She managed to coax him onto the bed with her, leading him back until they both rested against her plethora of pillows. He was hesitant again, fingers twitching as she tugged on him. When she rested her head against the pillows, he stayed looming over her with his right elbow digging into the pillow and his marred cheek propped on his hand, gazing at her like a skittish cat.
Christine wondered again at the broad spectrum of his reactions. When their tears had dried and their breathing slowed, Erik had been content to merely hold her hand while he rested at the foot of the bed, occasionally twisting their fingers together. As the hour grew late, Christine had quietly requested his help in procuring a nightgown. He'd risen lethargically, moving to her armoire with heavy limbs. Leaving her alone with her change of clothes, Christine had worried at the exhaustion on his face.
Have you been sleeping at all since the Masque? Christine had slept so much her internal clock was considerably off. But Erik… she had no way of knowing if he'd slept.
When she'd called him to come back, the door had opened almost instantly, and she'd been presented with Erik in sleeping attire for only the second time in her life. She'd felt a flush creep up her neck at the intimate vision, still queerly out of place even as she was reminded that she had once laid naked in his arms.
Erik had seemed similarly struck by the portrait they created, one that went well beyond the norm of either lives. After the Bal Masque, she had drifted to sleep in his arms, yet he had left sometime during the night. Now, he came to her again in his sleep clothes, and her heart pounded at the implication.
"Erik?" She'd called him quietly, reaching back to pull down the blankets. "Let's retire," Christine had nearly whispered. His entire body had tensed, seeming ready to flee the room before she had started to move herself toward the ornate headrest.
Now, finally horizontal and close, Christine tucked her left hand under her pillow, reaching out to take his left in her right. He thinned his lips, eyes focusing intently on her wrist peeking out beneath the pillow.
"Stay here tonight," Christine asked lowly, twining their fingers as he had done earlier. He made a small sound in the back of his throat, closing his eyes slowly. She stroked her thumb across his. "Would it be so awful?" Christine prompted, suffusing her voice with a teasing quality that did not quite manage to cover her apprehension.
Erik sighed shakily. "Awful is one word to describe it." Christine waited, refusing to give into the childish hurt that grew in her chest. This is Erik. "Excruciating, unbearable, torturous. You may take your pick, my dear." And he is prone to theatrics.
"Why is that, mon ange?" Her voice was calm, as if discussing the weather. His fingers twitched among hers, but he did not answer. "Erik," she began gently, pushing herself closer to him, "what haunts you at night?" She brought their faces close together, close enough that she nearly felt his sharp intake of breath. "Tell me," she ordered softly. His throat convulsed again, and Christine tucked her head against his chest.
Erik disconnected their hands, bringing his newly freed fingers to cup her right shoulder. Christine took advantage of the position to place her hand over his swiftly beating heart. She felt his breath fanning against her forehead. "Must you ask questions to which you know the answers?" His voice had grown husky, the fingers at her shoulder practically thrumming with tension.
"How can I know if you will not tell me?" She whispered against him, titling her face up to look at his chin and neckline. Her left cheek brushed slightly against the soft material of his nightshirt. "Talk to me, Erik."
"What would you have me say?" He bit out desperately, bringing his right hand out from under his cheek to rest in her hair. His fingers splayed out against the back of her head. "That I dream of you? Surely you can guess I did that long before this madness began." His nails scraped lightly against her. "The only difference is that now I can remember the details. I needn't create them."
Christine smiled, fighting the blush that rose in her cheeks. She snaked her arm away from his heart and around his back, pressing her palm flat against his spine. She replaced her fingers with her lips over his heart. Erik's body stiffened, his left hand moving to embrace her fully. "I have dreamed of you as well," Christine confessed in little more than a whisper, her fingers tracing the line of his back. She felt the uneven lines that she knew lingered on his skin. Erik made a strange sound, caught between a gasp and a groan. "I remember holding you in my arms like this." Raising her face to look at him, she saw his eyes were squeezed shut. "Don't leave," she commanded, quickly kissing his chin. "Don't run again," she pleaded, sliding her left arm around his shoulder. His expression shifted, eyes drooping as he grimaced. "Let us wake in each other's arms, Erik." She leaned forward and quickly caught his bottom lip.
Abruptly, he brought his hands back to her shoulders, shoving her away from him and back onto her own pillow. She blinked at him, her mouth open in a startled "oh."
"Fine," Erik exhaled shakily. "Fine. I will stay. But, Christine, please," he nearly moaned, moving his hands to cup her rosy cheeks. "Don't speak of it any longer. Don't tempt the impossible."
Christine frowned in his hands, bringing her own up to wrap around his. "The impossible," she murmured, turning her lips into his left palm. "What is so impossible?" She pulled tightly on his hands, keeping the cool fingers at her burning cheeks. "Impractical is the worst of this, mon ange." Feeling a surge of confidence at his remembered passion, she boldly looked into his green eyes. "And if my foot were not in such a poor condition, I would prove it to you."
Erik's eyes grew very wide at her assertion, his mouth dropping open the slightest bit in his stupefied reaction. Christine felt her body flush from the tips of her toes to her forehead, momentarily aghast at her own words. When had she become so wanton?
When I was given the opportunity to love the man I wanted for a decade, she justified.
"Ch-Christine," Erik breathed, forcing her back into his arms as quickly as he had pushed her out of them. "Christine, Christine, Christine." His lips cut a path across her forehead, his right hand cupping the back of her neck. "You foolish, beautiful girl. You don't know what you do to me." His lips fastened to her temple, making her fingers fist in the material of the sleepwear against his chest. "That you could say such a thing... What has become of the shy ingénue I tutored?"
Christine smiled, huffing in laughter before answering. "Well, she became a lover, and then a wife, and then a mother all in the course of a year." She felt Erik stiffen beneath her fingers. You are a little fool! She berated herself, mentally groaning. Why would you allude to Raoul? Scrambling to push the conversation back into more comfortable waters, she spread her palms flat against him, smoothing the wrinkles she had made in his shirt. "At any rate, it proved to be a very fortifying experience." Erik's hard muscles did not relax against her, and she pushed forward, hoping she could still diffuse the situation. "Goodness, even if all that hadn't happened, I still lived to be thirty! Hardly an age where I might still play the blushing innocent."
Erik didn't move for many long moments, despite the calming motions of her hands against his chest. Releasing a despondent sigh, she pressed her forehead against him. "Erik, I'm sorry. I didn't think. Please, don't linger on it. We're here now, and together-"
Erik muttered something in a deep voice, so low she could not make it out. She paused, eyes darting subtly around his chest as she waited.
"A mother," he finally said, the words sounding eerie and foreign, as if he'd never heard them before. Christine did not move, an uncomfortable fear curling in her gut.
"What?" She whispered, struggling to regain her equilibrium.
"You said…" Erik broke off, putting her away from him again. She stared into his eyes, shifting uncomfortably as they scanned her face. "You said you became a mother."
Christine opened her mouth to reply, but had no idea what she should say.
"Christine!" Erik hissed, shaking her slightly. "You were a mother!"
"I-" She broke off, a vast emptiness seeming to cloud her thoughts. She'd been a mother. Hadn't she? "Yes, yes I was a mother," she observed blankly, the scene before her fading from focus as her mind turned to the life that had been erased. She had been a mother. And yet, she couldn't…
"I don't remember." Christine whispered, her hands trembling against her chest. Her eyes grew wet as she racked her brain for the memories, for flashes of a child and life she was certain had existed. Hadn't she casually acknowledged such an event only minutes ago? How could she have been a mother and not remember her child? "Erik, I don't-"
"You were a mother," he breathed, a hand releasing her shoulder to press against his eyes. "You were a mother because I… You said I was…"
His hand flew away from his eyes, his right fingers catching her chin and forcing her to look at him. His eyes were panicked, the tips of his fingers shaking against her jaw.
"Gustave." He said, his voice uncertain. He said the name again, more forcefully, and stared at her as if waiting for confirmation.
"Gustave," Christine breathed in question, trying to find some recognition in her mind. The name struck a chord, deep and moving, in her heart. But there was no face. There was no moment. Only a little tune playing softly in her head.
So that's some plot progression that's been a long time coming! Hope you liked the chapter! Review!