Author's note: My good pal Ripper de la Blackstaff has been good enough to illustrate this story for me. Her drawings can be seen at my blog-site, listed on my profile page. Go check them out; she's very good!


They got Erik safely to Philippe's flat and helped him inside. Surrounded by fluttering servants, Philippe assigned one to wait for the doctor, another to prepare guest rooms for all three of them, and still another to heat water and making tea.

They eased Erik down on the bed in one of the guest rooms, and Gerard reached for the buttons of Erik's shirt. "Might want to avert your eyes, mademoiselle," he told Christine. He had no idea what she and Erik had done together over this last week while she was staying with him, but Christine still had such an innocent demeanour that he was willing to bet she'd never seen Erik even so much as shirtless.

Philippe turned to her. "Why don't I show you to your room?" he asked tactfully. "The doctor should be here any minute, and he won't want anyone else in here while he's examining M. Carriere."

With one last long look at Erik, Christine nodded. "Yes, thank you, Philippe."

Her room was large and comfortable, and best of all, it was just across the hall from Erik's. She would be able to hear when the doctor came and left, and find out how Erik was doing.

The doctor arrived shortly, and the butler showed him right up. Philippe had gone back into Erik's room, and the doctor unceremoniously ordered him to leave—and Gerard too.

"No," Erik said weakly, grasping Gerard's forearm. "My father stays."

"But sir, the bullet must be dug from your shoulder! It will not be a pretty sight."

"Nevertheless," Erik said. "He stays."

"I'll stay," Gerard confirmed with a nod to the doctor. He could guess Erik's fear: that the doctor would drug him and then unmask his face while he slept.

"Very well," the doctor replied tightly. "If you're staying, you can make yourself useful."

"I'm at your service."

"I'll need you to hold him down while I remove the bullet."

Christine waited just inside her door, ear pressed to it, to try and hear what was going on. She heard the low rumble of men's conversation, and then she heard the door open and close. She opened hers a crack and saw Philippe stalking down the corridor. She called his name, and he turned.

"Do you need any help, Christine? I can send up a maid to help you undress."

She shook her head. "No, thank you; I'm used to doing it myself. But Philippe, what about Erik? What did the doctor say?"

Now it was his turn to shake his head. "I don't know. He chucked me out of the room, and Gerard, too, only Erik wouldn't let Gerard leave. I think perhaps…"

He was interrupted by a long groan of pain issuing from inside Erik's room. Christine gasped. "Oh! Will he be all right?"

"Let's hope so; M. Leblanc is the best doctor I know. Here, as long as you're awake, why don't you come down to the drawing room with me, and have a glass of wine."

"Oh, no, I couldn't! Thank you, but I must find out how Erik is."

Philippe shrugged. He wasn't keen on hanging about in the hallway with the woman he loved while she fretted and worried about another man. "Very well, but if you change your mind, do come down." He patted her on the shoulder and left.

Christine bit her lip and stayed, waiting for the doctor to leave the room.

It seemed to take forever, but he finally came out. He gave Christine a curt nod and started to walk past, but she touched his arm. "Doctor, how is he? Shall he be all right?"

Leblanc spread out his hands. "I can't say, mademoiselle. The bullet has been removed, but the risk of infection is high. And with the fall he took right afterwards—well, he shan't be doing anything strenuous for a few weeks, such as, oh, say, walking."

Christine's stricken expression told the doctor what he wanted to know, but he asked anyway. "You care about his health, do you, young lady?"

"Yes—we are to be married. He just made his proposal this evening."

"I wish you joy, then, and ask for your help. I know from experience how hard it can be to keep some men in their beds for long enough to heal properly. If you want a whole and healthy husband when you marry him, mademoiselle, then I ask you to exert yourself to keep him in bed for at least a week. Longer would be better, but unless I miss my guess, a week will be all you can manage. Will you do that?"

"Yes, sir, and thank you."

"Very well, then." The doctor hesitated a brief moment, and then blurted out his question. "Why does he wear a mask?"

"He has a…" Almost too late, Christine realised that it was not her secret to tell. "He has an unusual-looking face; he does not like to reveal it to people," she finally said.

The doctor nodded. "That much I knew already." He turned to leave.

"Doctor, can…"

The doctor paused and half-turned back.

"May I see him?"

"I've given him some laudanum, to help him sleep for a while. You can go in, but don't expect him to say much." He turned and was gone down the corridor.

Christine crossed the hall and rapped lightly on the door before opening it slowly.

"Ah, Mademoiselle Daee, come in," Gerard greeted her with a smile. He bowed and offered her the only chair in the room, a low wooden one positioned right beside Erik's bed.

Erik lay quite still, almost as white as the bedsheets. They were pulled up to his chin, but Christine could see the lump that the bandage underneath made in the sheets.

She sank into the chair. "How is he?" Christine whispered.

"Better than he should be, considering how far he fell, and with a shoulder wound. The doctor says the hard part will be keeping him in bed as long as he needs to be."

"What shall we do, then?" Christine asked. "He won't want to stay here and accept Philippe's hospitality."

"He may have to," Gerard said with a sigh. "For a few days at least." He stretched and yawned. "Damn the boy and his stubborn pride. His paranoia is costing me my sleep!"

Christine smiled at his beleaguered tone of voice. "Why, what do you mean?"

"He won't let me leave him alone in here, for fear someone will come in and unmask him while he's drugged."

Christine laughed, a soft, musical sound. "Then you may go to bed and sleep soundly, monsieur. I'll stay up with him. I wouldn't be getting any sleep anyway, and this way I can make sure he's all right."

"Are you sure, mam'selle? You have a reputation to consider."

She grinned. "I doubt I'm in any danger of ravishment from an unconscious man," she countered. "I would like to stay with him. And besides, we are fiancés now. Go on to bed, monsieur."

"You're engaged? Really? My sincere congratulations, mam'selle!" Gerard came over and bent to kiss her enthusiastically on both cheeks. "Oh, and you must call me Gerard now, since we shall be family!"

"And likewise, I shall be Christine," she replied. "Now, go to bed, Gerard!"

"Good night, my dear." He beamed at her and left the room.

Alone in the room with her unconscious fiancé, Christine indulged her curiosity and pulled the sheet down a little, to see the bandaged shoulder. She couldn't see the wound, though, and she was about to pull the sheet back up when she realised what she was looking at: Erik's bare chest.

He was a tall man, powerfully built, with broad shoulders and chest. She drew in a long breath as she gazed at him. She could see the outline of his muscles beneath the skin, a few fine, light brown hairs scattered across his chest.

He was beautiful.

She knew she shouldn't be peeking at him, but on the other hand he was completely unconscious and would never know. And plus, she didn't think he would mind, since she would be his wife soon. They would have to start planning some things, such as setting a wedding date and figuring out where they would live. She smiled to herself, thinking that maybe they could occupy themselves by discussing those things while Erik was bedridden—it might help keep him in bed longer!

She rested her hand lightly on his good shoulder, stroking down in a brief caress. His skin was warm and smooth, the fine hairs tickling her palm. She was tempted to bend down and touch her lips to the skin of his chest, and stopped herself just in time. The room was warm, but suddenly she shivered. One arm lay beside the pillow next to his head, and she slid her hand up his arm to take his hand in hers. She leaned back in the chair, still holding his hand.

"I love you, Erik," she whispered. "Get well soon, my dearest."

Was it her imagination, or did his fingers tighten on hers a fraction, before she slipped off into sleep?

Erik woke her later, as he tried to roll over and accidentally rolled onto his wounded shoulder. He groaned in pain, and Christine jumped to her feet. "Erik, please! You must lie still!"

He rolled back to face her, blinking in the dim gaslight. "I just reached the same conclusion myself." He tried to sit up, but lay back down again with a grunt of pain. "What happened? Where are we?"

"In Philippe's city flat, in the Boulevard des Courcelles. You were shot by one of the police officers, and then you fell off a ledge. Philippe, Gerard, and I managed to get you out of the opera by pretending you were dying."

"I feel as if I am," Erik remarked. He looked up at her with a tiny smile, though, and reached for her hand again. "I'm glad you're here, though. My heaven wouldn't be complete without you."

Christine returned his smile, and on a sudden whim, leaned down to kiss his lips. His response was sincere, if a little lethargic, but soon faded. Christine sat up again, amused as she watched his bare chest rise and fall with his even breathing.

Erik had fallen asleep again, right in the middle of their kiss!