Je Vous Fais Toutes Mes Excuses
Now Erik did not know what to do. He didn't need her help; the bullet had only grazed his lower arm. He just needed her- it was all he could do to remain apathetically silent. She seemed to know him better than Raoul, searching in corners and behind the stone pillars she felt out (or bumped into) in the darkness. He sighed in helpless indecision. She was only getting better as she got closer: she was going to find him.
"I'm over here, Christine," he called warily. Christine halted in midgrope, cocking her head to determine the source of his voice.
He heaved himself up, holding his arm gingerly. He wanted to minimize his vulnerability as much as he could under the circumstances.
Emerging into her view, he said abruptly, "Here I am, Christine." Though trying to seem coldly stoic, he couldn't help staring. Was she really there? Was she really as ethereal as he remembered her to be?
"Oh my God, are you alright? Did he… hit you?" She visually examined him as closely as she could in the darkness. "Your arm- you're bleeding…" She looked distraught. He could see that she was overwhelmed, and his heart convulsed. He cleared his throat. He couldn't look at her. "Why did you come here?"
"Oh-" She paused with her mouth formed around the word, trying to get her mind around the next one. Her eyes scrutinized the floor for an answer. "I knew about Raoul." She paused, visibly swallowing the fresh shock she associated with his name. "His plan, I mean- he had told me himself. He didn't tell me enough so that I knew exactly when or how, but I found that out by myself. Then I followed him here, and…" She trailed off.
He half-smiled. She still hadn't answered his question, but that would have to satisfy him for now- Christine was looking paler by the moment. "Come. We need to get to a place where I've established a pretense of what's familiar to you. I daresay you've purged yourself of the cold and dark down here since you left, and you're not adjusting favorably to it now. I assume you've already seen the way my house has been redecorated?" he asked casually.
"Yes, I did have to pass through there. I'm sorry," she said quietly, looking away. "As long as it's good enough for you to rest in for tonight," he said brusquely.
He caught a glimpse of her eyes widening before he started towards what was left of his living room. Catching up with him, she protested, "You need to be cared for until your arm is well!" She ducked her head quickly, and he knew she was blushing. "I'm not saying it should be me, but it can't be only you. You're going to be inconvenienced by not being able to use that arm."
Her concern for him made him feel unendurably nostalgic. Whirling, he mustered his most sarcastic tone. "Please, do not feel responsible for the actions of de Chagny. His insolence is all his own; I have never encountered one quite like it in all my years." He saw her flinch reflexively as he turned to face her. So maybe she had not put the boy up to anything before her plan went awry, but she still believed she had reason to fear him.
Upon reaching the living room, he invited her to sit on the only chair that remained in its proper upright position. "Oh- no!" she exclaimed, looking suddenly startled, but more herself. "You sit down- you have to take care of your arm! I'll be back." She hurried off towards the kitchen.
Erik uprighted another chair for Christine to use upon her return, then he abruptly collapsed into his, succumbing to his exhaustion. He suddenly was overcome with tremblings and sensations of dazed unreality. For the first time in a while, he wasn't in a horizontal position and he didn't have to imagine Christine's presence. He strained his ears for delicately muted footfalls to make sure he recognized them as Christine's, and that they weren't disappearing towards the nearest egress, never to be heard again save as echoes. Christine was here. He tried to steady his tremblings to spasmodic bursts as he saw Christine approaching.
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