XXI: A Cold Day in Hell

.

.

.

She was back against the tree, lifted up off the ground, her back feeling the prickle of bark as she was being held, caressed, and surrounded by him. His arms, his Voice, his touch holding her steadily enthrall.

And then he was kissing her, kissing her neck, humming soft words of encouragement meant only for her ears alone, making her want to—

"Come, Christine."

"ohhmm, Erik."

"Awaken, my dear."

"ohh,—"she opened her eyes blearily, "Erik!"

Christine blinked into the late afternoon sun; it seemed they had arrived back to the buggy once more.

And there was no doubt about it; this time, he was smiling at her. "Did you have a good dream, my sweet?" he asked knowingly.

Mortified, she blushed to the roots of her hair, and biting her lip, looked down.

Taking a finger and placing it under her chin, he raised it until she met his stare. "We've arrived, Christine." he whispered. His eyes were alit with something—some strange burning that had the newly awakened part of her smoldering once more.

Putting his arms around her, he carefully lifted and lowered her from the horse.

The hired men had found the buggy, but other than rummaging through the suitcases and strewing their contents every which way, there didn't seem to be any damage.

Gathering clothes and toiletries, Christine made for a copse of trees to give herself an impromptu sponge bath from some of the water Erik had collected earlier. It had been a long few days, and nap or not, she was exhausted. Wearily, she removed her shirtwaist and masculine trousers piece by piece and began to scrub herself.

Erik had asked if she had had a good dream. What she had dreamt was not a dream; not any dream she was used to at any rate.

She continued to clean herself, and thinking back to it caused her to blush anew. And that's when her hand encountered a flood of moisture from her nether region. She panicked, thinking her monthly cycle had started, but investigation by the fading light revealed no, it hadn't.

She was just very moist.

Quickly, she washed and then dried herself, and choosing to forgo the corset, she changed into the ready-to-wear gingham dress that Erik had stolen from the sundry store. But she chose to wear her slippers from the villa instead of the masculine boots he had insisted she wear when they were running from the hired men.

Trousers, she thought, were all well and good, boots too for that matter, but she had quite had enough of looking like a man. Even if the dress she wore was not tailored to fit her feminine shape to within an inch, even if she chose to leave off the numerous undergarments that should, by proprietal dictate, be worn at all times underneath, she was feeling infinitely more herself and was a semblance of clean.

And in this spirit, she made her way back towards the buggy and back to him.

Packing her trousers, toiletries, and boots away, she walked over to where he was waiting for her. And attentively, he helped her climb into the buggy, climbing in after himself.

She looked around.

While she had been bathing and changing, he had busied himself tending to the horses, feeding and brushing them, and he had tied their leads securely to a low-hanging branch which provided them a semblance of shelter and the ability to graze.

"Your dinner, mademoiselle." Erik bowed from the hip and ceremoniously removed a piece of gauzed cloth draped over one of the suitcases.

She clapped as she seated herself on the buggy bench. He had provided them a meal consisting of hardtack crackers, dried beef, and a hard cheese: all provisions from the sundry store. She looked at the lone bottle of wine between them. "What, no wine glasses, Erik? I'm shocked!"

He shrugged, somehow making the movement elegant, and sat on the floor of the buggy, "Even Christine's Ange has limitations."

"Hmm," she dimpled, "I don't know about that… I'm sure if I gave you time enough..." she picked up a bit of beef and barely managed not to wince as she choked it down. Her eyes crinkled as she took a swig of wine straight from the bottle which was, in of itself, a novel experience. Nudging his foot with hers, she confided, "It's marvelous, really. Thank you, Ange."

He bit into a piece of dried beef, and winced, taking a deep draught from the bottle as well to wash it down, "Yes, Christine, at Chez Erik's, we do aim to please."

"Don't even joke about this being a restaurant, Erik. I swear to you if I ever eat in another one before I die, it will be all too soon!" she cringed and reached for more wine. "I should have learned my lesson the first time when Raoul's sister took me to one." Rolling her eyes, she broke off a hunk of the hard cheese and bit into it. Sitting across from her on the floorboard of the buggy with his knees raised, Erik followed suit.

"And what, pray tell, happened there?"

She swallowed thickly, "She and the two society cows she was with proceeded to order lavishly from the menu and then stick me with the bill." She gestured with a cracker, "Yet another reason to have gladly seen the back of the de Chagny Chateau."

He gestured that she drink more wine, and she did, taking a small sip to wash their dry repast down. But her hunger was sated, and she sat back with a replete sigh, studying him in the last of twilight.

He still wore the wide-brimmed hat. But he had also changed into a ready-to-wear black, button-down shirt that fit his frame loosely and had replaced his bandages with fresh ones using the gauze-like material he had taken. In the fading light, he looked like an artistic rendering she saw once of an oriental man that had a cloth mask covering his entire face save his eyes.

The man had looked lethally dangerous wearing two swords strapped across his back and crouching low for the artist to depict him.

In thinking how Erik had taken down adversary after adversary that afternoon with only his hands and the two lengths of piano wire, Christine reassessed her definition of lethal. Yet instead of this making her feel frightened of him, the knowledge that Erik was that powerful, that incredibly, well… predatory, had her feeling … …safe.

She smiled slightly as she nodded. Safe was a good word for it.

Safe and cherished, and very much wanting to kiss him some mo—

"Do you regret it, Christine? Regret leaving de Chagny and his name?" His next words jarred her from reverie.

She looked into his eyes, only able to make out their expression because of their peculiar reflective quality in the dying light. They were the only things bared besides a thin line where the folds of bandage separated for his mouth.

She saw his eyes were anxious, uncertain, as he studied her, and she realized what her smile must have meant to him. He thought she was still thinking of Raoul.

"Good grief, No!" she winced, the words had come out much sharper than she intended.

Shaking her head, she explained, "I regret a great many things, Ange, but leaving Raoul is not, and will never be, one of them."

She shivered, and picking up one of the blankets, started to wrap it around herself. But remembering how he had neatly played her the night before, she made her way over to him. And seating herself before him, she proceeded to cover the two of them up.

"And, pray tell, what does Mademoiselle Daae think she's about now, hmm?" his hands reached out to tuck the blanket around her shoulders.

"Sharing body warmth, Erik. It's cold!" As if to illustrate her point, the wind picked up, blowing through the trees and had Christine huddling more closely to Erik's chest in order to escape it.

"Erik believes it will probably be damp as well." he stated dryly, looking up at the sky. Just then there was a rumble of thunder in the distance. "And these are two conditions that do not bode well for Christine's recovery. Lie down, my dear." Watching him carefully, Christine did so, as she saw him take the oil-coated tarpaulin he had also stolen from the sundry store and fasten it to the sides of the buggy.

And then he was searching, finding two flat rocks of approximately the same shape and size, and he was lifting the left back corner of the buggy—and really, at this point, she shouldn't have been surprised at his show of strength, but good Lord! the man was strong!— and positioning a flat stone under the wooden wheel. He performed the same treatment for the left front corner of the buggy as well, and Christine realized he had pitched them at a slightly slanted angle on one side.

Then he secured the other side of the tarpaulin over the top of the buggy with rope, and she smiled to see that he had quite effectively made a slanted roof over their little nest in case it did rain.

She thought back to what Raoul would have done had he been in this situation, and narrowing her eyes in thought, she bit her lip.

Well, Raoul never would have been in this situation to begin with…hired men chasing them… a contract out for Erik's death and hers by association.

No.

She honestly couldn't picture Raoul here at all, but then again, she couldn't quite picture him in Italy. At least, not the Italy she'd come to know through her own meandering experience.

She shoved and positioned the horses' feedbag for a makeshift pillow as she gathered together blankets for their bed; to compare Erik to Raoul would be a great disservice to both men, for they were as different as well… night and day.

And Christine was quickly learning that there was a lot to be said for the night…

.

.

.

"Erik, I'm cold."

The rain had brought with it a chilling wind, and Erik's tarpaulin-tied roof did little to protect them from it within the cold confines of the drafty buggy. Christine was laying buggy center, surrounded in layer upon layer of blanket and cloth, and STILL she was freezing.

"Christine, Erik's bundled you in every blanket and spare bit of dry cloth he could find." he assured.

And he had; even going so far as to give her the ready-wear shirt off his back and choosing to go without for himself.

She truly hated to complain, but…"It's not warm enough, Erik." she shivered.

"Christine, we've been over this. Erik is not going to share the blankets with Christine and that's final!"

Why?! She didn't understand his reasoning.

When she asked, he wouldn't answer her, and he would not even come anywhere near where she lay in the center of the buggy, choosing instead to stay huddled as he was to the drafty side of the where tarpaulin only just managed to reach enough to stop the rain from creeping in.

She reached for him—

"Christine! Stop that at once!"

"Waaarm-th-th." She hugged the purloined hand she had stolen close to her chest; savoring its heat and gathering it close to her core to better absorb its warmth.

"Christine." he growled.

"Erik, have a heart! It's cold!"

"And Erik is—" he tried to take back his hand, but with a feral growl, Christine bit him.

"CHRISTINE!"

"What?!" she cried, "I'm turning into a human icicle over here, and you are refusing to share your warmth. Now, mon Ange, this once and perhaps future Diva commands you to get under the blankets and service her properly!"

She heard a strangled, choking sound come from him.

And she thought she heard him mumbling, only she wasn't quite certain, but the words sounded like: 'God in Heaven, she knows not of what she asks', and Christine could actually feel him begin to rock slightly back and forth in his huddled place next to the drafty section of tarpaulin.

Relinquishing the hand she held, she took full advantage of his distraction to huddle in closer to him and further hem him in.

Slowly… but so slowly, she eeked her way across the cold wooden expanse that separated them, a sea of blankets moving steadily closer to her prey. And luckily for her, he was on the downward-facing slope, so she had gravity on her side.

Her frozen hands touched the warm expanse of his bare back, and he stopped rocking immediately, instantly realizing his mistake.

She agreed. He never should have turned his back on her.

But he was so still.

Eerily so. And she couldn't even feel him breathe.

And yet… she creeped closer, continuing to move with the blankets and piles of cloth until he was under them with her, sharing them. Only the single cotton layer of her ready-wear gingham dress separated them for she was not even wearing her corset, chemise, or pantaloons. They were all layered around her, adding their precious weight to the insulating layer of blankets. And she moved until she had her cold nose pressed to the bare skin of his back, and she was glorying in his warmth.

And how he could be that incredibly warm in such a cold environ, she hadn't a clue, but she thanked providence for it as she continued to move until one arm was fully draped around his torso, the other slowly working itself underneath him until she could hug him close to her.

And together, they lay as two spoons…

Well, one spoon, and one misshapen, fetal lump that had ceased its rocking, and she was pretty sure had ceased to breathe as well.

She breathed across his back, and his skin rippled with gooseflesh. She breathed in and inhaled the scent of him, relaxing for the first time since the rain began. She nuzzled closer to him, absorbing his heat, his scent, her cold hands finding new pockets of warmth. The crease at his hips where his stomach indented and his trousers began was a veritable treasure-trove! And her hands dove in, her cold nose now burrowing in the crook of his neck.

Again, she felt gooseflesh, but this time, it was everywhere.

Was she making him cold? Of course she was! She was half-frozen herself!

"Erik…?" she asked uncertain, wishing he would talk to her, answer her.

She waited….still no response.

"Erik, am I making you cold? Because I'll stop touching you if you want me—"

In a blink, she was on her back, and Erik was above her.

She gulped, seeing nothing but the reflective yellow of his eyes in the darkness as they steadily watched her, and she could feel his warm breath christen her cheeks.

He whispered, "That's just the problem, mademoiselle… " His hands were trembling now where they held her at her shoulders, and she began to grow frightened by this newest change in him. "Erik wants you… too much!"

She gulped again, biting her lip.

"Yes. And now Erik's little innocent sees." His words were soft, and she could hear the slight smile in his Voice. She felt one of his fingers caress her abused lip until she set it free. His other hand moved to her hair, stroking tenderly.

Through the darkness, he murmured, "Erik has waited patiently, my dear. He has watched you—watched you for years! Watched you mature from a child to the beautiful and vibrant young woman you are. And he has always known he could do nothing but watch. He could never dream of putting a hand on such a beautiful Angel sent from heaven." His hand moved to caress her face; it was shaking.

And his eyes, his eyes were burning in their intensity as they held hers.

He moved closer until she could literally taste the words on his lips, "But what happens when that Angel—that perfect, innocent girl— puts her hands on him? What happens when she insists on it?" He lowered himself, and Christine gasped as she felt the weight of his nearly unclothed body press down fully covering hers.

She clutched at his sides, drawing him nearer, pushing him away… she didn't know.

But she did know that there was an uncomfortable hardness pressing down on her nethers… and, in point of fact, everywhere her body encountered his was hard. She had never before felt him without layers of clothing separating them, for usually, he was always so fastidiously buttoned up, so very covered. They both were. But the only clothing separating them now was her thin cotton dress and his trousers.

And the man had to be all angles, muscle, and bone!

He nuzzled her ear, and she closed her eyes, lost to the sensation of his body covering hers completely. It was like the kiss against the tree, except so much more intense, for she could feel his body pressing intimately into hers, his angles and hardness molding themselves into the soft dips and curves of her own feminine form, making her feel so warm and cherished, so small and female… and she realized that this must be what it was to be claimed.

Feeling the urge to do so, she wriggled and moved beneath him, and he moaned softly in her ear causing her to shiver and wriggle more.

Quickly, he pulled away from her, burying his head in the span between her ear and the wooden floor as he drew jagged, deep breaths of the cold night air.

It was a long moment later when she heard him whisper, "Erik is asking Christine—he is begging. Please, please do not push him past the bounds of his endurance." His hand was still trembling where it gripped her shoulder, and she gulped as he continued, "Erik may not have the strength necessary to—to stop Christine from losing her choices. And that is something Erik really could not endure!"

And then he was gone, moving away from her, huddling back against the drafty side of the buggy, taking his precious warmth with him, and she was once more alone under the blankets.

Alone, and neither cold nor sleepy.

And she had much to think on before the coming of the dawn.

.

.

.

A/N: It's Sunday! Woo hoo! That was the longest week of my life, dear reader! How about you?

Well, well, well. It looks like things are starting to heat up for our intrepid ingénue and her masked man. Oh, but our Christine can be so clueless sometimes can she not, driving our poor Phantom to distraction with her unassuming guile. Tell me what you think, dear reader, of Christine's innocent charm?

Your authoress awaits your replies with baited breath.

Housekeeping footnote: please note, if you are not signed in, I cannot reply back to your review, and I dearly love replying back! Also, the next posting for this story will be available on Tuesday.

DGM