Thank you to Mominator124, lover of musicals, Phantomgirl24, Pip and CO, RubenesqueRomantic, katdancer, Pensez-a-Erik, SloaneDestler, lindaweng, phanrose, and peanutpup for the reviews to chapter 87!
Phantomgirl24, I will respond here since you are a guest reviewer: Yes, his chapters are recalling the past, so the last chapter was about the first few days he spent with Christine :)
Note: Due to confusion over how long Erik was in the cell, I added a detail to say that not just days, but weeks, had been passing. This detail is in chapter 78. This chapter reveals how long he was in the cell.
Enjoy!
Christine
Chapter 88
The Introduction
Erik agreed to meet my father - but he didn't want to do so right away.
We'd go tonight.
He wanted to spend the next twelve hours alone with me. Close. Uninterrupted.
After breakfast, we went to bed and prepared to make love (as I tried not to think what my father would say if he found out) - but he lasted perhaps five minutes before he went soft. The rest of him, however, became rigid. His breath shuddered and tears formed in the corners of his eyes. He came out of me and laid down to my side. I held his shaking hands, alarmed.
"Erik?"
"I apologize," he whispered. "I will try to-"
"Don't be sorry." My hand moved to his cheek, and he placed his quivering fingers over mine.
He sighed, but his tears fell. "I keep thinking about those cell bars. I'm not there anymore - I'm here with you - but I can't stop thinking I'll blink and be trapped once more. That I'm not done with the Chamber. Or that, even worse, I will awake and be a child again, in a cage-"
"You're not." I ran my thumb over his cheek. He closed his eyes. I didn't blame him for his emotions - if I'd spent a month in a cell, I'd be a wreck as well, even without the past he had behind him. "This is real. I'm real."
He swallowed. "And you're the only thing that matters."
The entire day, we didn't leave the bed. We laid on our backs, holding hands, completely naked, covered by the blanket. Ayesha, not to be left out, curled up on the foot of the mattress. Every so often, Erik would pull me close and kiss me deeply, or hold me tightly against him. Never, though, did he ever let go of my hands or face or waist - except to relieve himself or bring tea and the midday meal in. Even then, he seemed loath to let me go.
I tried to stay awake for his benefit - but I'd gone to bed so late and awoken so early, and I was so contented and comfortable in his arms, that I was drifting in and out of consciousness.
"I'm sorry, Erik," I murmured into his chest. "I keep falling asleep."
"Then sleep," he said gently. At the love in his tone, I nuzzled in deeper.
And when night fell, Erik kissed me into wakefulness. Not on my lips - on my forehead. He kissed me long and purposefully, as though he couldn't believe he had me again. As though he were terrified to lose me.
"My love," he whispered, "it's time to wake up."
My eyelids fluttered open. "Hm?"
"I believe your father expects to meet me."
I shifted my face so that I was looking at him. In the dull candlelight, I could see fear in his eyes. Trepidation. Worry.
I knew why.
"He will love you," I assured him, against my own uncertainty.
He gave a short laugh, humorless. "I never thought I'd be in this position."
"What position?"
He held my gaze. "Meeting the father of the girl I love." He pushed a stray curl from my face with extreme tenderness. "Asking for his blessing."
Adoration painted my cheeks pink. He smiled at the blush, kissed my face.
He was first to get up. I followed. We dressed. Erik pet Ayesha and pressed his lips to her small forehead. "We will return soon, darling," he told her.
And we made our way to Echo Hall. We set out so that Erik, the Shah's executioner, could meet Gustave Daae, my father, in the hopes of winning his approval.
Through Nadir's study. Into the house's large hall. We heard voices coming from the living room. We made our way there. I could hear Erik's harsh breath beside me, his stiff gait. I squeezed his hand, and he softened fractionally. He gave me a grateful look, nodded, and stepped into the room with me beside him.
Nadir saw us first. "Christine. Erik."
Reza, on the couch next to him, brightened. "Erik is here?"
Erik's posture relaxed further. I noticed that he still hadn't looked at my father. He was gazing at Reza. "I am."
Reza went from his seat and ran, recklessly, into the direction of Erik's voice - just as he'd done the first time I met him. Erik grinned and scooped him up, putting him on his shoulders.
"Christine's father is here!" the boy explained.
And at that, both Erik and I found my father's gaze. He was sitting in an armchair, watching Erik with an uncanny expression.
"You're Erik," he said.
Erik's smile disappeared. He nodded.
Nadir's eyes were trailing slowly over all of us. He stood and went to his son as he sat on Erik's shoulders. "Come, Reza. It's time for your bath."
Reza made a face of disgust. "But Erik just now arrived!"
"Life is inconvenient sometimes, Reza. Hold your arms out."
He hesitated only a moment, then relented and held out his hands. His father picked him up off of Erik's shoulders, with Erik assisting in the transfer. Nadir carried his boy from the room, closing the door behind him.
There was a moment of silence. Uncomfortable silence, as my father and Erik stared each other in the eyes. I was about to break it, when my father at last spoke:
"That boy seems to care for you."
"Thank you," Erik responded softly. "I care for him too."
"And," he said, "you care for my daughter?"
Erik's shoulders loosened. He held his head a bit higher. "Yes, sir."
My lips quirked. I imagined how this scene would look to any outsider. My father, the quiet violinist, being called 'sir' by the Angel of Death.
Another long stretch of silence.
My father at last stood. "Erik, do you remember me?"
Erik stared, no indication of an answer on his masked expression.
"Because," my father continued, "I remember you. A bit taller than when I last met you. But I remember those eyes. And if you'd remove your mask, I'm sure I would remember your face - if, of course, you would be so kind."
Slowly, very gradually, Erik reached up to his face. He removed his mask. I saw shock in his expression when my father did not flinch.
I myself was surprised - but not by the lack of reaction. I was surprised that Erik removed his mask so easily to him. But I saw curiosity and vulnerability in his gaze, and knew that he would do what he could to gain approval. His face might not entice my father, but his willingness to oblige would.
He nodded at Erik. "Yes. I remember you." He asked again, "Do you remember me?"
"Yes, sir." Erik's voice was hoarse. "I do."
My father glanced at me shortly. "It would seem that you were meant to be in our lives, Erik, if God tried twice."
Erik looked stricken by that. He blinked. "Sir?"
"Well, I attempted to take you home with me that day. But you didn't come. And now we are here, and Christine was put into your care, to which you chose not to take advantage." He looked at me. "And she doesn't seem to be lying about that fact. Doesn't seem to be afraid. She seems herself, not what I would expect if she was being abused." He paused. "So, yes, it would seem that God has gone to great lengths to pull you into our hearth."
Erik swallowed. His eyes shone.
"Christine tells me of your occupation here. She tells me you would choose not to if given the choice."
"Yes, sir. That's true."
"She says you were imprisoned for refusing to take a life."
"Yes, sir."
He nodded. "And Monsieur Khan informed me of why we will need to wait to return home."
I finally spoke. "What did he tell you?"
"Everything." He smiled ruefully. "Quite the plot you've gotten yourselves wrapped up in." He blinked. "Speaking of which - Erik."
"Yes?"
My father's smile turned genuine. "Is 'yes' the only word you know, Erik?"
Erik smiled back. "No."
My father laughed very shortly. "Very well, then - by the way, do you have a family name?"
"Perrault," he said immediately.
"Monsieur Perrault," he nodded. "I recall reading, eight or so years ago, that a religious zealot in Lyon killed that man - Javert. Monsieur Benoit. He claimed he killed the boy - the attraction. The dog too."
Erik's eyes widened, but didn't look surprised.
"He even confessed to it unprompted," he continued. "That man has been put in prison for murder, and will be locked away for the rest of his life." He studied Erik. "Did you see it happen?"
"No, sir." Erik's throat sounded dry.
"Did it happen at all?"
Erik took a beat. "Which part?"
"Any part."
Another beat. "Javert was murdered."
"But the zealot didn't do it?"
Erik's hands clenched into fists at his side, but I could see him forcing his expression into neutrality.
My father nodded and sat down again. We remained standing. He said, "I had a feeling. All these years, I had a feeling. And I think I would have killed him too, had I been in your situation."
Erik's mouth opened marginally. "Sir-"
"Fear not," he assured him, "the entirety of France thinks you're dead - or escaped, since your body was never found. Very few believe you guilty - and those that do are brushed off as theorizing conspiracies. So even if I said anything as to your guilt - which I wouldn't - it would mean very little; and not only because hearsay is hardly proof."
"I had no idea of any of this," I finally said. "To think Erik had been...that you'd met Erik before..."
"You never pick up a newspaper." My father's eyes were gentle as he smiled at me. "You never talk to anyone. And I never thought it important to tell you."
I held my chin up a bit. "You never talk to anyone, either, Papa."
Erik was looking between me and my father with relief. I knew he'd been expecting derision, horror, repulsion from him - but was met instead with warmth and kindness and, God-willing, acceptance. I saw hope - genuine hope in his eyes.
My father responded, "At least I read the newspaper."
