Erik returned just before dinner, as promised, with a crate under his arm. Upon pushing open the heavy door, soft light and laughter filtered through. It was brighter than he'd left it, but since it was Christine's laughter he heard she mustn't've been distressed. He entered to see Nadir at one end of the table, the lovely Christine at the other, and between them a spread of cards.
"So you see, the cards dictate that you'll live in relative peace, aside from an upcoming conflict with your…" He squinted at the card in his hand. "Yes, a conflict with your dog- or does that suit mean movement?" Christine just laughed louder.
"I'm afraid M. Khan's card-reading skills are a bit rusty," Erik said from the doorway. The Persian jumped, but to his delight Christine looked up as if she'd expected his quiet entry. "If you want an accurate reading you'll have to visit a legitimate clairvoyant, if one exists."
"And a good evening to you too," the man at the table said, slightly miffed. Erik didn't notice; he was busy taking in Christine's brilliant grin. he was sure he hadn't seen her smile like that since the old days, when he approached her under false pretenses.
"How has your day been, Christine?" he asked as he set his crate down on the table. "Has M. Khan been bothering you this whole time? Did he mangle your meals?"
She chuckled. "Not at all! Erik, I never knew you had such an interesting friend!" The table shook slightly, causing one of the candles on it to fall over. She jumped slightly, resting her hand over her heart. "Though I suppose he needs a bit more light than we do, being slightly nearsighted."
"Nearsighted?" Erik scoffed, "why, he's positively myopic. The cards clearly read that you will live rich and happy and in complete contentment." And you will, if I have anything to say about it. "Now, Khan, out with you," he shooed, eager to get on with dinner. As tiring as constant care was, he had missed Christine's (mostly) quiet company. "Don't you have a lady friend to see or some such outing?"
Nadir smiled at this and stood, pushing out his chair. "I do, actually." When this succeeded in shocking both girl and caretaker into silence, he continued with a smile. "Her name is Li Biyu and she's the sharpest clerk at the embassy."
"Oh, well she's obviously too smart for you, Khan," Erik taunted.
"And too beautiful as well," Nadir agreed with a sigh.
Erik and Christine exchanged a laugh with their eyes. She pursed her lips to hold back a giggle. The corner of his own mouth twitched upwards- slightly. "Well, M. Khan, perhaps I'd like to meet her someday-"
"And in the meantime, I have washing to do, so you'd best go meet your ladylove," the masked man said pointedly. Christine felt her cheeks burn. She was glad Nadir didn't know exactly what sort of washing he referred to. "As entertaining as it is to watch you mooning over a woman, I don't believe she would be very pleased to know you spent your day off with another beautiful woman."
The man set his cap back on his head and set the cards back in order. "Well, I won't linger, since you are so clearly scooting me out the door." He paused and shrugged. "Not that I completely dislike leaving, I simply-"
"For heavens' sake man, just go," Erik said, eyes glinting. "You'll make a bad impression if you're late." Nadir said his goodbyes and was indeed scooted out the door. Erik huffed and crossed his long arms. " Now then, Christine-"
"You said I am beautiful," she blurted suddenly. "Or…was that not your intention?" She gazed up at him shyly. "I do not believe I am at all pretty, not like this." He opened his mouth slightly, then closed it, considering what to say. "And I know there will be scars." Her throat constricted at the thought.
"You are always beautiful," he said at last. "My descriptors of you still stand." Her wrapped hand grasped his. He let her hold his fingers for a moment before squeezing lightly. "Yes, Christine, there will be scars. I wish I could promise you a complete healing," he mourned, kneeling before her. "But I cannot even promise that the scars will fade away."
"You descriptors should include 'scared,'" she murmured. Her eyes were watering again. When she brushed the tears away before they could reach her raw cheeks, the bandaging around her head came loose, and fell limply at her neck. Her hair was completely gone, and over what remained of her scalp stretched patches of slowly healing tissue that extended down her forehead, between those sweet blue eyes, and across her mouth. Erik knew from experience that skin never knitted together exactly the same way it lay over flesh before.
"I cannot alleviate your fears. I've never been very good at that, I'm afraid," he said quietly. Tentatively, he rested one hand on her knee. She clasped that hand as well, and he let her squeeze it tight. If she needed to hold onto something, he would give her that hold. "Please, mon ange, do not weep. Only live one day at a time, and when you have healed you will find things are not so terrible as they seem now."
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because I believe you are stronger than you know." And he had never believed something so strongly.
…
True to her bright, normally optimistic self, Christine changed the topic of conversation. After all, they had to talk about something while he guided her to the bathtub and slowly unwrapped all her layers. The curious twist to her lips made him uneasy- whenever her mouth pursed in that particular shape, he knew a barrage of questions was coming.
Her back faced him when the first serious inquiry began. He'd removed his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves as usual, to let his hands gently unravel all the gauze and linen. It occurred to him that had fate been kinder, the two of them would be engaging in a different sort of disrobing. He shook those thoughts from his mind and sharpened his focus on the task at hand.
"You told me you were an architect." He swallowed. Her back's skin was still inflamed and covered in popped blisters. He'd left most of her skin on in the hope that it would reattach itself, but it was apparent that he might have to go in with the scalpel again.
"I did. Hold out your arms, please." She lifted her arms out of the way so he could access the wrapping around her torso. A shiver wracked her as cool air brushed her now uninsulated wounds.
"Nadir said you worked for the Shahanshah." He paused.
"And what did he say, exactly?" She did not turn around. That pesky daroga always has to run his mouth, doesn't he?
"He only said you catered to his whims…and sometimes it was dangerous." He continued in his work, a bit hurried.
"This is not suitable conversation for bath time, Christine."
"Then what is? I doubt any conversation is often involved in getting naked," she pointed out. He almost choked at her bluntness.
"I am not 'getting naked,'" he protested, stumbling over his words. "That is- I mean-" His suddenly clumsy fingers dropped the roll of collected linen on the floor, forcing him to lean down and fetch it. When he sat up again, his thoughts were a bit more organized. "Despite your somewhat off-color comments, I doubt you would appreciate my tending to you if you heard what exactly I did for the Shahanshah- besides designing him a palace, of course." He peered over her shoulder to glimpse her expression. Perhaps an evasion might be best. "Besides, I know little of what you've done these past months, and I've not asked. Courtesy shames prying, does it not?"
He regretted his question when her expression darkened. Obviously she wasn't eager to tell him why she was no longer engaged to the Vicomte. "I suppose I've asked too much. Forgive me."
The both stopped moving for a moment. "I'm sorry, Christine." He gulped past the familiar fear. "Might we strike a deal?" If she will live here, with me, she should know; it is her right, even if she reviles me for it.
"What sort of deal?" She let her arms drop to cover her now exposed chest despite the fact that her back was turned to him.
"Well," he said slowly, "when you are ready, you may tell me what has transpired since the incidents beneath the opera. Then, because you have a right to know, I will divulge my own sorry story." At this she nodded.
"We have a deal." He finished undoing the bandages and lowered her into the bath where her blood tinted the warm water pink.
…
Christine's questions did not end after she was again dressed in fresh strips of linen and a robe. It was early yet, and her internal clock had grown used to the darkness, so she requested to see what was inside the crate on the table. Erik had set her on the settee, where she leaned against the cushions as if she belonged there. Ahmar was currently snoozing in her lap, belly full and coppery eyes closed.
"I have found a solution regarding lighting, for the moment." He whipped the cover off the box and lifted a heavy metal object out, along with several cords and what looked like rectangular canisters of something. "I believe you're familiar with electric lanterns and other fixtures? With the addition of the latest batteries, this 'torch' becomes the cutting edge in portable lighting." He fiddled with the wires, clamped the batteries into place, and flipped the switch, flooding the dining area with a warm yellow light. Then he waved his hands like a magician revealing some hidden gem.
Christine smiled. He cocked his head at her, straightening. "What?" In the new light his eyes didn't glow so much, but instead looked amber.
She shook her head a bit. "Nothing- you just seem so happy with it, as if it were a new toy."
"I never had toys as a child, so I'm making up for that lack of amusement now. It just so happens that mechanics intrigue me."
"Oh yes, I remember," she laughed. All his trap doors and trick floors around the theater evidenced that his genius was fueled by a fanciful imagination. Then she sighed and tipped her head back, gazing at the ceiling. "Erik, what time is it?"
"It is…" he checked his pocket watch. "It is now a quarter past nine. Why the sudden interest?" She waved a hand.
"You'll think I'm silly," she muttered dismissively.
"I never think you're silly," he said. She lifted her head to give him a skeptical look. "Very well, I sometimes think you are silly. But that's no reason not to tell me what you want, is it?" he nudged rather archly.
She just gave another sigh. "I miss the stars." Erik swore his heart melted all over again. If his love wanted to see the stars again, she would. He strode off the the bedroom. She glanced at him again. "What are you doing?" He turned back at the entrance, a smile playing at his lips.
"You'll need a good coat and boots. It's cold outside." She grinned in reply, thrilled at the chance.
A minute later he returned with said items, both black and heavy. Christine wondered if he wore anything that wasn't black besides his dress shirts. Still, excitement coiled her belly into knots; she was going outside for the first time in almost ten days. It's a wonder I didn't go mad, cooped up underground. "One of yours?"
He held it up, visually measuring it. "Yes. It should be short enough, with the boots." He fussed a bit, then went back into the bedroom and came back with a smaller jacket in hand, as well as thick trousers and socks. She saw he had also changed his mask from a shiny white one to a velvety black. He doesn't know that I remember what he looks like, or that I don't mind. Maybe that will come up in time. "Lift your legs." As she did, Ahmar stirred and meowed a bit in protest. Erik chuckled as she crawled off to a different spot on the settee, one that didn't move so much.
Once Christine was bundled up in socks, trousers, jacket, and coat, he did up the buttons for her and stepped back as if to admire his work. When she began to tip to the side under the weight, he caught her by the elbow. She smiled up at him. "Do you think you could carry me outside as well?"
"If you wish," he said a bit stiffly, "though at this point in your recovery I believe a little exercise is encouraged." She straightened her legs. After periods of inactivity her knees wobbled, not to mention the difficulty caused by still-painful openings all across her skin. Her heart warmed at his attentiveness. "If you wish, you may lean on my arm for support. I can't very well have you fall and start bleeding again."
"No, I suppose not. Shall we go?" A breath of fresh air under a night sky sounded delightful whether the stars were visible or not.
"We shall."
…
They left the river together, just two more heavily clothed people in the oncoming winter. There had been sleet the night before, which slicked the walkways with ice and forced Christine to huddle closer to Erik. He found he did not mind in the least. If it were not so cold, his fingers would have wound themselves about her smaller hands, like lovers on an evening stroll. But they were not lovers; they were an invalid and a recluse, out for an hour before their retreat to the shadows. She indulged the fantasy for a bit. Walking together in the outdoors felt natural.
Christine gazed upwards as best she could with the felt hat on her head. Erik had insisted she cover her head, both to avoid attention and to prevent heat loss. Sickness only exacerbated injuries, he claimed. She eagerly drank in the sights and sounds as they strode slowly along a small road, from the oil-fueled street lamps to the dark sky and its winking silver eyes. Her lungs filled with crisp air and the scent of pastries from a shop down the road. We'd cause a scene if we bought from the bakery now, she thought. Instead of humor, sadness accompanied her realization. If she received whispers and stares with all her bandaging on, what sort of abuse might she endure once they were removed? Even an everyday activity like buying bread suddenly seemed monumentally difficult. And this is what Erik has withstood every day of his life.
"What troubles you, ange?" he queried, having picked up on her somber thoughts.
"Oh, nothing so significant. Just… One day I should like to buy pastries." They walked a few more paces, steps falling in time. Her wistfulness reminded him of his own wishful thinking as a child. Going about running errands or purchasing food hadn't been on his list of things to do when he was young.
"It is not insignificant for you to want a normal existence, especially after everything that's happened."
"But what will become of me? What will happen, once I am healed? I have no life to return to." Ice crunched beneath the oversized boots on her feet. He considered this question of the future for a good few minutes while they walked. The moon overhead was a waxing crescent, the beginning of the harvest moon's sickle in a field of stars. Would that sickle reap falling stars and grant wishes?
"That is your choice, Christine. Wherever you wish to go and whatever you wish to do, I promise I will support you. Even-" he faltered here, "even if your wish is to leave me." Sentence finished, he heaved in a breath as if it could bolster his nerve.
"Oh, Erik," she whispered out, "when will you realize? I couldn't possibly leave you, not after everything you have done for me." She patted his arm a bit to reassure him. "Even so, I do not stay out of some sense of obligation."
"Then why do you stay?" he asked warily.
"If I wanted, I could ask to stay with Meg Giry and her mother. I cannot return to the opera now," she stated very pragmatically. "I have never been so close to Meg as I think I am to you." She looked him in his golden eyes. "You have been wonderful to me across the years," she explained, and sounded much older than she was. "Now…I want to do the same for you…whether you believe me or not."
A block away, a little cafe wheezed out a slow waltz. Erik felt as if all the breath in his lungs had been stolen. So, instead of speaking, he turned the hope in his heart into motion, and gently pulled Christine into the steps of a dance. To passersby they seemed odd, two figures of drastically different heights, both in trousers and heavy boots. Erik, however, kept his gaze solely on the woman he held, and her smile in the moonlight.
The waltz ended, but a long time passed before the two let go of each others' frames and hobbled back down to the Seine.