I rewatched the Charles Dance Phantom today, but in portuguese. So I ended up making a small one-shot, in portuguese. I decided to translate it and this came to be.

It's not a big deal. It is just Christine and Erik talking about his masks.

Christine loved Erik's eyes. They were so pretty, and shiny. And they showed so much, his feelings, his thoughts…

And from what she noticed, those eyes had gotten used to the darkness, being capable of seeing almost everything in the shadows. Christine couldn't count the number of times she was startled by Erik in the dark, being unable to see him, while he could find her even without a torch or lamp.

She was so used to staring into Erik's eyes that she sometimes forgot he wore a mask.

Erik was still "shy" about his face. He would remove whenever Christine asked him to, but she could still see the hesitation when he did so. Sometimes he would act surprised when she asked about it, saying he had not noticed he had put his mask on – so used to it as he was, putting it on had become second nature to him.

Erik had many masks; she had seen them on his desk. She tried not to linger beside the desk for too long, or to let her eyes wander to it, so her maestro won't think she wants to talk about possible sensitive matters.

Christine wondered why he had such a collection. She wondered if they were used for special occasions, or if he lost them often – she didn't think that was possible, honestly, Erik was too serious about his masks to just lose them randomly… But it could happen.

But what Christine questioned the most was… Why did he wear two masks at a time? She had seen it before, how he would be using one of his colorful masks, only to remove it and reveal underneath the one he wore every day.

Christine kept these questions to herself, waiting for the right moment to ask…

-o-

Christine walked out of their small kitchen, smiling to herself.

"Erik?" She called, her voice echoed on the walls of the Opera's cellars. "I've finished lunch!" There was no answer.

He was probably in his office, too focused on his work to hear her. Erik did that sometimes. He had been composing, apparently had started a new composition once he heard her sing for the first time. He did keep it a secret though, and no matter how much Christine begged to see, Erik said he would only show it when finished.

He worked hard on it, sometimes even slept on his desk. Whenever it happened, Christine would just shake her head at him with a soft smile, before covering his shoulders with a blanket.

Christine walked over to his music room with a candle in hand. Her footsteps and the soft trickle of the lake's water were the only sounds around.

"Erik?" She called, finding the room empty.

She rested the candle on the side and stood by the door, examining the place with her eyes. She remembered the first time she had been there, following the sound of a flute all the way to that door.

A flute, a piano and a violin… Erik was so talented. How many days and nights had they spent in that room, singing together, or with her re-learning how to play the violin with him, or sometimes just talking? Not enough.

And, on one of the corners of the room, was Erik's desk.

Christine took a few steps towards it, bringing the candle with herself to light up the place. The desk was nicely tidied, as most of his things were, with his make-up and his many different masks resting in front of the mirrors.

Christine studied the masks. She had seen the black mask before, the one with strong Ancient-Greek details, which normally gave Erik a menacing and powerful semblance; there was the bedazzled one, shinning golden in the candle light; then there was one that looked like a skinless skull, with no opening for a mouth, only for eyes – Christine tried not to think about how ironic it was that Erik had a mask like that.

She pressed her hands over her apron, to make sure her hands were clean, and reached for one of the masks. It was grey colored, with a feel creases that gave it a different and strangely real look; it also seemed smaller when compared to his other masks. She didn't remember seeing Erik using that one before…

"Christine?"

The girl jumped at the voice, and the mask slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a soft clatter.

"Oh, Erik." Christine sighed, smiling at the man standing by the door. "You startled me."

"I apologize, I didn't mean to." Erik walked over to the girl, holding back a smile at her reaction. "I guess I should've knock." He grabbed the mask from the floor, staring at it in silence for a moment. "But what are you doing here? With this…"

"I was curious…" Christine said shyly, keeping her eyes on the mask and Erik's fingers as they held it. They were once again hidden by his white gloves… She remembered she hadn't finished the sentence and forced herself to do so. "About why you have so many different masks?" She raised her eyes to the man, noticing he was watching her, face covered by his most used mask. "And when you wear them, you always wear this one underneath…"

Erik was silent, his eyes studying the girl before looking away for a moment. Christine couldn't help but feel nervous, wondering if she had offended him in any way. Sometimes she couldn't hold her own tongue, even though she did try, making few questions and always with as much respect as she could muster.

"Well, I have a few reasons." The masked man finally answered, walking over to the desk and resting the mask amongst the others. "One of them is, well of course, that if I happen to lose one mask, I would still have the other to hide my face..." Just as Christine thought.

He didn't raise his head as he answered, running his fingers in a strange tender manner over one of the masks, the red one, with horns. Christine had never seen him wearing that one either – part of her didn't want to.

"And the other reasons…?" She asked trying not to sound pushy in any way.

Erik turned around, smiling softly. It didn't look that much like a happy smile.

"People say 'the eyes are windows to the soul'. But the eyes don't say everything." He explained, raising a hand to Christine's face with a careful stroke. She leaned against his touch. "A whole expression can show much more. Do tell me then, how could I show expressions while wearing this?" He pulled the hand away, pointing towards his own face.

"True." The girl nodded, understanding where he was getting at. "Your mask shows no expression. So…" She grabbed one of the masks, white with black details. It reminded her of a pierrot's face, and she had an idea of what it should represent. "You use others?"

"Exactly." Erik looked over his collection, hands on his hips as if he couldn't decide which to pick. "They help me reflect how I feel in a way I normally cannot. And it also helps when seeing my face in the mirror…" He let out a dark chuckle.

Christine pressed her lips together. She didn't like when Erik spoke like that, the way he spit out the word "face" as if it was a lie…

"And, of course, I also like them." Erik continued, smiled, but his eyes were far away. "I like working on them. On masks the people out there… Making them represent a little part of me. It's almost freeing in a way…" He shrugged. "A way of being able to show myself, like others do just being themselves... Even if it's nothing but a cheap imitation of the reality."

He turned to Christine, his shiny eyes looked clouded, in a way that the girl had seen before, and that she didn't appreciate much. He reached for the white and black mask in her hands and rested it beside the others without saying much.

Christine felt the need of saying something, noticing how he had drifted a little during their talk. But she didn't know what to say for a moment. He was right on what he said, after all, masks were made to be imitation of faces, to represent feelings and thoughts, and ideas.

If those masks helped him express himself, she wouldn't stop him from wearing them, of course not. But she wished he didn't feel the need of doing such a thing, especially near her; she wishes he would simply walk to her, talk to her, show her his brow, furrowing it in anger or smoothing it with happiness and excitement. A smile on his lips, a tear shining in his eyes, the small wrinkles that formed on his disfigured skin... That was so much worth than any of those masks.

Christine put her hands on Erik's shoulders, making him turn to her. He watched her silently, lost in his own thoughts, but still present, listening.

"Well, you don't need any of them. Not here, not now." She smiled, raising her hands to his face, stroking the covered cheeks with her thumbs. "You can show me everything you feel and think, without a mask."

Erik was silent for a moment, before letting out a low chuckle as Christine softly poked the edges of the mask, politely asking permission to remove it.

He reached for the string that held the mask in place and untied it, resting it beside the others on the desk. And Christine smiled upon seeing her lover's uncovered face. Sometimes it was just so easy, and it made her so happy to know Erik trusted her so much.

She stroked his marred cheek in the same way she had done before, and he leaned against her touch. She liked to see how the wrinkles formed under and beside his eyes, on his cheeks as he smiled… And how those eyes shined as she stared into them.

"Come." Christine said, pulling his hand with her free one. "I've made lunch. We shouldn't let it get cold."