Chapter #14

Gravlax

Their journeys together were always made in silence and tonight was no exception.

Occasionally, he warned her of slippery footing or stray vermin, but no more. Talking might break this small truce and nether were prepared to take that step. Not yet.

The boat was waiting for them on the banks of the lake as Christine had left it this morning. Half-floating on an unseen current, it could have been any vessel on any lake. But most lakes did not have a Siren, nor a sailor with a death's head mask.

Christine climbed into the boat before Erik could offer any assistance. He was always a foreboding presence, yet today there was a certain stiffness in his usual grace. Pole in hand, he climbed in behind her and cast-off with an awkward jab. The boat swayed under the force and Christine rocked in her seat. She glanced at him as he speared the water like he would a live animal, but his eyes were fixed on the craggy ridge on the opposite side.

Perhaps he truly was mad at her? Christine wondered, not for the first time that day, if Erik had followed her. Don Juan, the management, and his appearance in her dressing room were too much of a coincidence. Nothing ever happened with Erik by chance.

Christine dipped a hand in the icy depths of lake. She watched as the ripples grew beyond her reach. She lifted her arm for a few moments and let the water slide off her fingers. The drip drip of the droplets was barely heard over the violent strokes of Erik's pole. She did not need to see his face to know it was etched in a fierce scowl.

He knew, he had to known. How he felt about it was questionable, but she could guess by the way he steered the boat. What he meant to do with her was a mystery.

Christine raised her hand from the water again and rubbed it against her thigh. She felt no regrets about what she had done and if he planned on scolding her for her actions, she could certainly say a few things on some of his. But the last thing she wanted was another confrontation. What did want was a return to the earlier days of their relationship when she was merely his adoring student and he, her devoted teacher.

Foolish girl, she reprimanded herself. You know you can never go back.

Christine sighed and rested her head on the side of the boat.

When they reached the other side, Christine allowed Erik to help her onto the shore. His hands lingered a moment after he had helped her to her feet. When she looked up to meet his eyes, he withdrew and disappeared into the house.

In his hasty retreat, Erik had forgotten to secure the boat. With no rope or pole in site, it floated aimlessly near the water's edge. Christine had never seen what Erik did with it upon docking, her mind usually compromised by his overwhelming presence, but such carelessness was uncommon in him.

Christine reached out and grasped the starboard side of the boat. The wood was damp and slipped out of her grasp. She tried again, this time achieving a solid grip, but it left here in an awkward position swaying dangerously towards the water.

There was no tide to speak of under the lake and the chances of it drifting too far were slim. Still, if she did let go, she might compromise her only means of independent exit. Erik's good humor was unstable at best and she could not see him letting her come and go as she pleased.

She was loosing her grip and the surface of the water was closer then ever. She lost hold of the boat with a wet squeak and it rocked from side to side seeming to relish its newfound freedom.

Accepting defeat, Christine shrugged. The Siren could always bring it back.

As Christine entered doorway, a faint, unobtrusive tune floated through the hallways of the house. Music was life's blood in his home and she had gotten used to the long hours Erik spent composing, playing, simply living the music, yet this was not the rich mournful sounds she knew. Erik's passionate and demanding personality often seeped into his music expression. So many times, Christine had been pulled into the chords he coaxed from his instruments until nothing existed for her beyond his wall of sound.

Now, she felt she was no more than herself. Her mind was her own and she was a detached presence appreciating the beauty of his music.

She found him in the piano room. No paper sat on the piano but his hands flew over the keys as if he had played the unfamiliar tune a thousand times. All the awkwardness and tension of their journey back to his home was gone and in its place was the confident maestro she had come to admire.

Although she did not know if the song had any words, she suddenly wished to sing. Her day had probably been just as stressful as his and she longed for the release of music.

As if reading her thoughts, Erik ended the song with an E flat major chord and asked, "Would you care for your lesson now, Christine?"

Christine sat up in her seat, eager to say yes, but stopped herself when she noticed his hands.

"It can wait," she said, nodding towards the bandages. "I would not want you to harm yourself."

Erik held up one hand and examined it. The fingers were free from confinement but still red. He flexed one slowly and watched it with a critical eye.

"If anything, I'd appreciate the practice. Soar fingers would be the least of my worries if you do not rehearse your part. Now," under his hands, the beginning strains of a familiar warm up played true, "begin on 'ah.'"

Her voice, while still beautiful, was far below its usual luster. She sounded more the awkward youth in the conservatory she had been than the triumphant La Daae she had become on stage. The small performance for Lisette and Beth had hinted at the possibility, but to hear the full effects of her inattention was enough to make cry. The once crystal-clear notes of her upper register were just beyond her reach and she chased them with single-minded determination.

She could do this. She would do this. It was who she was.

Erik slammed his hands onto the keys and the piano let out a painful wail.

"I will not have you doing that!" he shouted and Christine jumped. The confrontation she'd expected since their reunion was here.

Christine cleared her exhausted throat and braced herself. "I will do as I please, Erik. You're not my jailer."

She was quite proud of how it came out: determined, if not a little weak.

"I…am…your…. teacher, Christine. I will not have you ruin what I have worked to build!" the words barley made it out in his anger and Christine blinked, confused.

"What are you talking about?"

He pointed to a high E on the piano.

"I've heard diseased cats sound better than you just did! If you cannot sing it easily, then don't! I would rather you do something as simple as Hannibal than ruin your voice over pride!"

Christine could not bare to look at him anymore and stared at her shoes instead. "Oh. I see."

Erik extended a hand to her, wanting to comfort her, but his courage failed him. Those small spaces of time where she allowed touch were no longer enough for him. His longing only increased each passing day in close proximity to her with each moment where he felt her living heat through the fabric of her clothes. There would come a time when he would loose control, the only thing to do would be to wait and see.

When he spoke again, his voice was gentle. "You are to be Aminta again. You will be in time, but do not rush things you cannot overcome yet."

He wondered if this was to himself as much as it was to her.

When Christine looked up, Erik's hand was in his lap.

"Alright," she said and resumed her stance next to the piano.

One hand flexed over the keys before he played the opening strains of a warm up once again. "On 'ah.'"

"This is delicious!" Christine exclaimed through a mouthful of food. "What is it called?"

Erik shoved a mound of his own to the side of the plate.

"You like it, then? The layman's term is Dill Salmon, but I think you would know it better as Gravlax."

"Gravlax," she rolled the familiar word over her tongue as she had the dish. "I think I've heard of it. May I have another?"

She helped herself to another serving and shoved a considerable amount into her mouth. She had earned the right to be hungry tonight, Erik mused. Their lesson had been over two hours long with few brakes. At the end, her voice was still below its usual power, but they had made some progress. He avoided Don Juan for practical reasons and focused mainly on breathing. She resisted at first but gradually eased under his guidance. When he was satisfied, he allowed her to try a few fold songs and some of the easier works he had composed for her months ago. She did not want to end and almost put up a fight, but a telltale rumble from her stomach ended the lesson for the evening.

Erik took advantage of her full mouth and spoke, "I'm surprised you have never had it before. It is a Swedish dish, correct?"

Christine extracted a bone from between her teeth and nodded. "I've heard of it before, but I don't believe I've had it. I think… perhaps my mother made something of it when she was alive. But after her death, my father and I left and there was never any time for…" Christine's voiced trailed off.

So long ago, yet only three years since that night. Her father came home nearly delirious with fever and had been gone before morning. Three years of grief and silence with only memories for comfort, till a voice called her from the mirror.

Erik was watching her with an unreadable expression on his face. Without a word, he stood and disappeared out the door. Christine cursed her wine. It had been such a pleasant evening and she ruined it words on a man who would never- could never- come back.

He returned moments later carrying a small box under his arm. He placed it beside her plate and resumed his spot across from her. The Gravlax absorbed his attention and he pushed it from side to side to avoid Christine's curious gaze.

The box was no longer then her forearm and resembled a very small coffin. The last remnant of the wine's good humor evaporated as she touched the wooden surface.

Slowly, she raised the lid… and gasped.

"No one need know where you go after rehearsal, Christine. That opens the gate on the Rue Scribe. Use it wisely."

The object seemed out of place among the velvet interior. She touched the warn, brass surface and a shudder went through her that had nothing to do with the cold.

"Thank you," she whispered. She removed it and tucked it into the deep pocket of her gown. Freedom lay for her in the form of a brass key. Freedom, or was it trust? She didn't deserve either. How could she, when her first thoughts with this new gift were on how to betray it?

Sorelli had asked for discretion and she had given it. She would not tell anyone what had happened between the dancer and her lover nor how Sorelli planned to solve the unexpected problem. On Sunday, she would tell Erik she planned to attend mass with Meg. A carriage would be waiting for her near her old residence to take them to a woman who would help Sorelli. If all went well, she would be back in time to prepare herself for dinner with the Comte's fiancée. Erik would know only what she told him and this small trust they were building would already be in jeopardy.

"Christine, I hope I have not upset you. That was not my intention at all."

"No, it's not that. I…." The key pressed against her thigh, as painful as a butcher's knife.

"You do not need to accept the key. If you wish," he had to force out his next words, "you may return to your life above."

Return to life at the opera with Meg, Madame, and… Raoul? The pain at their separation had lessened and she no longer longed for him in the way she once did. Her mind and life were now filled with Erik but the thought of her childhood friend was still very attractive. She remembered the night when Erik had dangled her engagement ring in front of her as evidence to her treachery and wondered if it would be worse the next time. She did not doubt there would be another time.

"Thank you, Erik. I … I must go to bed now."

She left him with the Gravlax and unspoken promises for company.

A/N: My livejournal contains any and all explanations for my lack of updates. It's a bit difficult to write fan fiction in a semi-third world country. All reviews are appreciated so please leave one.

Cheers! M