Christine dabbed at Maragareite's brow with a damp cloth, not unlike Erik had done three months before. The girl growled but did not turn away. She had developed a fever a few days after Erik had rescued her from the flooded corridors, no doubt, from the polluted water that she most likely had swallowed.

The gondola had indeed tipped over when she lost grip of the long staff and had leapt to catch it, causing the little boat to capsize. Fall into the water she had grazed her head against the stone wall, knocking her unconscious. She was angry at herself for the mishap, but not nearly as angry as she was with Erik. How DARE he ignore her warning? Never before had he pushed like that at her fragile mind that she guarded so carefully. What made him think she would tell him now, what she feared and what hid behind those oak eyes?

"Hold still will you?" Christine snapped at the girl, pressing the cloth to her head, water trickling down her temples. The girl glared but stopped fidgeting, staring into space now with her thoughts. Christine sighed and caught a falling drop of water with a dry cloth that Erik who now slept in a large chair, had provided.

Having slept for a day after fainting, and then being forced the next two days to stay bedridden had not done much for her temper, but had done well for her health. She had snapped more then once at Erik for small things, who after his first outburst towards her, had slipped back into the obsessive, adoring phantom that had once stalked her. He now bent to her every whim, and more, offering water and food before she asked, tucking her in every our or so, despite the biting remarks he received in turn from her. After a few days, Christine was able to move about the lair without a large amount of exertion, and he coughing fits had stooped all together. Despite her annoyance at Erik's constant hovering, much worse then Raoul's had been, Christine found herself worried that Erik had not had enough rest himself the past few days in between taking care of Christine and Margareite. She had not once seen Erik sleep (although he was snatching half hour naps wile both girls slept), and rarely saw him eating. Once she was able to get up and around, she had immediately put herself in charge of the girl, and sent Erik to sleep, despite his protests.

"You've done enough, Erik," she had told him. "Go sleep." Erik had shaken his head wearily.

"No," he had protested. "I have to care-"

"You DON'T have to care for me any longer, and I can care for the girl."

"Her name is Magrageite," he had snapped, the first show of any energy he had shown in two days coming out in protectiveness. Christine sighed.

"I know, Erik. I do not mean it unkindly." she had assured him. "Now SLEEP." She pointed towards the bed, up the stairs where Margareite slept comfortably. Erik had shaken his head again, this time, feverishly.

"NOW!" she had commanded sharply.

"It's not that," Erik answered. "I can't sleep in there. It would scare Margareite."

"Then sleep in a chair, Erik," she answered, slightly annoyed, but understanding. "For Christ's sake, Erik, just get some sleep. You look like the dead walking." She gave a small gasp as soon as she had spoken the words, biting her lip. Erik had flinched but said nothing, turning away and stalking towards the chair large stuffed chair.

"Erik-"she had called quietly after him, stepping forward. "I did not mean to speak so lightly of ..." she trailed off, not wanting to say "looking like death." The large man had settled down in the chair in utter science, refusing to look at her, and closed his eyes, with a sigh before falling asleep.

Christine placed the wet cloth upon the bedside table, Margareite having fallen asleep now, or so it seemed. She stood, one of her knees cracking uncomfortably. If Erik had sat by they're sides like this any longer then she had, she pitied him, her knees aching terribly. Gathering her simple skirts that she had traded for the nightshift that she had worn the night Erik had secreted her away, despite his protests. He had wanted to bestow her with fine cloths and shining jewelry, but Christine would have none of it.

"Who would I have out to show to Erik, down here in the …place," she had argued, forcing herself to replace her original intent to say "hell". Erik had agreed, but she could see the hurt flash in his eyes at her rejection of his want, NEED to give her everything he could, and the best of it.

Turning, she gazed upon the sleeping Erik, tucked in a chair that held Margareite with ease, but had his long legs draping over the side uncomfortably. Shaking her head, she grasped one of the extra silken sheets that lay at the end of the bed and walked down the stairs silently, striding to him with a soft rustle of skirts and placing the blanket about him, tucking it into his sides. She couldn't afford to have him catch cold as well. She stepped back, her eyes memorizing his strong jaw and long lashes. Once before, she had had the urge to fling off the mask, but now, knowing what lay behind that milk white adornment, and the anger and agony that came with it, she felt nothing but pity for the deformed man that slept before her. A soft rustle behind her caught her attention and she turned to find Margareite sitting in the bed, looking at her with doe eyes so like Christine's own, a midnight black emotion hiding behind them.

"Is he asleep?" she asked, her voice deadly cold.

"Yes," Christine answered carefully.

"Good," the girl replied. "I want to talk to you."