Christine sat with her arms wrapped around herself, eyes averted. Erik, across the room, was not close enough to hold her hand. "That evening, Raoul came into my room, and- he insisted…" She gulped hard and shivered.
Erik rose from his armchair and sat at her side. "What did he insist?" he asked in a heartbreakingly gentle voice. At the voice of her angel, she buckled.
"He insisted…that if we were to be married, it was right that he should have my body, that no one would know- except his grandmother. He said it was the only way we could be married with her consent." At last, she cried out in earnest, "And I was unable to stop him- I was too weak, and he… I am not a…an honest woman any longer. I am not clean." Her words dissolved into heaving sobs.
Erik's heart twisted tight in his ribcage, every beat weighed with sorrow and anger. It took him a long while to find the right words, so in the meantime he gingerly rested one black-sleeved arm around her shuddering shoulders. The bandages shifted slightly, and he pulled back, hesitant. What if she does not want my comfort? But she clearly needed someone; he had sworn that whenever she needed, he would provide.
When he held her to his side, she pressed her gauze-wrapped forehead against his chest. It took a long time for him to formulate words past his own tears. "Listen to your ange, Christine. This happened through no fault of your own." Not knowing how to reassure her, he stopped for several minutes, rubbing her back and shoulders while she cried her eyes dry. Her purity had always been something he loved about her, and she knew that. To every hideous flaw within him there was an antidote of love and light in her.
"It may not assure you much, but you will always be clean and lovely in my eyes," he murmured. She looked up at him, still hiccuping. How he hated the de Chagny boy! He had promised this treasure among women a life of love and happiness, and instead forced her into giving up her very body. What should have been an expression of love was now engrained in her as a monstrous, perverse act. And he couldn't even snap his neck for it; the entitled young nobleman was away on an expedition to the Arctic. I hope he freezes to death- slowly. May the sled dogs gnaw his corpse. The Vicomte left her wracked with fear and need.
How could he say such words of comfort with so much blood on his own hands? Simultaneously, how could he not tell his beloved Christine his past when she bared her all to him? A gentle patting at his pectoral captured his attention. Wonder of wonders, she was attempting to dab away the tears that wet his dress shirt. Her lip still trembled, her breaths still were uneven, and yet she was somehow concerned with the state of his shirt. "Ange," he breathed, this time referring to this selfless woman in his arms.
She stopped for a moment. Her little hands rested on his chest as if searching for the telltale beat of life. "Now, you know what I am and what- what was done. You know my shame."
"I think no less of you," he said. "In fact, I admire you." He let his hands cradle her head- she was so small- as she gazed up into his eyes. "You have been so brave, and so strong. I... I will do everything in my power to ensure you want for nothing all the days of your life."
"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely. "Thank you, Erik."
They'd done quite a lot of holding each other in the past few days. Neither yet grew tired of tender embraces, so they kept holding on.
...
After so great a revelation, Christine seemed exhausted, so he helped her bathe and reapply ointment and sugar, and wrapped her again in bandages. The amount of linen he used was somewhat reduced, to his satisfaction; it meant that her skin was healing and the wounds had shrunk.
She was a wonder to him. The trust with which she exposed herself was amazing. Or rather, it amazed him that anyone would trust him, Erik the death's-head, with the care of their body. Ah, but she does not know yet what horrors you have worked with these hands, his consciousness needled. Then she will not let you so near, that inner voice taunted.
Quiet, he snapped back. I'll attend to that issue when she asks.
His doubts continued, however. By the time Erik bundled Christine up in one of his oversized robes and carried her to the bed, her eyes were already closing. As he tucked the thick covers around her form to ensure warmth, she lifted her lids as if dreaming.
"Erik..." she yawned. "Do you...still love me?" Her hand was on his, small and warm and slightly chapped. He stilled, shocked by the question. By the time he'd worked an answer out of his stunned brain, she was fast asleep.
"Yes." He grasped her hand and dared kiss it with the utmost reverence. "I still love you." Then he withdrew from the room, mind whirling with questions. He needed time to think.
Being something of an insomniac, Erik took his thoughts out to run errands under cover of darkness. He again acquired a few more sheets from the hospital, leaving a very nice sum in exchange for them in the mailbox. Then he wandered down to the shopping district, sticking to alleys and back ways because of the general bustle.
Christine had asked if he still loved her. Granted, she had been half asleep at the time, but often the mind was more truthful in dreams. She was concerned over whether or not he loved her. Did that imply she had some sort of...feelings regarding himself? His mouth turned down at the corners with his heavy thoughts.
He was just approaching the end of another alleyway when a familiar voice reached his ears.
"Ah, yes, I believe the entrance is this way." He looked across the way. A smirk spread across his face, for there was Nadir Khan and the 'lady friend' he had mentioned, a stern-looking Asian woman with a traditional high-collared shirt. She walked beside him, but not on his arm like most Parisian ladies.
The phantom grinned. Just because he was out on errands didn't mean he couldn't cause a little mischief on the way. Besides, he needed a distraction at the moment.
...
Biyu was having a rather nice evening, which spoke volumes of M. Khan's wit and will, for she had not expected much in the way of proper courting. After all, she had skipped that step completely- why should he do any different? But he did, and speaking of non-work-related subjects proved to be both educational and entertaining for both of them. The topics rolled from politics to theatre to knife technique (Nadir had apparently been a soldier, and was no slouch even at his age).
Naturally, the conversation turned to food when dinnertime rolled around. He revealed to her the culinary traditions of his native Persia, and she told him about the seasonal dishes of Beijing. Neither had a particular fondness for French food, as in comparison it was either bland or unfamiliar to them, but garlicky snails were palatable in comparison. She made a mental note to compliment his choice of restaurant if the food proved well done.
They had almost reached the door of L'Escargot Montorgueil when M. Khan froze up, as if hit with a sudden surprise. "What is it?" she queried. He stared past her for a moment, then took off his spectacles and polished them.
"It's nothing, I just thought I recognized someone. Shall we?" He opened the door and held it open for her. I suppose this is what Western etiquette dictates. She entered, pleasantly surprised. After so many years doing everything herself, allowing him to hold the door was a refreshing change of pace.
The interior of the restaurant was dimly lit, with candles on every table and waiters in smart black and white uniform. The table by the corner window looked inviting, with a view of the street and extra lighting from a wall sconce. The waiter looked at her a bit strangely when she requested that particular table, but led them to it and was quite hospitable afterwards. M. Khan still looked a bit uneasy.
Biyu watched as the waiter stopped by the kitchen and whispered something to the host, then looked back at her. She reflexively dropped her gaze. Not many Westerners were well acquainted with the Chinese, and even fewer were accommodating.
"It's all right." She looked up at Nadir, who smiled gently. "They are likely talking about my hat." He removed the little red cap and hung it on the back of his chair. "That happens quite often, you see."
She paused. He would comfort her over a little thing like a curious waiter? "I see." She turned her attention to the menu. The waiter approached again, asking if they would like wine, but again her focus was on the food, and she didn't hear what he asked for. When she'd decided which dish appealed to her, she found the Persian man squinting towards the kitchen doors anxiously. "Oh? Did I miss something?"
His gaze returned to her. "Nothing, nothing- I've just asked for a bit of white wine."
"Sauvignon blanc?" He seemed startled.
"I thought you'd never been here before."
"I haven't, but I know a good pairing for the dish I have in mind."
Nadir's expression changed from startled to perplexed in such a manner that made her smile. "And what, pray tell, are you ordering? The only thing this place serves is snails."
"Snails in lemon sauce," she said rather primly. "Though if you're going for the traditional bite, you'd best ask for a glass of Chardonnay." He just gave her a rather helpless look. It made her chuckle to see him so completely out of his depth.
They were awkwardly silent until the waiter returned. "A vase of flowers for the lady, and…" He set the glass container on the far edge of the table and took a notepad in hand. "Have you decided on your meals?"
"Yes, I'll have the regular escargot, and a glass of Chardonnay," Nadir answered, giving Biyu a teasing glance. She just blinked at the flowers. No other table had them- had he asked for them personally? The gesture left her floundering for words when the waiter asked for her order.
"The- erm- lemon sauce escargot, and, ah, another glass of the same," she stumbled. a blush spread over her face as Nadir raised an eyebrow at her. Once the man returned to the kitchen, he leaned forward with the sort of secretive grin that reminded her of the things they did behind closed doors.
"Do shut up," she huffed.
"What's the matter? I thought Sauvignon Blanc was more to your taste." He waggled his eyebrows at her. At that she had to laugh. "Oh? Could it be I've finally succeeded in romancing the lady of the hour?"
She scoffed, but only in jest. "You'll have to do better than that, M. Khan, I think flowers are standard procedure for any date."
"Well, fear not, I have a splendid evening- oh!" He jumped back, knocking his chair over. When Biyu saw what he'd spotted crawling in the bouquet of pink ranunculus, she too backed away hurriedly. "Waiter!" he hollered. "Waiter!" A small brown rodent sniffed the air from its perch of flowers. The poor man hurried over to the table, apologized profusely while other guests looked on, and cleared the table rather impressively in the space of five minutes. He then offered them a free meal, but Biyu preferred not to eat in an establishment that housed mice.
Once out the door (along with several other disgruntled customers), Nadir and Biyu took one look at each other- and burst out laughing. "Good heavens, that was unexpected!" he exclaimed.
Biyu snorted. "Did you see his face? Almost like he never saw a mouse before!"
"Oh, I should hope not! Mice in one of Paris' most respectable restaurants? It would be front-page news if a critic or a reporter were here!" he chuckled. Biyu decided he looked even nicer when he was laughing.
"Well, if dinner at a restaurant is not an option tonight, how about a meal at home?" Did I just volunteer to cook? Ah, that warm smile of his will be the death of me.
"That sounds lovely, but I'm afraid I'm not much of a cook," he admitted. "Cheap restaurants and cafes have been my most frequent haunts."
"I meant at my place, Nadir," she clarified, "unless you would rather?"
He pushed his glasses a little further up his nose. "You called me Nadir."
One eyebrow lifted. "I suppose I did. And…I might call you that for the rest of the night," she suggested. At this he lifted his shoulders slightly. His eyes softened into an expression that made her heart beat faster than it had in years.
"Who am I to refuse a lady?"
…
Across the way, Erik snickered to himself. His original plan was to haunt the restaurant for a few minutes, maybe make a few dishes and bottles of wine disappear, but when he realized the Persian had requested flowers, he couldn't resist making a few alterations to the bouquet. It was easy enough to snatch a mouse from the alley and tuck it down amidst the pink blooms as the waiter passed by. Honestly, keeping the back doors unlocked during business hours made it ridiculously easy to sneak into the pantry.
Before he left, he spotted a plate with a slice of warm clafoutis on it. Christine did say she would like pastries. It's not the same as going out to buy them herself, but… When no one was looking, he wrapped the slice in a napkin. Then, thinking his Christine would not like to eat a stolen dessert, he left a few coins in its place.
Once outside, he released the mouse in his pocket and watched it scamper away. After it had helped him so wonderfully in his scheme, he didn't have the heart to let Ahmar kill and eat it. He'd have to find another rodent on a different night. After all, she was still a kitten: she had time to learn.
When he returned, Christine was peacefully asleep. The slice of clafoutis had to wait until morning. He peeked into her room for just a moment. With her eyes closed, he could see how scars had begun to creep over her skin like angry pink claws. There was only so much ointment could heal, and while he had done his best… It was a good thing he kept no reflective surfaces in the little house.
He shut the door behind him and surveyed his sitting room. A week prior, he'd looked around amazed at the difference Christine made, even while unconscious. Now he looked and saw a house turned into a home. Ahmar bolted from corner to corner, chasing the shadows she so much resembled.
Erik settled into his favorite seat by the unlit fireplace, gazing at the electric lamp that had begun to flicker. The batteries will need replacing soon. When he shut his eyes for a moment, the swirling blackness solidified into notes and ideas. Christine hadn't sung a single line for the duration of her stay, but simply being in her company stirred his creativity.
He cracked one golden eye open. The pianoforte was still piled up with clean sheets and dirty strips of bandaging, but once he was done and the sheets were folded… No. He crossed his long arms and shut his eyes again. Not while Christine was sleeping, for the noise would awaken her.
If not now, then when? She's always here. Either you risk waking her, or you play while she can hear you for certain.
Damn. His own mind had worked him into an inescapable circle. With a sigh, he rose, stretched, and scooped Ahmar up from the ground to place her on the piano's black lid. She batted at the fabric as he cleared it, tumbling about with a still-round kitten belly. With the sheets cleared, he sat at the bench, adjusted it, and lifted the cover over the keyboard.
Just as he was about to test the first notes, the blasted cat meowed. He glared. Ahmar just blinked her copper eyes quite innocently and turned her gaze aside. "Oh, you think that's funny, do you?"
He tapped a key, letting it ring in the quiet darkness. Ahmar made no comment, but tilted her head to the side in a manner that would have made Christine squeal with delight. Erik narrowed his eyes and dared play a whole chord, but-
"Mrrow!" the kitten said, tilting its nose skyward as if to sing. Erik grimaced. Well. It appears this little creature takes after me in more than a hissy dislike of Nadir. She's terribly off key, but I suppose that can't be helped. Then he shook his head. Sometimes his mind went to strange places.
He played a different chord, and Ahmar meowed again. And so they went, back and forth: a mewl for every key, up and down the keyboard. Erik found it amusing to match pitch with the cat, and she apparently found it amusing to choose a different note every time.
Wakened by the sound, Christine stood watching the little battle of notes from a crack in the doorway, grinning.
Hey, so I've gotten a guest reviewer! Unfortunately I can't respond through messaging, but thanks for your comments, sandy w!