lazier. You tell her that from me. You hear?" The waitress shook her poofy graying hair and wiped her brow. "Whew."
Erik nodded, chuckling. "I'll try."
"And who is this? Where are your manners, young man? Lord, I'm so aggravated." The waitress turned to Christine and extended a hand commandingly. "I'm Bernadette, but call me Bernie. Is he being nice to you?" She turned to Erik and said lower, "Well done, Erik; she's gorgeous."
"Well," she huffed without waiting for a reply, stepped back, and peered at both. "Are you two ready to order? Maybe some drinks? Hmm?"
"Um," Christine opened and closed her mouth, uncertainly glancing from Erik to Bernie. He was gazing at Bernie exasperatedly.
"What? I'm doing my job, you," Bernie shook her notepad at Erik. "Dear, can I get you anything? Mint julep? Tom Collins?" she peered at Christine intently.
"Oh—I'm not twenty-one-"
"Tschh!" Bernie made a 'close your mouth' gesture with her fingers. "Erik will just have to answer for that one, then. Now what'll it be?" She leaned in to Christine conspiratorially. "Don't you let him get too quiet now, dear. Or too testy. He does that." She nodded at Erik. "You know you do, don't look at me like that."
"Oh—um…" Christine glanced sheepishly at Erik, uncertain whether to smile or cringe. He was reluctantly laughing and shaking his head.
"It's fine, Christine. Go ahead. Are you really going to do this, Bern? Don't you have enough fun hassling the other customers?"
Bernie chuckled darkly. "Hon, I don't know what you're talking about. You're not embarrassed of me, are you?" she mock-gasped. "You see how he treats me?" she shook her head at Christine. "No, no, he's a dear boy. Now what'll it be, love?"
"Um. I'll have a mint julep, I guess? Are those good?"
"You bet! Erik?"
"Whichever beer's on tap, Bern. Thanks."
She nodded and paused, giving them both an affectionate look before hurrying off.
"Whoa," Christine leaned back and raised her eyebrows at Erik. He laughed and rolled his eyes.
"Bern's Antoinette Giry's younger sister. You've met Antoinette, right?" Christine nodded, now recollecting why so many of Bernie's mannerisms seemed familiar. "I've… known… their family a long time." Erik looked out on the river. His expression mingled the embarrassed laughter previously on it with a faint pain. "Sorry about that," he shook it away. "She's kind of a whirlwind. But then, if you've met Antoinette, maybe it's less shocking."
"Yeah," Christine laughed, "Well." I'm missing something, but… I'm not sure I care to know.
There was an awkward pause. "So," Erik leaned forward.
The sun hit his eyes in a way that made them gleam gold; deep and rich like pools, flickering with different colors at each blink. Christine unconsciously leaned towards him. His shoulders were broad, forearms folded across the table, and the gray collared shirt he wore was unbuttoned low enough for a few dark chest hairs to show. His black hair was slightly disheveled on top with the heat. Christine remembered his arms around her with a jolt, the coolness of her back pressed to the wall, his soft hair between her fingers, and Oh…
His eyes were caressing again, encompassing, wondering, as if he were content just to be close to her; but could also hardly believe how close she was. Cherishing. That's what it is.
Am I vain? Am I making it up? I—
Their drinks arrived and Christine grabbed hers and gulped it. She promptly choked and coughed.
Erik sipped his beer mildly and his visible brow rose. "Stronger than you expected?"
"Yes," Christine gagged, making a face. "Wow. Yeah. You Louisianans like your drinks powerful. Whew, that's a lot of whiskey."
"Don't you go getting drunk on me now," Erik warned.
"Yeah," Christine took a sip of water. "I'll try. Good lord."
Erik was smirking now as Christine felt alcohol fumes haze inside her brain. Your smirk is—
She tried another sip of her mint julep. Finish that thought later. Please. Later later later—
It's sexy. It is. He is. So what? He is.
I think you just use alcohol as a placebo to acknowledge what you already know, Christine's thoughts circled critically.
But really. You're attracted to him, aren't you? You are. You are! Oh, why did I just figure this out right now? Christine thought despairingly as she watched Erik's profile gaze across the Mississippi. Now I'm not going to be able to be normal, everything will make me nervous, oh, shit…
Love bullshit aside, you now have the capacity to be hurt as well.
Damn it.
She took another sip.
Erik reached across the table again and hooked his pointer finger around hers. A jolt shot through Christine. Every neuron stretched up, yearned, feeling his warm, rough, skin, shocking in flares when it moved.
"So… How did you end up in Louisiana, anyway?" Erik watched her and stroked her finger with his thumb.
"Well," Christine glanced down. "It was actually the only internship that accepted me," she laughed sheepishly. "I only applied a couple places though."
"So we were your last choice?"
"What? No," Christine poked his finger with her thumb. "Well," she grinned, "Kinda." She laughed at Erik's insulted expression.
"Pssh, you northerners, you think you're better than everyone," Erik scoffed. "Little do you know…"
"'Little do we know' what? That we really are better?"
"Said the girl who probably still doesn't know what 'DLS' stands for."
"Hey," Christine pointed at him with her free hand. "I talked to other people in Kelly's lab and they don't either! They don't know how to use it at all, in fact. And I totally do know what it means. It stands for Douchey—er, Limit… Scanning."
"It does not."
"Oh, you've never heard of it? I guess I'll have to teach you. Come in on your weekends, maybe six a.m.?"
"Alright, alright," Erik laughed, hands up in defeat. "I'm sorry I insulted the yanks, I surrender!"
Christine laughed as Bernadette arrived again and took their orders.
The rest of the meal passed in comfortable conversation, and it was dark and the deck empty before either realized how late it was. Christine was on her third drink and feeling rather buzzed and Erik seemed to be similarly intoxicated as they both looked up and about.
"Shit," Erik looked around. "I guess we better go, they're probably ready to kick us out if we don't."
Twinkle lights had lit around the deck and dim lamps hung from the ceiling. Across the Mississippi, a barge drifted, its lanterns faint yellow orbs.
Both stood slowly and pushed in their chairs. Erik came to stand in front of Christine and paused and gazed down at her. Then he looked away, a small smile on his lips, and put one arm around her waist and out they went.
Downstairs, Erik paid, Christine awkwardly thanking him. They were almost to the door when she stopped. "Wait! Can we go to the cellar? For the ghosts? Please…?"
Erik sighed and rolled his eyes in mock annoyance. "Alright, I suppose…"
"Yes! Excellent!"
Erik spun her around, arm still at her waist. "Marguerite, do you mind if we do some exploring?"
The bored-looking hostess glanced up from her phone. "Nope. It's whatever."
"Come this way," Erik led Christine down the hall and through the kitchen, which was empty but for the cook mopping the floor. "Hey Jared," Erik nodded.
"They mostly use the cellar for beer and wine now, but other than that, it's hardly been changed," Erik murmured as they went down another dim hallway outside the kitchen. "Everything else has been remodeled." He pulled open an aged door, complete with old-fashioned doorknob. Concrete stairs dipped darkly into the abyss and a gust of cool air rose up to meet them. "You first," Erik gestured.
Christine rummaged in her purse for her phone and turned it on to light their way down. The door slammed behind them. "This is creepy," she whispered. Erik chuckled sinisterly.
They reached the bottom and Erik brushed one hand along the wall until he found a cord. A single bare bulb blinked to light. The cellar extended much further than Christine expected; kegs and wine racks stood immediately beside the wall with the light, but the room was otherwise empty and faded to darkness at its far corners. Wooden supports were placed intermittently throughout, the concrete floor rocky and uneven. The air was moist and cold and smelled of age and mildew.
"This was a hospital?" Christine whispered.
"Yeah," Erik whisper-replied. "In some places, you can still see the blood on the floor."
"Wow," Christine breathed. "That's so fascinating. I just—what an awful place for a hospital." She ventured to the center of the room. "It's just so fascinating, though—to think of people's lives then, and now here we are, in the same place they walked and lived and…" died.
"Hmm." Erik came to stand beside her. For a while, both contemplated in silence.
In a far corner of the room, there was a shift. Then a ghostly voice murmured, "Christine…"
She froze. Slowly she turned to Erik, who looked solemn. Motionless, she stood, every sense alert.
All was silent but for the hum of blood in her ears. Then, from the opposite corner, a whisper: "Christine…"
"Did you hear that?" she breathed to Erik. "Oh my God, Erik, did you?"
He leaned forward seriously, hands in his pockets. "I think I heard something," he whispered.
"You have something to do with this, I know you do," Christine hissed, still frozen. She attempted to stand up straighter and her sandals scraped on the ground and directly behind her, the voice wailed.
"Christine…!"
She shrieked and jumped and grabbed Erik's forearm so tightly she could've cut off blood circulation. He started at her touch but then threw back his head and laughed and laughed, wrapping his arms around Christine and pulling her tightly to him. She folded her arms but buried her face in his chest, punching him now and then.
"What did you do? How did you do that? You rat bastard! Is someone else in here? God, I hate you, I should've known! How did you do that?"
Erik sighed and leaned his cheek on her hair and held her close. "Ah, you should've seen your face! That was priceless," he laughed again. "Ahh."
"How did you do it? Urgh. You suck! I should've known you'd do something like this, you doucher!"
"Do what?" Erik threw his voice to the far corner of the room, lips unmoving. "I didn't do anything," his voice murmured right inside her ear.
"Ooh," Christine squinted up at him, unconsciously scrunching her neck and scratching her ear. "That would be impressive if you hadn't just scared the shit out of me. It is pretty cool, though," she admitted grudgingly. "But you better believe I'm gonna get revenge on you."
"I'll be living in fear," Erik looked down at her with a smirk. She gazed up at him for a moment, arms tight around his waist now, then looked away.
"Let's get out of here." Christine led the way up the stairs and Erik wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they went to his car.
He chuckled again darkly. "I still can't believe you fell for that… 'Yeah, let's go to the cellar, its haunted and the ghost of some eighteenth-century soul just happens to know your name…' You deserve to be scared if you're that gullible."
"Hey!" Christine plopped onto the front seat indignantly. "I'm sorry I'm not as cynical as you, oh practical one. How was I supposed to expect you're some crazy ventriloquist? And you never know, maybe ghosts are all-knowing or something and sense people's names. I dunno, it could happen. Pssh."
Erik shook his head and laughed as he started the car. "Alright," he pulled out of the lot. "Are you ready to go home or do you want to watch a movie at my place?"
You should go home, sober Christine recommended. You've spent enough time with him. Don't do this all at once. He'll…
He'll get tired of you.
Intoxicated Christine shrugged, turned to Erik, her head on the headrest, and grinned. "Sure," she said with false nonchalance. Both sober and intoxicated Christine experienced a thrill of trepidation and excitement. What the hell. You only live once, right? Plus, you're leaving here in three months.
Erik smiled and glanced over at her. "Okay. I'll try to find something without ghosts in it."
"Hey now," Christine sat up straighter, "I was disappointed that was just you down there. You probably scared all the ghosts away—if it hadn't been for you, I'd be down in that cellar with six new buddies right now. Jeez."
He laughed. "You sure didn't seem that excited about making 'ghost friends' at the time."
"Oh," Christine scoffed as Erik pulled into the parking garage beside his condo. As they walked to the elevator, the air suddenly felt stiffer, more awkward. Erik didn't put his arm around her. Uh oh. I'm too sober for this.
Erik unlocked the front door and a gust of cool ventilation hit them. The living room looked the same as Christine remembered; only slightly more detailed now, and she realized she was less comfortable entering it this time than she had been after the crash.
"Go ahead and sit down," Erik gestured at the couch. "Do you want anything to drink?"
"Umm…" Yes, actually, I have the urge to get rip-roaring drunk and do whatever I want and deal with absolutely none of the nerves I have right now and—Fuck.
Oops. No. Not like that.
Stop talking to yourself!
Erik was watching her quizzically. "Oh-kay…" visible eyebrow raised. "Well. I'm going to grab a beer, if you want one."
"Yes! Please." She slowly sank onto the couch.
Erik reappeared after a moment and handed her a bottle and sat beside her. Christine tensely sucked in her stomach, feeling the brush of Erik's jacket against her arm; he was so close; the distance between them was small enough to be hugely noticeable, it was so—Deliberate. Christine sucked down a gulp of beer and tried not to grimace. Fucking awkwardness. And fucking beer.
"So," he reached for the remote. "Have you seen North by Northwest?"
Christine nodded avidly. "Have you? I love that movie! Hitchcock's one of my favorites."
"Damn!" Erik grinned at her. The caressing look was back. "I was trying to impress you with my movie knowledge but you foiled me. Alright, what about Vertigo?"
"Ooh," Christine shook her head. "I've always wanted to see that one and somehow never have. Do you have it?"
"I do," Erik scrolled through a list of movies on the screen until he found it. "You'll like it," he wrapped an arm around her. Christine's skin thrilled and her stomach flipped and she felt relieved at once.
They were silent for a bit after it started, until Alfred Hitchcock's cameo at which Christine pointed. "Found him!"
Erik chuckled and they were quiet another half hour, Erik's fingers occasionally brushing along Christine's shoulder. She leaned her head upon his shoulder after a time and he rested his cheek on her hair briefly. Then he stood. "Another beer?"
"Mmm, yes please," Christine held out her empty to him. "Thanks."
Erik returned and they sat with sides pressed together. Christine was halfway through her second beer when she said aloud, "Dude. I'm kinda drunk right now."
Laughing, Erik sighed. "Yeah. I am too."
"Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one," Christine swigged her beer. "Damn. I do not like beer."
"What! Give me that. You're killin' me. You could've had something else."
"Aww," Christine slumped her head on his shoulder. "You didn't tell me that."
"You're a pain."
"No, no," Christine waved him away. "Hey. Can we go out on your deck? Ooh. We should. I bet it's so pretty out right now!" she stood unsteadily and peered down at him. "Pause this shit. I know it's going to get sad and I don't want to be sad."
"Yes ma'am," Erik stood. "Lead the way, bossy."
She swaggered down the hallway and through Erik's room, pulling the curtain aside and stepping out to the edge of the balcony, leaning against the railing. She stood there, burnished hair down her back, red dress to her knees and barefoot, in the quiet wet air. Erik stood just outside the doorway. One hand fisted tightly as he watched her, nails dull against his palm.
Christine turned around playfully to call him forward but saw his face and stilled. She hastily turned back to gaze over the city, sobered but not, because her thoughts were dizzy in an alcoholic haze. She was suddenly, painfully aware. All was not light and easy. She was afraid. There were feelings in this, and a large capacity to hurt, and Christine was suddenly conscious of the effect of that hurt, the way it would look, the things it would do…
Erik's eyes had been fire. Consuming. What had been meaningless flirtation was suddenly so, so naïve and insensitive on her part.
Slowly, Christine turned as she sensed someone beside her. Slowly, her eyes lifted. Erik stood, expression focused on hers, the mask harsh and blank. His eyes burned and Christine was captivated. Dark stubble dotted his chin and jaw, his hair lifting slightly in the breeze, and for a second his lips trembled. Then he crushed her to him and kissed her.
All was stars. This was like nothing, nothing before. Christine clutched his shoulders as his mouth bruised hers; his long fingers stretched over her back, close, close to him, his smooth rich hair between her fingers. Erik lifted her without warning and she gave a little gasp and he carried her into his room and set her on the bed, slowly lying on top of her, chest pressed to chest, heart to heart. "Oh God," he groaned, lips reverent along her arched neck. "Christine."
"Erik," she sighed. "Erik."
"Christine," Erik slowly kissed down her chest to the top of her dress, laving her clavicle with his tongue, kissing her shoulders and pushing the straps of her dress to the side. "Oh, Christine, I've dreamt of this since…" He gasped into the hollow of her neck. "Since you crashed and stayed the night, since I saw you at that concert, since…"
She pulled him up and kissed him hungrily on the mouth, tugging off his suit jacket and throwing it on the floor. She bit his earlobe and he moaned and fell to kissing her desperately. "Christine," Erik pulled back, resting on his elbows and breathing hard.
"Hmm," her eyes slowly opened.
"Promise me. Promise me that you'll-" Erik swallowed. "That you'll stay in touch with me when you leave. Promise."
"Erik…" Christine sighed, eyes closing.
"Or…" he buried his face in her neck. "I'll keep you here," he murmured against her skin, voice gravelly. "I'll never let you leave." His arms wrapped around her and he rolled over, pulling her to face him as both lay on their sides. "I mean it."
"Erik…" Christine rested her cheek on her hands. "Aren't we supposed to be making out right now?"
"Yes. But-"
"Here's an idea," Christine murmured. "Stop trying to plan everything. This isn't a conference." She wrapped her arms around him and forcibly kissed him, rolling on top.
Erik groaned and grabbed her thighs and pulled them around his hips. After a time, he wrested his lips away. Christine began kissing his neck, slowly unbuttoning his shirt. "God! Christine!" Erik caught her hands in his and held them tight. "Tell me," he gazed up at her.
It was a powerful feeling, to be this wanted, to have this much control, but Christine could also tell from her trembling fingers and thrilling heart that it was uncertain where her control ended and his began. "What?" she breathed.
"You know what."
"Yes, alright, fine," Christine agreed exasperatedly. Erik rolled on top of her and pinioned her hands above her head and kissed her in a languishing way, until she was breathless and arched against him.
"I love you, Christine," he said fiercely, staring into her eyes. "I know you don't believe me and you think I'm being dramatic or some shit and you think I'm wrong but you're still here, and I'll make you know it. That's what I want. I love you." And Erik kissed her breathless, lips burning against hers, tongue demanding to taste every inch of her, fingers widespread along her back. Christine's fingertips dug into the muscles of his back and she kissed him with a fervor not fully understood. His words settled at the back of her brain like stones in a lake.
You don't even know me.
Sometimes, when Christine was drunk enough, and stupid enough, and bored enough—or maybe just drunk enough, and the latter conditions just resulted in the former—math equations popped into her head, repeating endlessly, impossible to recognize but equally impossible to ignore. She would keep trying to solve for X while her body engaged in something else. Usually, music played as well, and it was enough to make a person crazy.
Christine's fingers lithely undid the black buttons on Erik's shirt as Dry the River crooned in her head, lyrics out of order, one song melding into many…
You are the string in my bow—We fight those demons day in and day out.
But it up and abandoned us when we sleeping in our beds. Did you see the light in my heart?
I'm burning like an effigy in here.
And I know I'm not the sacrificial deer, but I wish you could have warned me…*
Erik kissed her mouth urgently, a drowning man aching for oxygen, and his hands spread along her back and lifted her up closer to him as he knelt above her, shirt open. Christine clutched his shoulders tightly; gravity and alcohol weighing her head until it dropped back to the pillow, body arched as Erik trailed kisses along her neck, chest, shoulders.
Phi is point eight and effectiveness factor is point seven and… What is X? What is—I almost had it—
What is the composition of the gas, the output is ninety percent helium… Why is there helium? It's oxygen… What is X-?
Erik exhaled heavily and set her down. Limp, Christine's heavy eyelids slowly opened. Erik's biceps flexed through his shirt as his fingers contracted emptily at her sides. He slowly turned away; sliding to sit at the edge of the bed, facing the balcony, shoulders slumped.
Christine lay for a while with eyes to the ceiling. The buzz of her thoughts was dimming and she was exhausted. Slowly she rolled onto her side and watched Erik's back. She was more curious than uncomfortable, more annoyed than concerned.
She lay watching him for a long time until his profile turned towards her, just the mask, chin pointing to his shoulder. His mouth was set.
"Erik?"
"Christine."
"What are you doing?"
He rotated back to her, slowly sliding to lie beside. She watched his stomach muscles shift and shadow and put one hand over them. He took in a shaky breath at her touch. "You're going to be the death of me," he mumbled.
"What time is it?"
Erik shook back one sleeve and peered at his watch. "It's two AM."
"Urgh," Christine laid one forearm across her eyes. "Thank the lord tomorrow's Sunday." She cuddled closer to him. "All I'm gonna do is sleeeep…"
"Christine," Erik asked, and she tilted her head up to look at him, "Will you remember all of this tomorrow?"
"Yes," she answered with exaggerated but real affront. "Yes I will."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, Erik. Why? Are you not going to and you want me to remind you?"
Erik scoffed. "As if I could forget."
Christine looked down.
"Don't forget your promise," Erik whispered. She peered up. His eyes gleamed yellow in the gloom, like a cat's, on hers.
Christine watched him and no light return came to mind. She suddenly pictured his bowed silhouette beneath the skylight. Unease wound in her belly.
"Erik," she reached out and stroked his cheek and flinched when he flinched, at the nearness of her hand to his mask. "Don't think so much of the end of things. You'll miss everything else."
He stroked her cheek in response; her fingers came to a rest on his jaw. "You're so beautiful, Christine."
"I don't like a lot of compliments," she replied sleepily. "They seem insincere… They make me think you have an ulterior motive."
"Hmm," Erik murmured thoughtfully. "Well."
Christine slowly let her eyes close and was beginning to drift off when she felt one of Erik's arms slip beneath her head, the other pulling her waist closer to his and resting atop it. Her lips curled up in the haze between sleeping and waking and she rested one hand on his chest. Her last memory was Erik's chin against her forehead.
*Lyrics are from Dry the River's Shallow Bed album and are not mine.
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