A/N: Hallo. Just a quick note so no one gets lost; previously, all of Erik's scenes have been in first person and all of Christine's scenes have been in third. As this can be confusing, in this chapter I wrote both in first. Please review or email and tell me which you prefer; if everyone likes 1st person Chrissy, I'll go back and change all of her scenes. Onward!

Erik

When had spiders developed intelligence?

The cursed thing wasn't supposed to figure out how to escape from its cage for at least another week.

Not, of course, that I would ever be foolish enough to inform Christine that I had meant the tarantula to get loose at one point. Some things are better left unsaid.

She was gripping my sleeve tightly, her eyes darting around the room as she wriggled closer to me. Christine has never gotten along with arachnids; she is utterly terrified of them. But then, she was once utterly terrified of me, too. I have always had a soft spot for spiders; I reasoned that if I could just get Christine to see what magnificent creatures they truly were, she would let go of her fear and learn to tolerate the web-spinners. After having the tarantula in our room for only a day, I had realized that this was less than likely to occur.

I scanned the floor and walls, apprehension tightening my stomach. I knew, with a flash of awful insight, exactly where the spider was. Slowly glancing over at my wife, I let my gaze trail down the long, curly tresses of her hair to where it was puddled on the bed. For a moment I allowed myself to hope I was wrong; but then I saw it, the light brown standing out against Christine's dark locks as the predator slowly crept through the jungle of her hair. She had not felt anything, yet; she was far too busy frantically looking around the room.

"Christine."

The tone of my voice made her snap her gaze back to me in horror.

"Do not scream and don't move."

I heard the faintest whimper, but she obeyed, freezing in place. Lightening-quick, I snatched the crawling tarantula out of my wife's hair and deposited it safely in one of the dresser drawers. Turning back to Christine, I winced at the tears pooled in her eyes; she was visibly shaking, her hand clamped tightly to her mouth. I sat down next to her and pulled her into my arms. "Shh, you're all right. It's gone," I told her gently, rubbing her back.

She shoved me away. Tears were streaking down her cheeks, her mouth was shaking—but she was angry, and I realized that, as the spider had, in fact, escaped, the door of the cage was open—and Christine was anything but stupid. This could get unpleasant rather quickly.

"You lied to me!"

"Beg your pardon?" I asked warily.

Christine gritted her teeth and flung a hand toward the empty cage; she was trained as an actress, after all, and gets a little melodramatic when she is upset. "You specifically promised me that it couldn't escape, my dear. Would you care to explain?" She was nearly snarling now; I was impressed.

"Christine—"

"It was in my hair! My hair, Erik! I'm not going to be able to sleep for a week because your pet decided it would be more comfortable in my hair than in the cage you promised it couldn't get out of!" She pointed to the drawer and then to the door. "Out! Out! Both of you, out!"

I decided that, as she was not reasonable at this time, it would be wisest for me and my eight-legged companion to vacate the room for a while. Christine obviously needed a little space.

Christine

I shuddered as Erik swiftly rescued the spider from its temporary containment, then scowled at the door after he had closed it behind him. He had known it could get out. I had to repress another deep-seated shiver. The horrible tone in my husband's voice when he said my name had brought my fear into reality; it was on me. It was on me, and he had let it in. I hadn't been able to do anything other than freeze; I could not have screamed even if I wanted to. In that moment before Erik rescued the spider, I could feel it moving through my hair . . .

Twitching, I glanced back to make sure that there was nothing there now. Surely I hadn't felt a little tug? No, my hair was quite spider-free, and I sighed gratefully before turning to look at the cage.

He had known it could get out.

I had seen that in his eyes. He had known.

My fear began turning into anger. How could he? Erik knew I was terrified of spiders, yet he brought one into our room, for pity's sake! Not only that, he knew it could get out—and he said that he wanted me to hold it. Me, hold that beast?

Not if Erik knew what was good for him.

Huffing a little—though there was no one around to see it—I drew a pillow near to me and alternately cuddled and throttled it, pretending that the innocent white bit of fluff was my dear husband.

It was not long before the door opened and Erik cautiously peered around it. "Christine? Can I come back in?" The meal that he had brought us earlier—now cold on the dresser—was dinner; the sun had set.

I stared at him evenly, looking up from the pillow in my lap. We had been in the midst of one of our strangling moments. "Do you have any spiders with or on you?"

"No."

"How can I believe you?" Telling me the spider couldn't escape was the first time he'd really lied to me, after all—at least that I knew of. Not just hiding his emotions or teasing me, but an actually, flat-out lie.

Erik sighed. "Christine—" he began, stepping into the room. He held his arms out to the side as though to prove he was spider-less. "I promise. I don't have any spiders of any sort." I just looked at him. A mischievous glint came into his eye, then; Erik lightly kicked the door shut and began removing his shirt. "Would you like me to prove it to you?" He asked, his tone striving for innocent but falling into seductive.

Oh, no. He wasn't going to get away with this that easily. I forced my eyes away from him and tried to block out the tempting quality of his voice. This was not a simple task, as his mouth was quickly at the tender spot where my neck met my shoulders. Erik, I thought dreamily as he kissed my skin. My hands curled up around his shoulders to draw him nearer—and then I remembered that I was angry with him. I slid my hand reluctantly back up his neck and across his cheek until I could slip my fingers between his lips and my skin. "Do we still have a couch in the other room?" I asked softly; our inn-room was quite well appointed, with separate areas for the bedroom and a kitchen/living room.

Erik froze. "Yes…" He finally answered slowly, his mouth tickling my hand.

I hated saying this. I hated it. But I was too angry with him to let him stay next to me tonight. Still, my request was phrased as a question when I asked, "Would you mind sleeping on it instead?"

He pulled away from me abruptly, and his voice was very cool when he answered simply, "If you wish." I tried not to wince; this would be the first night of our marriage we had not at least simply held each other. I almost tried to take back my words, but Erik was already distant, gathering a blanket and a pillow as he headed into the other room.

I buried my face in my hands till he was gone.

Erik

I spent most of that night cursing spiders and myself with equal ingenuity. Trying to be angry at Christine proved, as usual, a nearly futile gesture; I was hurt by her request, yes, but I knew it was mostly my own fault. I had known how much she hated spiders; why hadn't I listened to my inner Nadir when he informed me that my idea for a pet was less than brilliant?

Sighing to myself, I settled down into the early hours of the morning. Sleep was nowhere to be found; apparently I did not fall asleep half as easily without my wife's company as I did with it, and as a result my old pattern of wakefulness in the nighttime was keeping me from blissful unconsciousness.

It was easy to pretend I was slumbering, however, when a ghostlike Christine entered the room. Through half-lidded eyes I watched her pale nightgown approach in the darkness; she paused, hovering next to me, for a long moment in which I nearly forgot to breathe.

I did forget that I needed air to survive when she leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to my mouth.

She did not try to wake me; she just kissed me and returned to bed. I think we both knew that I was, in fact, not sleeping, and we both understood that this was not an invitation to return with her. It was simply a sweet little gesture, an utterly Christine action that said I love you—even though I'm angry with you.

Ahhh, mon ange. For a man who had been temporarily banished to his couch, I was smiling deeply when I fell asleep.

Christine

Words cannot tell how grateful I was the next morning when, as I was fixing our breakfast, I felt Erik come up behind me, wrap his arms around my waist, and press a kiss to the back of my neck. I had missed him last night more than I cared to admit. Enough, in fact, that I had gone looking for him; I had been halfway across the living room when I realized that he was not asleep. Months ago—a year ago—the thought of approaching him when he was awake and quite possibly angry with me would have sent me scampering back to bed; but this was my husband. Instead of running, I simply pretended that he was still sleeping and did what I came to do—give him a light, sweet kiss to let him know, even if only in dreams, that I loved him.

I knew that we would not speak of it this morning; that was not the way of things with Erik and me. But much can be communicated without words; as my kiss had been last night, his this morning was a gentle echo of I love you.

Nearly, I murmured 'Missed you,' before I remembered exactly whose fault it was that we had slept separately in the first place. I think Erik heard me anyway; he kissed me again, this time a gentle touch on my cheek. "Good morning," he yawned.

How is it that my husband holds so powerful an attraction for me that I find something like a yawn—a lazy stretch and snap of his jaw, reminiscent of a lion—utterly magnetizing? I shivered pleasantly and melted back into him, letting the knife I had been using to cut an apple drop back to the countertop. I knew he was wearing a smug grin, but I couldn't help it; he always did this to me.

If I was lucky, he always would.

That was a pleasant thought; an eternity of being seduced by my husband.

Lost in contentment, I barely noticed when something crawled onto my shoulder that was not a hand. My ignorance didn't last long, however; thoroughly and suddenly, the thought spider rang through my body.

Erik swore; it was the last thing I heard before I blacked out.

--Chapter End—

Wow, guys (well . . . most of us are probably gals, but it's all good), your reviews make my day! Thanks so much to everyone for liking this little tale of mine! Here's a bit more for you –grin-

Godessofwisdom: Yes, it was! That's the definition of fluff, after all; and here's another chapter of it for you. Thanks for reviewing!

Clever Lass: Yeah, GloRaoul (lol, thanks for the term) is a sweetie, but I'm glad to know where your loyalties lie. –grin-. Thanks for your reviews, m'dear, this one's for you!

Mominator: LOL! I remember having a spider-dream . . . I was about three or four years old, and I quite clearly remember there being an eight-foot black widow on the wall above my bed. I woke up –screaming- for mom and dad, and whether or not there was really a spider there, I will never know, but they told me they squished one to get me to go back to sleep. Ewww, they pop? Eww! I didn't need to know that. Truly. I'm of the sort that is utterly incapable of squishing them . . . . –deep shudder- Thanks for your review, as always! Oh yeah, he is in HUGE trouble. Especially now.

PhantomLover2005: Thanks for reviewing! Yes, we'll cower away and try to tempt . . . erm, beg . . . Erik into not making us hold it. He just got a little bored and decided that it was time for Christine to overcome this fear; besides, he likes spiders. Ewwwww. Updating for you!

Rose McCann: Lol, thanks so much for reading and reviewing—I'm glad you're liking my particular brand of Erik-humor. It's one of my favorite parts of his character. Woohoo, someone else loved the image of Erik playing with that dagger! I'm rather fond of that scene myself. Thanks for loving this little tale of mine; here's a bit more of it. Merci!

ThisbeAngel: -Grin- Thanks—I'm grateful that you like it enough that you are anxious to finish it! Oooh, if you've only gotten to chapter 8 . . . . everyone's favorite chapter is awaiting you next, m'dear! Glad you like it so much; here's a bit more for you!

Son Kat: Glad that you like it! And here's another appearance of Monsieur Spider for you; he's an entertaining little beast, isn't he? Thanks for reading!

phantomlovin4ever: Quite a few of us seem to be arachnophobic, which is interesting considering how much Erik tends to identify with spiders (at least in Kay). Lol, I know you won't read this for a while, but it'll be here waiting for you when you get back—have fun! And thanks, btw, for always being such a faithful reviewer—it makes me a very happy little author!

SoccerFreak2516: Heheh, maybe you can help Christine with her critter problem, then! Camps are always interesting . . . updating soon for you; thanks for reading and reviewing, and for liking this so much. Merci, merci!