A/N-Thank you all so very much for your wonderful comments on the last two "scraps" in this series. I'm so glad you are enjoying these one-shots and little glimpses into Erik and Christine's world.

FFN seems to have fixed its notifications glitch, so I am re-posting this section. As always, please please leave a comment and let me know what you think. :)

Addiction

Jan 2017

"No, goddamit, Erik, I said NO." Tears streaked her reddened cheeks as Christine faced her angry husband. Erik stood with fists clenched, his black eyes flashing fire and his breathing unsteady. He would never hurt her, she knew, but his temper could be terrifying.

Already he could feel that vague sense of unease, a slight sweat on his forehead, the clammy hands. "Where," he said tightly, "did you put that black case?"

She lifted her chin. A brave chin, but quivering, knowing what was to come. "Your morphine, you mean."

"Yes." The clipped voice should have warned her.

"I disposed of it." There, it was out. Done, for better or worse.

"You WHAT?" he roared, and immediately felt the slam of self-loathing as she stumbled back from him, dodging his outstretched hand.

"I threw it away. In the lake. Weighted down." She was sobbing now, that look of terror in her eyes, the look he'd not seen since that night so long ago, when she'd removed his mask.

He rocked back, sucking in a deep breath, feeling the flickers at the edge of his mind. Madness and chaos, threatening to overwhelm his precarious sense of control. He could not, would not hurt her, but men had died at his hands for less. She could see it in his eyes.

"You can't keep taking that stuff. It will kill you. It IS killing you, it's killing you slowly and I can't stand it, I love you, Erik, and that stuff is poison, and it's killing you, and I can't take this, watching you slip away every time, falling and fading and mumbling and then you're asleep for hours and you won't wake up and you aren't you when you do wake up, and it's horrible and I HATE it!" She was screaming at him, her hair falling in disarray, her small fists clenched and tight against her body, hunched against his rage.

Screaming at him, as so many others had screamed at him. He grasped for sanity. "Christine, I cannot just suddenly stop. It's not…I need it!" How could he make her understand? That it was sometimes the only way he could sleep? Could quiet the screaming in his mind, could silence the voices, the memories, could shut out the horrors of a past she knew nothing of? He seized her arms. "Where did you throw it?'

But she was shaking her head, teeth chattering, sobbing in her fear and desperation. "In the middle, where it's deepest, near the whirlpool. You'll never get it back."

The darkness took him. "You unthinking bitch!" he snarled, shoving her away, hard, not caring when she stumbled and caught herself on the sofa, sinking down and burying her face, her sobs shaking her body. He whirled, catching up his cloak. "Prying and sneaking into my….I'll buy more. You can't stop me."

"But I can." The voice was calm, deep, filled with sorrow and resignation. Christine gasped and rose from the sofa, tripping over her long gown as she flung herself into the arms of the Persian. He held her briefly, protectively, then gently moved her aside. "Come now, Erik, you know your usage was getting out of control. You've not composed in weeks, not left the house in months. You're killing yourself, and I didn't save your worthless skin in Tehran only to let you destroy yourself here. Christine deserves better."

"She shouldn't interfere…she doesn't understand," he snarled, and the Persian shook his head.

"She loves you and that gives her the right. You're killing yourself, Erik, and I won't stand for it."

"You can't stop me." Was that ugly voice his?

The Persian's eyes narrowed and he dropped into a crouch, flexing his hands, ready as Erik came at him, snarling and furious. Horrified, Christine ducked around the sofa, rubbing her arms where there would be bruises later. The two men grappled, Khan easily twisting out of the other man's grasp and striking him a hard, deliberate blow across the face, where the bare nasal cavities had no protection. Erik reeled back with a cry, blood pouring from under the mask, the acute pain dissipating the tunnel vision rage. Breathing hard, Khan handed him a folded linen handkerchief.

He collapsed on the chair, hands shaking, the acid taste of fear rising in his throat. "You know what this means, Daroga, you know. I can't…I can't stop. It nearly killed me the last time."

The Persian looked down at him, compassion and pain in his eyes. "I know it, dooset mann, and we will be here for you. But this ends tonight."

"Christine…" He looked at her, anguished and horrified, regretting his earlier actions. She flew into his arms and he held her, more frightened than he had been in years of the coming dawn.