The sun was setting when Erik finally arrived home. The beautiful white house was surrounded by gardens of flowers tended to by him and his wife, and the sight of them made his eyes water with pride. Tucked away in the country, hidden from the knowledge of most people, the home was ideal for the two of them.

He unhitched the horse from the carriage and tended to the beast, making sure it was comfortable in its stable before heading inside to the house.

"Wife!" he called out as he locked the door behind him. "I am home!"

Christine came out to meet him, a beaming smile on her face.

"Erik! And just where have you been all afternoon? Did you get a lot of errands done?"

She reached for his hat and cape.

He hesitantly let her take them both and place them in the closet, torn between letting her attend to him like any other man would let his wife do or simply doing it himself so as to lessen the amount of work Christine had to do.

"How is your ankle, my dear?" he asked anxiously, ignoring her own questions. "I am surprised to see you up and about. Are you feeling quite alright?"

"I'm feeling much better, love, thank you for asking. I just got up a little while ago, I think all of the rest this afternoon truly helped."

Erik watched her closely as she walked to the closet to stow the cape and hat. She still had a minor limp, and it annoyed him to no end that she hadn't stayed in bed for longer - how dare she risk her safety like that? Didn't she know how precious she was to him, how he wouldn't be able to go on without her? He would never forgive himself if any harm, no matter how minor, came to her while she was under his care.

He recalled with a shudder the events of that morning, hearing her little scream and running out to the front yard to see her sprawled across the ground - oh, he nearly died right then and there! But she had pulled herself up to a sitting position and explained that while watering the flowers she had merely tripped over a rock that was unexpectedly hiding in the grass, so he had scooped her up in his arms and carried her inside to her bed, tending to her sprained ankle and weeping over the little scratches and cuts that peppered her hands from where she tried to break her fall.

That rock. He narrowed his eyes, just thinking about it again. After seeing to Christine's comfort he had returned to the front yard and searched until he had found it, storing it away in his work room where he intended to pulverize it with a hammer for its sin of harming Christine.

If he could, he would keep her sealed away in her room, safe from treacherous rocks, from leering eyes, from anything and everything that might seek to do her ill, but he knows how much she loves her freedom and he could never trap her here like that.

He did, however, insist that she stay in bed until he returned so as to not stress her poor ankle any further. He had heaved a deep sigh after he told her that, mournfully saying that now she would not be able to go with him and meet his friend for tea.

"This is the first you've mentioned it, Erik," she had said curiously.

"I wanted it to be a surprise," he had nodded sadly. "But you simply cannot go now, Christine, the carriage ride would jostle your ankle far too much and you must stay and rest."

Christine had thought over his words the entire day. Erik's friend. Her lips quirked every time the idea came to her. A friend. How utterly normal or Erik to have a friend. It did make one wonder, as he had often in the past made firm comments to the effect of "Erik has no friends" - which always drew a look from her, at which point he would realize what he had just said and gasp, falling at her feet and begging forgiveness because of course Erik had a friend, he had Christine and how on earth could he have forgotten her sweet, blessed friendship that Erik did not deserve? - but still it remained that she herself was likely the only person she could imagine falling into that category.

Erik knew people, of course he did. But knowing people did not automatically make them friends. How on earth would a friendship even form between him and someone else?

It was quite possible, she supposed, that somewhere in his long life he had acquired a friend of sorts, but she had to admit it was awfully strange that this 'friend' be brought up now - it was only the night before that Christine had talking about throwing a Christmas party in a few months, and she was making a list of friends she would like to invite. Erik had listened to the list grow longer and longer and he had fidgeted nervously as it did, until finally he had mentioned quite meekly, "You have quite a lot of friends, my dear," - at which point he had become quite and reserved as though he were thinking over a matter of great importance. She had felt a little stab guilt - surely he had never had the opportunity to make so many friends, and surely that must pain him. But certainly at the party he would see that her friends could become his friends as well - and if they didn't treat her husband with all the kindness he deserved, well, they wouldn't be her friends for very much longer, either.

And it certainly was suspicious to her that it was only mentioned at a time when she was not able to go - only being told of it just after being told that she must stay put all day. Very odd, she mused.

She had finally come to the conclusion that while he might possibly have had a friend at some point in time, that it was far more likely he was merely saying it to save face, as it were. He wanted to feel like everyone else, to feel normal, and that wasn't such a crime, was it? No, she would let him say whatever he wished if it made him feel better, and she would go along with it.

"Christine, you are limping," he admonished, following her to the closet.

"But it doesn't pain me very much, and it is so boring to stay in bed all day, you know," she turned to face him.

She could tell he was about to start fussing over her, perhaps even carry her back to her room - that simply wouldn't do. She drew closer to him, slowly and carefully reaching a hand towards the flowing silk of his mask. He froze, cringing back just slightly as she lifted the silk. He knew what she was doing, yet even still he couldn't help the instinctual urge to pull back and run. She smiled encouragingly at him before standing on her tip toes to press a kiss to those thin, terrible lips before letting the silk drop back down and hide his face once more. He breathed a contented sigh and his shoulders relaxed. It still made her heart twist so to see him react with such anxiety whenever she reached for his face. One day, she swore to herself, one day he will become so used to being kissed that his first thought won't be to run away anymore. She would make certain of it.

"Enough about me, though. How did your errands go?" she asked.

"They went very well," he nodded. "But Erik didn't just run errands today, Christine - he also had he tea with his friend."

Her lips quirked.

"Oh, of course. And what did Erik and his friend talk about during tea?"

"Why, about you of course!"

She raised an eyebrow.

"Hmm, is that so?"

"Yes, and he is coming to dinner next week."

"Next week, is he?"

"You need not trouble yourself over it, my dear, Erik will make all the necessary preparations and cook for the evening," he gently ran a hand ever so lightly over her hair, so softly that he barely touched her.

"I am quite looking forward to it," she smiled at him.

He did indeed end up carrying her back to her bed, where he insisted she stay the rest of evening, even going so far as to bring the dinner he cooked into her on a tray.

She wondered at whether or not anyone was actually going to show up next week, and if so what kind of person they'd be. But as the week went on she found she rather forgot about it - she simply had too much else to think about without wondering whether or not anyone was coming to dinner. There were librettos and scores to pick up from the Opera Populaire, and then they had to be studied and practiced - ever since moving to the new house, she had renegotiated her contract to allow her to continue with her career on the stage with the minimal amount of in-person rehearsals needed, so much of her singing practice took place at home.

So it took her somewhat by surprise when Erik stormed into the sitting room and announced that his friend had suddenly had to cancel their dinner plans, interrupting her reading and pulling her from her thoughts.

She blinked as he paced the floor, clearly upset over the news he had just delivered. She set the libretto aside, placing it on the table next to her glass of wine.

"Oh, it's alright, Erik," her mind was still halfway somewhere else and not fully thinking over what she said. "I figured that would happen."

Erik paused in his pacing to turn and look at her.

"Why would Christine think that?"

She cursed herself for her half-flippant answer. She certainly couldn't say Because I thought you were making the whole thing up, dear, - no, he would definitely not like that answer.

She picked up the libretto again, fiddling with the pages, and shrugged.

"Well, you know how it is, Erik - people get busy, things come up, plans get changed. You know," she gestured vaguely.

He seemed to accept this.

"He says he will come by for dinner on Saturday, instead," he informed her. "Erik will never forgive him if he cancels again."

She considered this carefully before replying.

"Saturday is fine. Of course, he doesn't have to come to dinner, Erik," she reminded him gently.

He narrowed his eyes.

"You... do not wish him to come to dinner at all?"

"No! No, I didn't mean that. I just mean, I completely understand if he is busy again, or otherwise delayed, or simply not able to come at all. You don't need to bring him here to prove anything, you know."

Christine had a look on her face that was all too familiar- it seemed he had seen a similar look on the Daroga's face not too long ago when Erik was telling him about Christine.

"Christine," he said evenly. "What exactly would I be 'proving' if I brought him here?"

She opened her mouth to speak but closed it again, searching for the right words.

"It's- it's just a figure speech, I didn't mean anything specific by it..."

Erik was silent, staring at her blankly. He knew that sometimes - only very occasionally, mind you - he had a tendency to... overreact. Perhaps it was just his annoyance with the Daroga seeping over into his conversation with Christine - surely she didn't doubt the existence of his friend the same way that friend doubted her own existence? No, that couldn't be, Christine was above thinking things like that-

The silence seemed to stretch too long for Christine's liking, and she fumbled for words to fill it.

"I mean of course it's nice to have friends for dinner, but life gets in the way of plans so often, it doesn't mean they're not your friend..."

She trailed off, feeling silly.

Erik stared silently for a moment, tapping the tips of his fingers together.

"You think the Daroga is not my friend?"

"N-no... That's not what I said!"

"But it's what you implied," he said stubbornly.

She gave a frustrated huff.

"Erik, I don't care one bit if he comes over for dinner or not, if you say the man is your friend then I believe you."

But by now Erik was too wound up to accept any words that might defuse the situation.

"Was there any question about whether or not you believed Erik had a friend?" his voice was petulant.

"Well..." she hesitated. "I'm just surprised to hear about him, that's all. You've often said you don't have any friends, so I just assumed..."

Erik's shoulders slumped.

"Why must people always believe the worst of Erik?" he cried. "Why is it no one thinks that Erik has friends?"

Christine made no comment on how it was now suddenly 'friends' in the plural. She simply sighed and stood up, slowly going across to stand in front of him.

"Does my own wife think me so repellent that she assumes I am unable to form so basic a connection with another human being?" he continued to cry as she approached him. "Do you really think that I-"

He broke off and watched her with confusion as she reached out and gently placed her hands on his arms before leaning against him. His hands flew up and hovered near her before finally going around her to enfold her into an embrace, and he sighed happily, forgetting that he was still mad at her. He was upset that she didn't believe him, of course - but who was he to deny any affection she wished to show him? He held her tightly and closed his eyes.

She smiled secretly - she had discovered the trick to stopping his fits of ill temper and petulance shortly after they had gotten married, and it had yet to fail her.

They stood like that a while longer - Erik was most certainly not going to be the one to pull away first. He merely held her and swayed just a little, rocking them back and forth. Christine looked up at him.

"When was the last time you had something to eat, Erik?"

He opened his eyes and thought about this. He caught her looking at him and he guiltily averted his gaze.

"Christine is so sweet to her Erik, so kind to worry about when he eats," he murmured instead of giving a real answer, rubbing a hand up and down her back.

"Erik," she chided gently. "You haven't eaten all day, have you?"

She noticed his odd moods and lack of recent food often coincided.

He didn't answer, which she took as confirmation.

"Why don't you sit with me on the couch, love, and we'll have a little snack? How does that sound?" she asked hopefully.

He hesitated - he didn't feel hungry (he never felt hungry, really) but sitting on the couch with her did sound very nice.

"Come now, sit right here," she led him over to the couch, placing a hand on his shoulder and pressing gently until he sat. "Don't move - I'll be right back."

She grabbed his hand and pressed a kiss to his fingers, then quickly turned and left the room.

He gasped as her lips had caressed his bony fingers, and he held that hand out in front of his face and stared at it with rapt wonder - every touch from Christine was a blessing, a miracle, and he would never cease to marvel over each one he received.

He dropped his hand only when Christine entered the room again - his wonder-struck mind had barely registered that she'd left in the first place. He watched as she set a platter down on the table next to them, a platter filled with cut fruit and cubes of cured meat and cheeses, along with a pile of crackers. She had also brought napkins and a second glass of wine, which she pushed towards him.

"But I am not hungry, my dear-" he tried to protest.

"Oh, you aren't going to make me eat this entire plate of food all by myself, are you?" she pouted. "I already took it all out, it's going to waste otherwise!"

She looked up at him with such pleading eyes. He reached out and grabbed a cracker which he promptly ate, and a grin formed on her face. She began to eat with him.

They talked of her upcoming role in the latest opera and about the songs she was currently working on for a while until he suddenly remembered what they had been talking about just before she had hugged him.

"The Daroga will come over for dinner, you'll see," he said in a slightly worried voice. "Erik does have a friend."

Her face softened. She hoped he was correct - it was terribly sad to think otherwise.

"Of course he'll come over," she tried to soothe his worries. "I'm sure he will."

He looked at her with those sad eyes, all that was visible under his mask, but all that was needed to convey the anguish he felt.

"I mean it Christine - Erik would never lie to you."

She paused mid-bite and stared at him.

He realized what he had said and began to wring his hands.

"I- I mean, Erik would never lie to you anymore-!"

"If you say so, Erik," she finished chewing the cube of meat.

"I do, I do!" he begged. "Erik has not lied to his Christine, not since-! And that is the truth! He hasn't lied at all since he stopped being the angel, has he? Not- not recently, has he?"

She took a sip of wine and considered this.

"I don't know, Erik," she said evenly. "Have you?"

His eyes widened and he made a noise halfway between a choke and a high pitched whine in his throat as he fell forward and wept into her lap, begging for her forgiveness with numerous entreaties, praising her saintly kindness, and swearing oaths that there would be no more lies.

Distantly she wondered what he had lied about recently to put him into such a state. She merely sighed and reached down to stroke the hair of his wig and gently scratch his scalp - a sensation he had assured her he could still feel even through the wig - until he began to calm.

"What are you going to cook when the Daroga comes over?" she asked.

"Fish," he said in a small voice, still not lifting his face from where it was buried in her skirts. "And pasta, with a cream sauce."

"That sounds lovely," she offered.

He didn't reply, only slowly sitting up and trying to sniff deeply.

Her brow furrowed at the noise.

"Do- do you need to take your mask off?"

He nodded solemnly.

She usually had no qualms about seeing his face, but this situation was a little different, and she knew he'd appreciate the privacy. She politely looked away as he turned from her and removed the mask, grabbing the napkin off the table and pressing it to the area on his face where a nose should have been. She closed her eyes and tried to pretend that she was not hearing the noises that she was most definitely hearing. She loved her husband dearly, but she did wish that he wasn't so prone to episodes of weeping, if for no other reason than it tended to make his nose - or lack thereof - run, and when that happened it was not a pleasant experience for either of them.

His task completed, he swiftly returned the mask and strategically folded the napkin before placing it on the table once more. Christine looked at him once more.

"And speaking of dinner - what are we going to have tonight?" she asked lightly, as though the past few minutes hadn't happened at all.

"We can have anything you wish, my dear," he replied, only a slight tremble left in his voice.

"Can we have a cake for dessert, perhaps?" she tried. "Can I help you make it?"

"Of course," he nodded.

They were both quite glad to leave the earlier conversation at that.