"Erik?" she called out for him again, and again there was no answer.

His bedroom door had been left surprisingly ajar. She hesitated only a moment - it was practically open, for goodness's sake! and she very nearly intended on marrying him, besides - before she pushed it all the way open and stepped inside.

In the middle of the room sat the coffin. She swallowed hard. She had known this was here, of course, and that he used it as bed, but it was still a sight to see.

Especially with his arm hanging over the side of it.

He was lying face down inside of it, as though he'd haphazardly fallen inside. She mused that it surely couldn't be comfortable for his arm to be lifted over the edge like that. Her nervousness grew as she quietly approached him - it was unsettling to see him so, a mockery of what was surely to come sooner or later. She held her breath. Was he breathing?

She glanced down at the mask that sat just outside the coffin, as though it had fallen from his hand before he had fallen into bed.

She placed a hand on his bony shoulder and shook him as gently as she could.

"Erik?" she whispered.

With a suddenness that made her heart jump his hand that was outside the coffin shot up and gripped her forearm with an unforgiving hold, yanking her down into the coffin with him, his other hand coming up towards her neck. For a split second she was certain he intended to choke her, but at the very last second before that happened his hand relaxed and instead touched her cheek with cold and trembling fingers.

"Christine?" he blinked, his voice still thick with sleep, utter confusion written across his strange features.

She struggled to catch her breath, not only from the fright but also because he had pulled her down with such a violence that her ribs had been struck quite harshly against the wooden side of the coffin, and the pain was still radiating across her torso.

"Christine," his eyes began to fill with tears. "Christine, I've hurt you."

He released his grip on her arm, horrified at the bruises already beginning to bloom there.

"Oh!" he sobbed. How could he have done this to her?!

"Christine, you're going upstairs immediately. You aren't safe with me. Having you down here was a mistake."

"Erik, no!" she finally managed to say, but winced and placed a hand over her ribs. "I don't want to go upstairs!"

"How can you say that? Look what I've already done to you!"

"I'm fine, Erik, really," she pleaded as she rubbed at her wrist.

"You might think you're fine now, Christine, but what about the next time? And the time after that?"

The vague threat of his words hung in the air and she didn't know how to reply.

"I've already harmed you once, it will happen again, you know it will. You might not be so lucky the next time. I was an assassin, Christine. I might end up killing you before I even realize it's you."

So he had meant to choke her, then.

"You would never hurt me, Erik, I know you wouldn't," her words sound weak in light of the fact that she had already been hurt by him, but she took the revelation of his past line of work in stride.

He shook his head sadly.

"I'm not afraid of you," she asserted.

"Well you should be," his eyes fell to the marks on her arm.

"I startled you, that was all. Erik, please, listen to me - you've never done anything like this before in all the time I've stayed here. You're not who you once were. We can work around this. It will be alright, I promise you."

She awkwardly tried to rearrange herself in the coffin, trying to not put too much pressure on his legs where she was laying, and scooted up closer to him, placing her arms around his shoulders and resting her head on his chest.

"It's alright, Erik. Nothing like that will happen again, we will make sure of it. I'm staying here with you, nothing can change that," she murmured against his shirt.

He let his arms - his wicked, murderous arms - wrap around her and gently held her close as he wept into her hair. She was the most precious thing in the entire world to him, and he had marred her poor, innocent body. How could he live with himself now that he had done this to her?

He knew with a fierce certainty now that so many things he had pictured would never - should never - come to pass. If after so many years that was still how he reacted to being startled when he was asleep, then they could never sleep in the same bed together. It simply wasn't safe for her. He knew that most married couples had separate beds, separate bedrooms, but he didn't want a life like that. He didn't want to be the kind of brute that simply took his satisfaction and then left her all alone. No - he wanted to make love to Christine Daaé and hold her in his arms afterwards, but how he could do that if there was even the smallest possibility that he might fall asleep afterwards? That would never be an option, now. He couldn't even fantasize about it anymore - because now he knew the sick reality of what would come after, of how she'd curl up to him in the afterglow of bliss and his half-asleep mind would suddenly put him back into the days of Persia and he'd end up choking the breath out of his own wife. It made him feel ill just to think about it.

"I'm sorry," he whimpered through his tears. "I'm so sorry."

The sickening symbolism what all had happened had not been lost on him - her inquisitiveness and concern over his own wellbeing had led her here, and in return he had battered her and dragged her down into a coffin with him. Was that not their entire relationship summed up?

"Erik, I think we need to have a talk, at some point. It doesn't have to be right now, of course, but soon. You know I don't want to pry into your personal history or make you tell me things that you'd rather not, but... We must talk about this, I think."

She glanced up at him before continuing. He didn't see her looking at him, as his eyes were squeezed tightly shut, tears leaking out of them and running across both the smooth side of his face and the twisted side, but he did feel the movement of her head as she looked up.

"I intend on staying here the rest of these two weeks, you know, and after that - well, of course I'll be coming back to stay with you again and again in the future, too. So I think it's important that I know what exactly might startle you, so I can avoid doing any of those things. That way we can avoid my getting hurt, and we can also avoid you shedding any more tears."

She reached a hand up to his cheek - she purposely chose the scarred side - and wiped away the wetness on his cheekbone.

"You are too good to a wretch like me, Christine," he murmured and sighed.

He pulled back from her and reached for his mask, slipping it back on.

"We can talk later," he told her. "But right now you need to put something on those bruises."

He helped her out of the coffin and found a small towel which he ran under the tap.

"Here, put this on your arm," he handed it to her.

She shivered a little at the coldness of the wet towel, but she trusted Erik to know what was best for her injury, minor though it was. He looked away, the sight of the her arm with bruises shaped like his fingers making the bile rise in his throat.

"Are we still doing a lesson today?"

He nodded absentmindedly.

"Later, my dear. Not right now."

He searched in his bathroom a moment before bringing her a jar of salve, which he instructed her to apply to the bruises. She took the jar with her to her own room, closing the door behind her.

With shaking fingers she unbuttoned her bodice, threw her corset on the floor, and pulled her chemise up. For all her words to Erik in an attempt to soothe and calm him from what she knew would be a crushing experience, she was actually quite shaken. She ran a hand over the bruise on her torso, horrified, as she examined it in the mirror. What if he had broken her ribs? And so close to opening night, when she had to sing? What if he hadn't realized it was her in time?

Her eyes filled with hot tears that spilled down her cheeks. She loved him, and of course he hadn't meant to hurt her - but this was the one thing she would not compromise on. If her safety was in jeopardy, intentionally or not, she would not - could not - stay with him. She felt like her heart was breaking, but she would not put her life at risk out of love.

Life was bitterly unfair. She rubbed at her eyes before applying the salve and redressing. She stayed in her room a little longer, until her eyes were no longer red and watery - Erik already felt badly enough about it, he didn't need to know that she had cried over the matter.

How long had she been staying with him without incident? But she had never tried to wake him before. Did he have other triggers that might set him off? If she had managed to go this many years without discovering he couldn't be awoken suddenly, then it was highly possible that there were other things she hadn't discovered about him yet either. She sighed deeply, placing her hands on her head as she thought about the complicated situation.

She was probably safe to continue doing lessons with him. She supposed it stood to reason that she was safe to stay in his house, provided she didn't go near him again when he was sleeping, and assuming there was nothing else that set him off like that. But how would that work, if they were married? She didn't know if it could. It would be a strange arrangement, certainly.

He spent the rest of the morning and the afternoon puttering about the house, trying to keep busy but accomplishing nothing. Christine settled herself on the couch to read, and Erik kept coming in the room every so often, sometimes pretending to look for some item or object, sometimes to merely stand in the doorway and look at her. She glanced up at him every time he did so. It was as though he wanted to be near her to make certain she was alright, but didn't trust himself to get too close.

He stood in the doorway, gripping the doorframe and letting his eyes mull over her so mournfully before suddenly turning and fleeing from her presence. She sighed. At least their lesson would be soon - music was always a good distraction for him. Perhaps he'd manage to get his mind off the unpleasant business from earlier once she started singing.

Finally he entered the room, his demeanor cool and aloof and professional, but she could see the painful regret still hiding in his eyes when he glanced at her.

"Are you ready for your lesson?" he asked.

She nodded eagerly and stood up, taking her place near the piano. He sat at the bench, flexed his hands and then began to play. Christine took a deep breath to begin - or at least she tried to.

Her breath caught in her throat and she made a pained little noise, her hand flying up to her bruised ribs.

Erik stopped immediately, turning to look at her for a long moment.

She struggled to find something to say, something to tell him so he wouldn't be upset with himself - but there was nothing to say.

He turned back to the piano, swiftly closing the lid over the keys before he fled the room.

She couldn't sing, and it was all his fault.

He locked himself into his bedroom and paced. He would leave Paris - he would go somewhere where he could never hurt her again - she could find a new tutor, someone who wouldn't nearly murder her on accident, and she was already prima donna anyway - but then he remembered. Remembered how just the day before she had cried over the prospect of losing him forever. How could he leave her like that?

He sank to the ground, his back against the door, and rested his forehead on his knees. Christine seemed to hold some sort of love for him, so he couldn't just abandon her - hadn't he already caused her enough pain? He was a wretch and a monster, truly, but if he held even the very smallest amount of space in her heart, then he would do whatever it took to be worthy of that, whatever he could to better himself. He must find a way to keep what had happened from ever happening again. Hadn't she said she intended to keep staying over? Staying with him was what she wanted (for some unfathomable reason), and he was loath to ignore her wishes and replace them with his own, especially if his were based on fear (rational though that fear may be). He would find a way to fix this. He would find a way to keep her safe.

Christine waited in the sitting room a while, trying to stretch as best she could in the hopes that the muscle across her ribs wouldn't cramp up and make her breath stick again. It became apparent, however, that Erik was not coming back anytime soon.

She closed her eyes, trying to keep the fear at bay. What if she couldn't sing at all, not in time for the next rehearsal the day after tomorrow? She didn't know what she would do in that case. She stayed in the sitting room, working on being able to breath deeply without any hitches, and eventually managed to sing a little before her mind began to calm.

Still inside his room, Erik could hear her singing as the sweet sound of her voice floated through wood of the door he was leaning against. He placed a hand over his eyes as he wept. His poor injured songbird. She deserved so much better than him.

Christine was left alone with the quiet house and only her thoughts to keep her company the rest of the afternoon, for Erik did not leave his room until it was time for supper.

He said nothing as he strode into the kitchen and quickly prepared the meal. Christine felt oddly quiet herself as she approached the dining room, noticing immediately that he had only set one place at the table.

He pulled out the chair for her after setting the food on the table, giving her only the smallest of glances before turning to leave once more.

She reached out and grabbed his wrist, squeezing it just a little.

"Please," she said. "Eat with me?"

He hesitated, then nodded and sat down, and she breathed a sigh of relief - who knew how long he'd lock himself away for if she didn't put a stop to it?

He noticed that she must have changed dresses at some point that afternoon - she now had long sleeves that covered the bruises on her arm, but he could still see them quite clearly in his mind's eye, and that was enough.

The meal was awkward as it started out. Neither one seemed keen on speaking, but Christine knew she had to ask. She had had plenty of time to think things over.

"So," she cleared her throat. "I did not know that you had such an... unusual, line of work."

Their eyes met briefly, hers somber and his full of guilt.

"That's not suitable dinner table conversation, Christine."

"I want to know about it," she insisted.

"It is in the past," he said stiffly.

She stirred her soup slowly.

"H-how long has it been since you've... worked?"

He considered it.

"I stopped several years before you were born, I'm certain. I've no interest in doing that sort of thing again, I assure you."

She nodded. It was strange to think of Erik like that. She had always felt so safe around him, and now to find this out? She studied him for a moment. He was still Erik, still her Erik that she held very dear. And that was so very long ago. But still - they had much to discuss.

"What made you want to... do that kind of work?"

Erik sighed. He had always dreaded having this conversation with her, for how could she ever want to be around him after she found out? But he couldn't lie to her.

"The opportunity arose, I suppose. I was a young man and cared about very little. I didn't think much of others - they saw no reason to consider me or my feelings, so what mercy should I have spared for them?"

He glanced up at her, at how her brow was furrowed and her mouth turned down in a frown. It seemed like such a weak excuse, now - so far removed from those days and the unhealthy logic of his irrational and youthful mind that had been so blinded with hate.

"I worked that way for several years in the Shah of Persia's court," he continued. "It was not the first time I'd killed, but it was the first time I'd done so that wasn't out of self defense. So I worked for the Shah, doing whatever he requested of me, putting away political enemies and dissidents. But I grew weary of it. And I could see that the same fate was swiftly coming for myself. I wanted something normal, some kind of job that didn't give me nightmares and haunt what little conscience I had. So I left while I still could. I am not that man anymore."

He paused, recalling those days.

"I am not proud of it, Christine."

There had been a time that he had been proud of it - when he was young and in the midst of it. He was good at what he did, and it had earned him the Shah's favor (for the time) and a great deal of money and privilege - things he hadn't had in life before picking up the Punjab Lasso. But by the time he left Persia, he was only disgusted with it. All of those people had been people - perhaps they been someone's Christine, or they had a Christine of their own that they were trying to protect - people like him who wanted just to live, people not like him with families and friends and loved ones, families he'd torn a hole into that could never be mended. And for what? What made the Shah so right, just because he happened to be in power? If one of his enemies had been in power, then it would have been the Shah who was wicked and deserved the Lasso. All moral quandaries that had rarely plagued Erik until the meddling Daroga had started playing at being Erik's conscience - all moral quandaries he never thought he'd have to concern himself with until Nadir gently yet continually reminded him of his humanity. A demon or an angel of death cared little for humanity and it's concerns - but Nadir never treated him as such, and it was difficult to play the monster when being treated as a man.

Erik lowered his eyes.

"There are many, many thing in my past that I'm not proud of. The only thing I've ever been proud of in my life is you. Shaping your voice," he said quietly.

She felt her heart twist. She loved him, and this didn't change that.

"What about the opera house?" she teased gently.

He looked up, surprised. She was smiling, though she still looked a little sad. He felt his own lips twist into a near smile.

"The opera house is a distant second, really. You and the Populaire, then."

The awkwardness began to fade, and they ate in silence for a little while.

"I can still sing," she finally said. "You didn't- nothing's broken, I mean."

"I heard. Your singing, that is."

"Do you always react that way when you're awoken?" she asked meekly.

"I don't know. There's never been anyone to wake me up before."

She nodded thoughtfully.

It was something he had considered. He hadn't been expecting anyone to come in his room while he was asleep - that wasn't something he had ever expected before. But if now he knew... If he began to expect that there was someone there with him, would he still react the same, or would he grow used to the idea that he was safe and the person trying to wake him or touch him was friendly?

He had put his vast intellect to good use in between bouts of crying that afternoon, but the finishing touch of his plan and new invention would have to come later, after Christine was asleep.

"Is there anything else that might frighten you like that? Or is just being startled awake?"

"I cannot think of anything else," he said slowly. "I am generally not caught off guard. Unless... well, if I felt trapped somehow, I suppose I would not react very well. Or if I thought I was in actual danger. But do not believe a situation like that would arise with you as the cause."

"I shall try not to trap you, then," she said wryly.

When they had finished eating, she let him clear the plates away and do the dishes himself - he normally put up a fuss when she tried to help him with those tasks, and she thought perhaps it might help to ease his guilty conscience if he could do something for her. He seemed grateful enough as she watched from the kitchen doorway, at least.

"Are we doing a lesson tomorrow? I'm sure I'll feel up to it by then," she asked.

He turned from the sink, incredulous.

"You wish to do a lesson tomorrow? With me?"

She nodded.

He seemed at a loss.

"Of course we can, Christine, if you wish it."

She thanked him for dinner and went to the sitting room, where she carefully prodded the logs in the fireplace before lighting and throwing a match into the middle of them. By the time Erik entered the room, the fire was warm and glowing as she sat on the rug next to the hearth.

"Christine," he said gently. "Don't you want to gather your things before I take you upstairs?"

She shot him an annoyed look.

"I don't need to gather my things because I'm not going up," she said firmly.

"You really mean to stay then? Even knowing what you know now? After having found out I'm a murderer? A madman?"

"Oh, Erik," she said, shaking her head. "I always knew you were a madman, it's only the murderer part that surprised me."

His shoulders sagged and his face fell, and Christine couldn't help but laugh at his reaction. He edged closer, finally sitting down on the couch next to the rug. He twisted his hands in his cravat.

"Always?" he asked nervously.

She smiled kindly and placed her hand on his knee.

"You don't hide it very well, I'm afraid," she told him softly, and he nodded. "But I-" I love you anyway "I don't mind."

He was too deep in thought to even realize where her hand was.

"Christine, what if I hurt you again?" the question was barely a whisper, his voice thick with unshed tears.

"You won't. We will be very careful, Angel. I won't go in your bedroom again if you're asleep. I won't try to wake you up by shaking you - I'll keep plenty of distance between us if you're sleeping and I need something. As you said yourself, you are not that man anymore."

He stared at the wall, his eyes unfocused as he thought about her words. He didn't look convinced. Christine, too, was uncertain - uncertain of how to move forward now. She was quite disappointed to realize that this meant they very likely wouldn't be sharing a bed after all. She didn't know how to bring that particular concern up with him.

"You've been around me nearly seven years now, Erik," she reminded him. "And this is the first time anything bad has happened. It'll be alright."

Erik stayed silent. It wasn't alright - in that split second when he had awoken, he could have seriously harmed her or worse. How could that ever be alright?

He could tell from the look in her eyes, that slightly guarded look, that she was well aware of this too. He truly must hold some place in her heart, if she was still here with him after that. It made him want to fall at her feet and weep and kiss the hem of her dress.

She removed her hand and turned to look at the fire again.

"I think I'm rather tired this evening," she said softly. "I'll be retiring soon, if you don't mind."

"Of course, sweet. Rest well, and we'll do a lesson tomorrow," he rose from the couch and headed for his workroom.

Christine left for her bedroom shortly after. She took her time applying more of the salve to her bruises, which were still looked terrible and felt awful. She sighed wearily. She really would have to wait and see before she told him anything - which would be crueler? To tell him she loved him yet they could never be together, never live together normally because he might accidentally kill her? Or to let him live the rest of the days thinking that no one had ever truly loved him in that way? Life was so complicated, sometimes. She never thought love could ever be so difficult, but Erik was a difficult man, she supposed. She doubted anything had ever been easy for him.

She fell asleep quickly that evening, her mind tired from thinking and her body needing rest to heal. Erik worked on a small contraption in his workroom, something that he had thought up during that afternoon. It took nearly two hours to find all the parts and put them together. Once it was finished he took it into his bedroom and placed it on the floor. He felt uneasy about the next part, but it had to be done.

He approached Christine's closed door and placed his ear up against it, trying to listen for any movement inside. There was none - she must be sleeping. He sighed, feeling as though he had violated her privacy, but his plan really couldn't move forward unless she was fast asleep for the night.

Content with the knowledge that she wouldn't leave her room and become disturbed, he fished a ring of keys out of his pocket and went to the small closet that was tucked away in the corner.