Mostly positive reactions to the happenings from last chapter! Some thought Christine was a bit out of character in that she could endorse murder, and while I respect the opinion, I do disagree. As my Beta put it: "We too are God-fearing women, and Buquet had to go!" I believe in the healing power of love and redemption, but I also believe in protecting the innocent. We now have an established legal system that (ideally) takes care of these crimes properly, but once again, the world was very different back then and the rights of women were not so protected.

Anyway, thank you all for your wonderful feedback! As always, it is greatly appreciated!

Now, onward to the aftermath!

XXXV

News of the apparent accident—or murder, depending on which scintillating story was to be believed—travelled quickly.

Erik did exactly as he had wished, and when he had returned home immediately sought his wife. As he had expected she was curled up in their bed, her eyes finally dry though still red and swollen, and his handkerchief clutched firmly between her clenched fingers.

She turned over as soon as he entered, her eyes travelling his form in assessment. "You are not hurt?"

He shook his head, having no energy for games of false indignation. "Not at all."

Erik did not undress. Perhaps he should have taken a bath or changed into his nightclothes. But as he collapsed upon the bedstead and pulled Christine close and felt the silk beneath his fingers from her evening dress, he noted wryly what a fine couple they made—still bedecked in their best clothes, but neither having the will to scrub away the horrors of the day.

She was facing away from him and he allowed himself to savour the feel of her pressed against the curve of his body—a greater comfort than he had ever thought he would be granted.

"Is he... is he dead?"

Her voice was hollow and it sent an ache through his heart as he heard it.

"He is." He placed a kiss at the back of her neck. The once elegant arrangement of her hair was now crumpled, and he absently thought that he should very much like to pull out all of her pins and brush it so that it was soft and gleaming once more.

Later. After he had held her for a while longer, and felt sure that she was whole and well within his arms and that no man would ever touch her in that way again.

She began shifting, and at first his hold on her tightened so that she would not leave him, but he quieted when she murmured a gentle, "Hush."

Christine rolled over so that she could look at him, and she gazed at him for a long while without saying a word.

That was all it took.

He did not mean to cry, and for a while he did not know what prompted him to do so. He had killed many men, usually without much emotion of any kind. It was a task, a necessity for his wellbeing, and this did not feel so different.

Except that it was.

His wife pulled him close but not before she had peeled away the mask that had so disturbed her, and he found that he did not mind it so very much that she did not ask as soon as he felt her hands smoothing through his hair.

"Are you all right?"

He had already assured her that he was physically well, so she must mean something deeper. And at this moment he was not entirely certain that he was all right.

A part of him wanted to keep it from her—that she had known too much of this man already and should not be burdened with any more.

But if he told her such things she would surely chide him, reminding him that sharing encumbrances was what married people did. And perhaps along the way, he had come to believe it as well.

"He did not even remember you. How could any man not remember you? You who are sweetness itself, and after what he did..."

Erik could not continue as he felt as though his throat could no longer produce sound. Her hands had stilled, and for a frightening moment he worried that she would turn away from him. It was one thing to have knowledge that her husband was about to end a man's life. It was something else entirely to hear the gruesome details.

"And you will remember him for the rest of your life. And no matter what I do, you will remember."

How he wished that he could wipe away her pain!

In tales from afar there were always stories of wish fulfilment. He had always scoffed, knowing precisely what he would demand. Riches or fame would all come of their own accord once he could appear as a normal man, and until he had met his Christine he had always known that would be his one wish.

Not anymore.

Now he would implore and entreat that she could be released from her memories and that only sweet and gentle things could take hold within her mind.

Christine was silent for a moment longer until she took a deep breath, her voice still hoarse from her own earlier tears. "I do not know if I mind that so very much."

Erik lurched his head away from the softness of her neck. "Why?"

She smiled at him sadly, her fingers skimming under his eyes and the hole where his nose should have been.

"Because I do not know who I would have been without those experiences. What if I was not ready to be your wife? I would not be expecting our baby, and I would not have the lovely life I have now." She nibbled at her lip and her eyes pleaded that he be able to understand. "I do not know if I would risk it."

And perhaps he did understand. She had met true monsters and while she had survived the encounters, it was those experiences that made her ready to understand him. She had not been afraid of his face, but she could have been if she had not learned to trust him beforehand.

Erik had already decided that he would willingly go through every painful lash and mocking glance once more if Christine was to be his reward. It was now obvious that his wife felt the same.

It seemed almost too much to be believed, but as he held her and was held by her, he found himself to be very glad.

"Would you like me to brush your hair?"

He supposed he should also suggest they change for the night, and maybe take one of those charming baths together she had insisted on before.

She hummed, and burrowed her face into his shoulder. "Only if you stay close."

As if he would choose to ever be elsewhere.

Neither moved for another few minutes, but eventually Erik tore himself away only long enough to fetch her comb and a ribbon.

He was never one to remove his shoes without first seeing to the laces, but on this occasion he felt nearly panicked when he was not touching her in some way. So he merely pushed them off hurriedly before reclining on a mound of pillows that she had carefully crafted, then pulled her up against him so that she was nestled between his legs and nearly reclining on his chest.

With each pin that he removed and every curl that he watched bounce back after his comb had skimmed through it from beginning to end, Erik felt more and more calm. Their lives would never have been perfect, but it had led them to one another so perhaps there was no need to complain.

Christine began to release contented little sighs whenever the comb would skim over her scalp, and every so often she would shiver slightly from the sensation. "I should ask you to brush my hair every day."

He hummed, and pressed his lips to the curve of her shoulder, simply because he could. "You would demote your poor Erik from husband to maid."

She sighed once more, and with deft fingers he began plaiting her hair until it was tied with a flourish with one of her extravagant ribbons.

"Somehow I do not think you would mind so very much."

Pressed so completely against him as she was, she could easily feel his rather visceral reaction to her closeness. Neither felt prepared to do anything to assuage the matter—not tonight— but she still felt saucy enough to tease him for it.

Little minx.

They had fallen asleep a short time later, after nudging and wriggling until they were both in their preferred sleeping arrangements without actually having to break way entirely.

Erik felt fairly groggy the next morning. Though he had spent many a night in his evening clothes, it was not usually also within the confines of the bed linens. He felt bedraggled and heart-sore, and he was glad that Christine was able to sleep for a little longer.

The tea things were calling to him quite loudly, but at the moment all he truly desired was a long hot soak.

He tucked in Christine and nestled some additional pillows around her, and briefly wondered if he should attempt undressing her in her sleep. She would be dismayed by her gown once she awoke, and she might appreciate that he could already tell her it was being taken care of and that no permanent damage had been done.

At least, he hoped it had not.

If the laundress was unable to remove all of the creases that had been pressed into the fabric over the course of the evening, Erik would have to decide if purchasing a replica would be beneficial. He did so like the colour on her...

But no. She needed her rest more than she needed to know that her gown was not as wrinkled as it was. He grimaced as he looked down and noticed just how his suit had fared.

To his dismay, just when he was about to turn the taps that would begin the wondrous flow of hot frothy water that would wash away the horrible night, the siren called.

And Erik pitied whoever was keeping him from his bath.

It was possible that a party had banned together to once again scope out the lower levels of the cellars in order to ascertain if the resident Ghost was an actual phantom or merely a man in disguise. They had done it before and each time their resolution only grew that a paramour did indeed haunt the bowels of the Opera.

Or it was another visit from his supposed friend coming to scold him on the improprieties of dispensing with men's lives.

Erik was far too tired and had too little patience for dealing with either.

Casting one last forlorn look at the abandoned tub, he went in search of a mask and yet another lasso, and left the house.

Since there was reasonable doubt that it was in fact the Persian across the shores, he forwent the boat and utilised his most obscure tunnels.

There was no angry horde on the opposite shore, and it was with no small irritation that Erik saw the Daroga pacing the embankment, casting not so subtle glares across the lake as he did so.

"What do you want?"

Erik tried to sound forceful, but even to his own ears he merely sounded weary.

His tone seemed to surprise his visitor, and though he clearly had been rehearsing a rather biting speech during his trek below, he now hesitated. "What happened to you?"

Erik huffed in annoyance and crossed his arms. "Last night was rather trying, and you are interrupting my morning ablutions. What do you want?" There, that sounded better. The more his irritation grew, the less tired he sounded—and perhaps that would be enough to convince this troublesome man that he should leave.

But apparently nothing could be easy for Erik this fine morning.

Instead, the man's own frustration returned and he took a menacing step towards Erik, despite how foolish such a move would be in normal circumstances. "I am certainly glad to hear that it would be trying for you after having killed a man!"

Erik felt the fury beginning to roil within his blood yet again, drowning out any previous exhaustion. "Forgive me, Daroga, for dispensing of one of the men who raped my wife!"

He had said the words last night as part of the execution, but he felt it all the more acutely now that the initial bloodlust had been sated. "He raped my wife," he whispered.

Whatever indignation the Persian had come with faded, and the self-imposed need to act as Erik's conscience seemed to weaken just as quickly. "Erik..." He took another step forward, this time in what he supposed was meant to be comfort. And when he raised a careful hand and tentatively placed it on Erik's shoulder, he felt his faltering hold on his emotions dissolve.

He had thought that after spending the night with his wife it would have been sufficient. He had held her close and known she was safe. But speaking the words aloud to an impartial bystander—someone he did not have to think of comforting but could simply feel—it was nearly overwhelming.

"I did not know. I am sorry for my presumption."

It seemed almost bizarre that he was apologising. For so long he was the one trying to keep Erik's morality in check—to remind him of his humanity and his need to relate well with others.

But as Erik looked at the Persian's face, he merely saw understanding. "If I was confronted with a man who had harmed my wife in such a way..." He looked far away for a moment as he gazed into the darkness of the lake, but then he turned back to Erik and there was such conviction in his tone that he could not help but believe him. "I would have killed him too."

Erik nodded. Perhaps that was the natural reaction of a husband who loved his wife. Others might not have had the means or skills necessary to actually perform the action, but the desire would have been there all the same.

"How is little Christine?"

Erik took a shuddering breath. "Resting. She was... quite devastated last night."

The Daroga moved away from him slightly, obviously preparing for his ire once he voiced the question. "Did she not approve of your actions? Was she angry with you?"

"No, it was seeing him again that caused her such distress. Even if it was only from a distance."

He realised belatedly that he had not told his wife that he would be checking his traps after the siren had called, and undoubtedly the noise would have woken her. It was a tremendous oversight on his part as she was prone to worry—especially after last night.

"I must return home. I neglected to tell Christine I was leaving and she will be... upset."

An understatement to be sure.

The Persian nodded and hesitated, but seemed to decide to ask despite his momentary reticence. "Might I accompany you?"

Erik eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"

The Daroga sighed. "Because I want her to know that not everyone will disagree with what you did. That she has my sympathies."

He could not fathom why that would be so important, but the tired feeling was returning and he did not wish to argue. He did not want to go all the way back to retrieve the boat, so without asking the man's opinion, Erik doused the lone lantern that had accompanied his guest and grabbed his arm, pulling him through the cramped tunnel that bypassed the lake.

As he walked, it occurred to him rather sharply why it was so important to the man. The Persian was forever devoted to his now deceased wife, so there was little cause for true jealousy, but Erik realised he cared for Christine. She could inspire the hardest and grumpiest of men to bow to her whims just by her sweetness, and through their brief introduction, she had apparently ensnared the Daroga as well.

Perhaps that should trouble him more than it did.

There was not even the smallest shaft of light surrounding them, so Erik did not worry overly much about his secret tunnel being discovered. The Persian's intentions were becoming clearer, and Erik knew that the more he saw of how married life had changed him, he suspected that his visits would be more friendly in nature instead of accusatory.

However, that did not mean he would allow him to enter before he had seen to Christine.

He opened the door and was practically assaulted as soon as he stepped into the sitting room.

His wife was still clad in her bed-rumpled gown, although her hair had survived much better within its long plait. She was clutching at him and mumbling into his chest, and even he could not make out the words. "Christine, you shall have to come up for air if you would like for me to understand you."

She tilted her head only slightly. "Was it a mob coming to take you away?"

He smiled down at her sadly, wishing he could assure her that such would never be. Instead he could merely offer feeble assurances. "Nothing of the kind, my rose. The Persian has come to ensure we are both well after he heard of last night."

She blanched and peeked behind his arm to the slightly open door. The man in question took that as his cue to enter, much to Erik's annoyance.

"Mme. Christine, I hope you are feeling better this morning."

Nothing about her seemed better, at least not to Erik. She was still trembling, and while he wanted a bath more than anything, he realised now that Christine required it far more than he.

She was silent for a long moment and simply stared at the man. "Do you know why he did it?"

Erik sighed and pulled Christine until they could sink onto the settee, and he made a vague gesture at his reading chair in offering to their guest.

All seated—Christine practically in his lap—the Persian replied, "I am now."

She nodded, still looking at him with a curiously blank expression. "Do you think he made a mistake in marrying me?"

He leaned forward in his chair, and his sincerity was clear. "I think you saved this man's life when you married him. And I do not begrudge him for what he did. I admit that I came here to scold, and while he has not given the particulars of what was done to you, I do not blame either of you for what has transpired."

Christine's lip quivered, and Erik pulled her more firmly against him in an effort to comfort. "Thank you."

Perhaps he should have been insulted that she required absolution from a relative stranger when he had offered the same promises, but that seemed rather petty when he found such relief in it as well. They were too close—too emotionally involved—and while he barely considered this man a friend, Erik had come to find that he respected his opinion on what was right.

In addition, the Persian had been happily married for many years before his wife had died, so he must have some knowledge regarding proper behaviour.

And it appeared murdering men who had abused one's wife was not wholly objectionable.

Christine tilted her head and whispered, "Erik, I am hungry."

Of course she was. Crying was exhausting work, and although their picnic had been sufficient for a light evening supper, his wife always liked her titbits in the morning.

"My wife would like some breakfast." As he rose he eyed the Persian pointedly, silently informing him to behave himself in his absence.

The man must have caught the look for he raised in hands in supplication. "I would not object if you would like to bring me something as well."

Erik ignored him and strode from the room, surprisingly grateful for his attempt at levity—even if he would not indulge it himself.

Though he did not feel any particular worry beyond the slim possibility that the Daroga would say something that would upset his wife, Erik still hurried through the process of preparing their morning meal. Thick slices of ham sizzled in one of his cast iron frying pans, and another housed eggs that were poaching in a pool of simmering water.

A bit of toast and a large pot of tea finished the ensemble and everything found its way to the table.

The only thing left was retrieving his unhelpful companions—though he much more begrudged the Daroga than his wife. She was with child after all, and had suffered a trying evening. The man had no such excuse.

They were murmuring softly when he walked in the room, and he eyed them both suspiciously when they quieted at his near silent entry—obviously taking careful note for when he made an appearance. "If you two have finished with your secrets, we may eat."

And for a moment he seriously considered taking back the third plate and dumping its contents into the bin.

Sooo… Looks like the Daroga's fondness for Christine can curb his immediate judgement of Erik! Funny how that works. But poor Erik! It seems as though he is not as unaffected as we might have assumed… Christine needed tending, but methinks he needed some reassurance of his own!

What do you think, should the Daroga's breakfast have ended up in the bin?