Chapter 10
New York City was coated in snow progressively more throughout the month of December, one particularly cold week before Christmas bringing a total blizzard. Christine was excited about this, of course; it no longer hindered her ability to go to school or work, and she certainly wouldn't be spending long periods of time walking outside in the cold. For the first time in years, she was able to appreciate it solely for its aesthetic aspects without its inconvenience spoiling the fun. Erik took her out frequently now, always donning a large-brimmed fedora to hide the masked side of his face. They went for walks so often that she suspected he did not even expect her to stay by his side on them any longer, and the thought was both comforting and confusing to her. She knew she was likely not his prisoner anymore, but he had yet to formally free her. She was nearly certain that if she asked him, he would, though it would likely be a messy situation that would break his heart.
A part of her knew it would break hers as well.
What did she even have to return to, anyway? Shifts at the opera house bar? An apartment which was not even hers, a family which was not even hers that she constantly felt she was burdening? With Erik, despite how wrong and twisted the premise of her living situation was, she did not feel as though she was somewhere she was not meant to be. Despite how lacking in social skills he was, their conversations felt right. Despite how odd his mannerisms were, his touches, his gestures felt right.
Somehow, everything felt right.
The only thing that did not feel right was the nagging voice in the back of her mind that told her she was not allowed to feel this way, to feel any way, for him. It was that voice that constantly caused her to push these thoughts away before she could fully ponder them, fully allow them to develop. Her affections for Erik were as much of a secret to her as they were to him.
Still, any stranger on the street could see it. They would never suspect Christine was walking with her captor, the Phantom, but rather an older, more hesitant man with an obnoxiously large hat, taking great care not to intimidate Christine with his ardor. Christine would be seen being timid, but affectionate nonetheless, in her responses. The pair would walk arm-in-arm sometimes, other times they would steal glances at each other when they should have been watching for ice on the ground.
The blizzard had finally slowed to a light flurry, the outskirts of the storm now hovering over Manhattan, when Erik suggested they go to a tea shop. Christine was eager to get out of the penthouse, spending the entire week trapped indoors for her health. Erik refused to let her go out into the biting cold wind when she had only recovered from the flu a month ago. He was far too cautious, she knew, but she could not object to his concerns; not when she knew they came from a place of deep care.
As they walked through the Upper East Side, Christine pointed out various shop displays for Christmas. Erik grumbled occasionally in response, sometimes giving a rare mumble of "yes, that is very nice, Christine." She sensed his disdain for the holidays, and she wished more than anything that she could rewrite his past, or at least replace whatever bad experiences he had with good ones. They were sitting in the back of Christine's favorite cafe, Erik hiding his prominent form in the corner, when she finally suggested they celebrate the holidays in some manner.
"Please, Erik? We could get a plastic tree so it's not making a mess or anything, and it's easy to bring into the penthouse! It doesn't have to be anything fancy, just something a little festive."
Erik scoffed. "You think I would get you a plastic tree? You do not at all understand my standards, my dear."
She laughed lightly, knowing that he was not truly peeved with her. It took her some time to grow used to his sardonic humor, but once she did, she could not get enough of his teasing, even if it was sometimes bordering on bitter sarcasm. Erik found that he could not get enough of her laughter, either, and sought out to make as many witty retorts as he could manage.
"Erik, you're diverting from the subject. If you're truly uncomfortable with Christmas, I won't push it. I've just always loved the holidays."
He sighed, pausing for a significant amount of time before replying. "I've never had any reason to celebrate the holidays, Christine," he said so quietly, she scarcely heard him. "It is difficult to celebrate anything when you do not have anyone to share it with."
Her lips tugged down in that look of sorrow for him that so frequently graced her features now. It was always followed immediately by a sad smile, and sometimes, if he was lucky, a touch to his shoulder. She reached across the table, placing her small, gentle hand on top of his, and he felt as though he'd received the best - and only - Christmas gift of his life.
"You're not alone anymore, Erik. I won't push you, but I certainly think you'll enjoy the holidays if you'll allow me to show you how to. Also, while we're on the subject, I prefer plastic trees. Less chance of bugs popping out."
At that, she could see the exposed corner of his lips turned up slightly in a smile, though the shadow his hat cast made it difficult to see. Still, it was enough to fill her with warmth, warmth that she carried with her for their entire journey back to the penthouse through the cold.
The next morning, Christine woke to find the penthouse empty. As always, Erik had left her a note, informing her of where he had gone and when he intended to return.
Christine, I have gone out to procure a few items, all of which I think will please you immensely. I look forward to your reaction. Do not make breakfast, I will purchase some pastries on my way back. - E
She ran her thumb over his elegant script, as if trying to focus more intently on the curves and lines, wishing there was more to read. She could not help but think of how much she wished there was more of Erik in this penthouse, more of evidence of his mind and his life and his struggles, more for her to decipher...more for her to adore.
At this, she put the paper down and scurried to the coffee maker, the sound of it brewing driving her thoughts away. She hoped caffeine would aid in keeping them away, too, as the haziness of sleep allowed her thoughts to flow much more freely, and that was more than she could bear.
Not now. She could not think these things now. She wasn't ready...was she?
She had been there for six weeks and had only fully begun to understand Erik two weeks before. How quickly could one grow comfortable with someone? How quickly could one justifiably say that their resent, their discomfort, turned into something else entirely?
She supposed her feelings could change quite as quickly as Erik could. He had transformed entirely in these six weeks, his current self vastly different from the man she had met two months ago. Or was he? She supposed her first impression of Erik was not so far off from how he behaved now - surprisingly charming, yet snarky, but in a funny way. Composed, elegant, confusing...it was only when he had become her teacher that he was rude. Then, when he stole her away, she assumed the worst of him, though she could see now that he did it out of necessity. Too many rumors were spreading about the opera house about the Phantom, and the Phantom had just committed a much worse crime than extorting the managers. She knew he was trying to protect himself.
As she thought about it more, she realized he was protecting her too.
There was a number of ways he could have kept her quiet: extortion, harassment, sabotage. Instead, he chose not to hurt her. He chose to take her somewhere safe and keep her there as long as he felt was necessary to protect himself from exposure.
She sipped on her coffee - black, with a touch of sugar - diving deeper into her mind, analyzing her current situation as deeply as possible. She had always pondered things deeply in life, but she never had much to ponder until she met Erik. Now, she had hours worth of things to internally debate and decipher, and her mind ran through every possibility until she heard the door open and saw Erik struggling with several bags, his winter hat covered in snow, nearly tipping off his head. She giggled at the sight, moving to him.
"Good morning, Mr. Scary Phantom. You certainly look intimidating with all that snow on you," she teased, and he rolled his eyes.
He rolled his eyes. He was growing so much more comfortable with her now, doing so many more normal things: smiling, rolling his eyes, even occasionally eating with her.
He was beginning to seem so much more real, and that only made her feelings feel more real. She realized she had been staring at his shadowed face when he cleared his throat awkwardly. She removed a few bags from his arm, setting them down on the marble kitchen counter.
"Look inside the bags, Christine. There is a multitude of things to keep you occupied today," he hummed.
She excitedly ran her hands through the first bag, feeling a small Christmas tree, the perfect size to sit in the middle of the kitchen counter. There were a few ornaments, too, simple and gold, and several strings of light for the tree and the walls of the penthouse. In the second bag, she found something even more surprising: a box of sugar cookie mix and several cookie cutters in shapes like Christmas trees, snowflakes, and even a heart. She looked up at him, baffled.
"You bought cookie baking supplies?"
He simply moved his sharp shoulders up and down in a poor attempt at a shrug. "You once mentioned that one of your favorite holiday activities is baking. I'd hate to deny you of that."
She marveled at him, mouth agape. "Will you help me make them?" she asked excitedly.
He gave a grim smile. "I think I should attempt to keep up appearances as the fearsome man that I am, Christine. Baking cookies is hardly intimidating."
"Will you at least eat a few?"
"If it would please you."
She smiled at that and began to prepare the baking supplies, preheating the oven. When everything was correctly measured, she took a few moments to take a bite of the croissant he had brought her, then returned to mixing in the bowl. He sat in the leather chair in the living room, attempting to focus on a book, though she caught him glancing at her several times. Each time, her cheeks flushed a rosy shade, and she turned quickly before he could see.
At one point, she was so startled by his gaze that she tore open the bag of flour far too deeply, the white powder falling to the ground. He shook his head in teasing disapproval before rising to meet her in the kitchen.
"Look what you've done," he said from behind her, his voice in her ear. She shivered, turning to face him.
"It...it's your fault," she stammered.
"Is it? Hmm." He was close, far too close, and all she could think to do was scoop a handful of flour and flick it onto his dress shirt.
For a moment, he was silent, before reaching over her shoulder, now almost pressing against her, to grab a handful of flour before throwing it in her face.
"Oh, you're getting it now," she shouted before throwing more at him. The kitchen was now a dust bowl of white flour as they chased each other before Christine moved a bit too quickly across the floor and began to fall into him. He stumbled with the weight of her against him, and he fell too, bringing her down to the ground with him. His long, sinewy body was now completely weighing down on her, pressing every piece of him against every piece of her, and she held her breath, looking into his shocked amber eyes. He made no move to get off of her, and she did nothing to push him off. They lay there for several excruciating moments before his breath fanned across her lips, warm, and she shut her eyes, waiting for what she could no longer deny herself.
He denied her instead, rising from the ground. She opened her eyes to see his hand held out to her, and she accepted it, her cheeks now far too flushed to hide her reaction. She hoped he would take it as embarrassment rather than desire, as she was not ready for him to realize what she had just wanted him to do, what she had wordlessly asked him for by closing her eyes.
He retreated from the kitchen without a word, ascending up the spiral staircase to his room, and she was left to finish baking and decorating the cookies alone. She eventually began to fill the silence with her own voice, singing her favorite Christmas song softly.
"Merry Christmas, darling…" her clear voice rang out perfectly like a bell, and she could hear Erik's door immediately open, though he never left the room. She knew he simply wanted to listen to her, and the knowledge of that only caused her to sing a bit more sweetly.
When the cookies were finished, she decorated the penthouse with the items he had purchased, and eventually began to prepare dinner. For the past week or so, Erik had allowed her to take control of the kitchen, and though her pasta paled in comparison to his, she enjoyed being able to fend for herself. It felt less odd than having him cook for her and not eat anything himself. She was concerned that Erik didn't eat enough, his form thin but thankfully not sickly. She assumed he primarily ate when she was sleeping, likely finding difficulty eating with the mask and saving his meals for when he was alone. Still, a part of her worried that a lack of self-care was a component, too, as she knew Erik regularly denied himself other basic needs like sleep. After she ate, she poured two glasses of wine and called for Erik. He met her in the kitchen, and she held out her plate of cookies proudly.
"What do you think? I made the one in the middle just for you," she grinned. He looked at the center cookie, a red heart that had "Do you like Christmas yet?" penned in sloppy frosting.
"You are something, Christine Daae," he chuckled, taking the plate and setting it down on the coffee table in the living area. From the kitchen, he pulled out a bottle of wine, pouring them both a glass and settling next to her on the couch. "I'm assuming you are going to make me watch a Christmas film tonight, so I thought I'd numb the pain a bit," he said dryly, and she laughed.
"Don't be dramatic, Erik. It's just Christmas cookies and a movie. You'll live." She patted his upper arm before drinking from her glass and selecting a movie. She decided to watch A Christmas Carol, wanting to abstain from anything romantic. Love, Actually was truly her favorite, but after the literal romantic comedy scene enacted on the kitchen floor several hours previously, she thought it might be a bit awkward for the both of them. The wine was divine, and she found herself requesting more. Each time, Erik refilled his glass, matching her pace. By the end of the film, his movements were rather languid, his speech patterns a bit off. She decided his slight lack of a filter provided her with a prime opportunity to learn more about him.
"Erik, will you tell me a bit more about your life?" she asked gently.
"I do not know why you would want to hear such a story, my dear. It would only bring you down." He looked down into his lap, his hand loosely holding his wine glass.
She bravely raised a finger under his chin, forcing him to look at her. She hoped he would not remember the tender action in the morning, but when she looked into his amber eyes, the depth of his affection evident in them, she knew this moment would likely not be forgotten.
"What do you wish to know?"
"Everything. Anything. Anything you will tell me."
"Very well. I will tell you...I will tell you some of the less demonizing things first, I suppose. I will tell you of my childhood," he started, and she moved a bit, leaning into him, as if he were about to whisper secrets in his ears.
The story of Erik's childhood was not an easy one to listen to. He was born in France to a very young mother. His mother had horribly abused him, though even he did not seem to understand that. When Christine pointed this out, he simply replied that he understood his mother's hatred for him. She had wanted nothing more than a perfect child and was given the exact opposite. Some parents received fussy, disobedient children, children that could still be changed. Madeleine received a child with a face doctors could not fix, a face that caused his father to leave and therefore caused his mother to resent him for the rest of her days. She passed away when Erik was twelve, and he ended the story there, not explaining where he ran off to after that or how she survived.
Christine still knew so little, twelve years such a small portion of Erik's life, but she was immensely grateful for the information he had entrusted her with nonetheless.
"Is that why you hate Christmas? Because you never really had a family?" She asked.
"Indeed. But...but we did celebrate Christmas once. When I was five, my grandparents visited for Christmas dinner, so my mother had no choice but to explain the meaning of the tree to me. She shoved me in my room while they ate, and I could hear her tell them I was with my father. She hid me from them, when maybe...maybe they could've helped me," he spoke.
She hardly realized now that she was running her hand up and down his arm, but it was painfully obvious to him. The haze the wine caused eased him of his usual tension, though, and he relaxed into her touch as much as he was able to, shutting his eyes as he continued. "You know, Christine...I asked her for a gift...one that would not cost money, would not cost her anything but a shred of kindness and decency for her son…"
"And what was that, darling?" Christine said, the term of endearment escaping from her lips before she was able to stop it. She placed her fingers over her mouth in surprise, and this motion was not noticed by him, his eyes still shut.
He somehow did not notice the endearment she used either, her words not registering in his mind as he tried to find his own. "I asked her...for a kiss. Just a kiss, Christine, on my forehead…" he slurred, placing his finger in the center of his forehead to gesture. "Just so I could know for a moment...what love...what love felt like…" His eyes were now fluttering as though he was attempting to open them but couldn't, and Christine reached blindly for a blanket hanging off the arm of the couch. She sloppily pulled it over him, and when his breathing grew deeper, she took the liberty of stroking a hand across the unmasked side of his face, her mind far too fuzzy to stop herself. She felt the softness of his skin with slight wrinkles here and there, and for the first time she was able to guess his age…late thirties, perhaps? His skin was still smooth in most places, and it took a significant amount of effort to remove her hand from his cheek. She looked at him for a few more moments, the thought of how handsome that side of his face was occupying her mind before she eventually slipped back into her room, collapsing on her bed.
A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who left a kind review or showed their support for me on Tumblr. You have no idea how much it means to me. Huge thank you to a-partofthenarrative as always for editing, and helping me stay sane through various frustrations with this fic :)