A/N: Tiniest bit of blood/injury described in this chapter - just in case anyone is bothered by that.
Christine was brushing her hair gently one morning the week after her casting, taking her time to get ready for rehearsal while humming sweetly, the only sound other than Erik getting dressed; when she was finished pinning her hair up, her gaze fell to the jewelry box atop the dresser, just below the mirror they had uncovered at her request as she was properly moved into the master bedroom with him. Within it she found the pearl earrings Erik had given her for her birthday and their one-month anniversary, easily putting them on to match her blue dress. It was as she put on make-up - knowing full well that she'd have to apply more for work, anyway - that she stopped her tune and asked something out loud, looking at the man in the room with her through his reflection.
"When's your birthday, Erik?"
He had been sitting on their bed, gingerly patting down his sparse natural hair before stopping his motions at her question. His eyes came up, then down again as he was met with his own unmasked image. "I don't know. Why do you ask?"
"Everyone has a birthday," she said kindly. "And they should be a cause for celebration. You already spoiled me on my birthday, it is only fair that I get to do the same."
"I don't remember when it is," he replied shortly. He put on his wig, smoothed it down, and placed his white mask at its usual place over his face.
"Well…" She paused. "You surely must remember something about it. It could be a start."
Erik shrugged. "It's been about thirty years since it was a date of importance, Christine." After a short look from her, he sighed and thought for a moment. "It was during fall - and that is all I can recall."
"Well," she repeated. She moved quickly towards him, finally ready for the day, and took his hands. "It is fall now. What if we make your birthday… today?"
"What? No, Christine, that's…"
"It's not ridiculous. I love you, and I don't want your last memory of what should be a joyous day be that of your evil mother." Her words were fond, firm and sincere; she gave him another moment to think. Though not fully convinced, he eventually gave a wary nod. "After my rehearsal, then; we can celebrate with a meal and a walk."
"A walk? In broad daylight?"
The few times they'd gone on strolls together, it was dark outside, safely hiding them from nearly everyone else. Christine, however, was proud of the way her husband had abandoned his isolation and reclusiveness - and wanted him at her side in public. She smiled and kissed him, and it was the only answer he got to his question.
She got home with a frustrated huff as she placed her coat on the rack next to the door. She had had her first full run as Marguerite today, as Dayna, the leading soprano, had been suddenly put on vocal rest by her physician. The show was riddled with mistakes, from props breaking, costumes being misplaced, all the way to a lighting failure that had plunged the stage in darkness mid-scene.
If she hadn't known better, perhaps Christine would have blamed it on some specter haunting the production.
The whole cast and crew pulled through however they could, with tensions running high between everyone, but what made the day bearable for Christine had been one fellow cast member. At the manager's request, since she was quite experienced with Faust from previous seasons, Dayna had still attended the rehearsal, communicating her observations through various notes – still used to working with Carlotta back in Paris, Christine had fully expected for her presence to be seen as problematic by the older soprano. She was most pleasantly surprised when she read a piece of paper passed to her by the brown-eyed, beautiful woman as she finally began to head home. You did well today – Hargrave's just in an awful mood. I trust my dear Marguerite will be in capable hands even when I am not present.
It was the most any other cast or crew member had spoken to her, outside any short, fully work-related chats. Those brief words and her elder's demeanor dearly reminded Christine of the sometimes motherly Sorelli, back when she was part of the ballet chorus. She made her gratitude known with a heartfelt smile and thank you.
The slam of an object to the floor – an accidentally-dropped book, she guessed - and the muffled muttering of words made her jump, but she chuckled as she could distantly hear Erik voicing his complaints to the cat. It had taken time, full weeks of silent encouraging and insistence from the little animal, but the limping kitten they had taken in had earned his affections. In fact, Christine sometimes thought Sasha now favored Erik over herself. She shook the fleeting thoughts out of her head, suddenly remembering - it was his birthday and she was wasting precious time.
She moved towards their kitchen, where she thought quickly of what to make. Humming, Christine began preparing their food after settling on the one Swedish recipe she knew he had particularly liked; she lightly laughed as the cat approached her, having abandoned Erik in favor of the sounds she associated with her other owner moving about in the kitchen.
"Erik already fed you while I was gone," she chastised, as Sasha meowed and chirped in demand of a bit of the fish she was cooking, even jumping up onto the counter. Christine shooed her off quickly with a chuckle. The gray cat settled for looking at her from a few feet away, tail swishing back and forth and eyes narrowed. Another amused glance from the woman, and Sasha turned her little head away and strutted back in direction of the music room.
Chopping vegetables after - which she could proudly say she had grown herself - to prepare their side dishes, Christine looked up briefly and out the window, through the closed-but-sheer curtains.
She flinched, startled, when she saw distinct movement in the deeper reaches of the yard. She cried out when the knife she held made a cut across the back of her left thumb, tinting it crimson with the blood that came from her wound. Hissing in pain, she dropped the sharp object and it clattered to the floor as she held her injured hand closer to her chest, reaching for a clean rag to press against it. Christine heard a door open and quick footsteps that rushed towards her, and she looked on in tears as Erik's voice filled the room.
"My God, Christine, what happened? Let me see."
She gave a whimper as his hands pulled the cloth away and she turned her head away from her own injury, suddenly dizzy. He noticed and gently led her to sit, kneeling beside her to assess her.
"You don't need stitches," he reassured quickly, focused. "But I will need to clean and bandage it. Stay here."
Christine obeyed and attempted to compose herself in the meantime. When he was back, he had the necessary materials and he worked swiftly - the alcohol disinfecting the wound stung, but by the time her hand was wrapped in white material, she was quiet, her head hung.
"You frightened me, Christine," he admitted quietly. "What happened?"
"I saw something outside and it scared me as I cooked. I suppose that, when I flinched, I moved my hand and accidentally cut myself. I'm sorry."
He sighed. "You're alright, my dear. I can finish for you."
"Wait, no, Erik, I -"
"Please, Christine, I insist. You can guide me through it, if you wish so."
She nodded guiltily and he got to work. She remained silent after directing him on what to do, save for the few moments where he'd request her opinion on his progress. So much for preparing fried herring.
A/N: I had this chapter ready pretty late yesterday so I'm just posting it today. Thank you for your support and patience between chapters. Nearly there, chapter forty.
P.S.: Going offtopic here, but a certain new superhero movie broke my heart into a million pieces. No spoilers. Definitely a must-see for everyone!
Edit: Re-reading after posting, I noticed a sentence left unfinished. Whoops.