Stunned, Christine stared at Erik for a good minute. He didn't move as he stared back, expression changing from hope to doubt to embarrassment. She never knew him to be embarrassed about anything, least of all his affection for her. Or perhaps he has been embarrassed and I could never tell with the mask on. I never knew he had the ability to flush like that.

Erik broke the silence first. "I- ahem- I only mean that as a potential solution, if you wish. What I meant to say is- well, that's what ordinary people do, is it not?"

A sudden fit of giggles overcame her. "Ordinary? Oh, Erik, you are anything but ordinary!" When he shied away with a miffed look, she took a deep breath to calm herself. "No, please don't take offense, I just-" Oh dear, I can't let him think I don't take his proposal seriously. "You think ordinary people get married to economize?"

"I hardly think this is a humorous situation," he huffed, though she saw a hint of a smile touch his mouth. "Ordinary people do get married for all sorts of reasons! Economy is just one, though only a secondary one in this case," he protested.

"Oh? And the primary reason?" she prompted, still smiling broadly.

"I love you."

She stopped laughing, sighed, and motioned for him to come closer. When he approached she pulled him closer still, until he leaned near enough that she could whisper. With gentle hands, she held him and said, "That's a good reason. I love you too." Then she kissed him, holding on when he almost pulled back from surprise.

When they parted, both were smiling. Christine's lips were still slightly curled with mirth. Erik's hands clutched the blankets, relishing the warmth in the dim light from the door. To ensure he was not misinterpreting the situation, he asked:

"Would you be opposed to marriage? I don't mean to ask now…but that generally is what two people who love each other do." To his dismay, she seemed a bit crestfallen.

"I… I would not be opposed, no."

He hurried to add: "I expect nothing more than what we have now- just to hold you is blessing enough." Knowing her horrible experiences with her former fiancé, and his own shyness around marital relations, Erik decided their hypothetical marriage could remain unconsummated. After all, who was to know?

Christine's relief was almost palpable. She smiled broadly. "Well then, when- if- you should propose to me I will gladly accept."

"And I would propose at this very moment, but I'm afraid I must do as custom dictates in this instance," he said rather archly. The confidence he often exuded when masked returned, and had a curious effect on her insides.

"You've never been one to follow custom," she ribbed. "Why the change?"

He backed away, towards the door, graceful steps echoing slightly. "Because the future lady of the house deserves only the most romantic proposal." He stopped a moment to admire her one last time, smiling because he couldn't help but do so.

"And sweet dreams to you too," she murmured. Then he closed the door and was gone. She pulled the covers up to her chin and shut her eyes. Both the sheets and her heart were pleasantly warm throughout the night.

…

The following morning, Erik ventured outside to find the sky clear and icy blue. His breath clouded in the air like puffs of smoke. Winter had always been his favorite season, and since Christine requested a trip outside, he now had an excuse to enjoy the weather. A bright day like this was perfect for his purpose as well.

He returned to the smell of the ground meat scraps of Ahmar's breakfast. The kitten had grown quite a bit in the past weeks, and was now active enough to pounce on the trailing hems of Christine's dressing gowns (well, they were really his dressing gowns, but she wore them better than he). He plucked the cat from her course as she scampered by and scratched her under her fuzzy chin. It was surprisingly satisfying to feel her little body purring in his hands. Would Christine purr if I touched her?

Then he decided that train of thought was not an appropriate one to pursue. Yes, he was a man, but her needs and comforts superseded his own. He studied the kitten's half-closed copper eyes. "She'll be a rather handsome creature, won't she?"

"She will," Christine agreed, "as soon as you let her down so she can eat." Erik placed Ahmar on the floor by her little bowl a bit reluctantly. Cats, he thought, were very nice to hold. The cat attacked the dish at a run, chomping down almost more eagerly than her little teeth allowed. Then Christine sat at the kitchen table, scooting her chair in a bit with a squeak. "So, where will we go today?"

As much as he enjoyed surprising her, Erik decided too many surprises at once might ruin his objectives. "A little park on the quieter side of town. Can't have too many prying eyes about, you know." He entered the kitchen to start on breakfast. "Ah, and we will take a short expedition to the nearest pharmacy for a few items." Christine's skin was healing as well as could be expected, but he still needed to pick up lip salve, moisturizing cream, and new rolls of cotton and gauze. After weeks of use, the sheets filched from the hospital had taken on a yellowed color and refused to give up their mold-and-medicine odor. It was beneficial to his pocketbook (and his heart) that Christine required less and less bandaging every day.

"You won't be seen, will you?" The sensation of disasters at the opera might have faded from the public mind, but the phantom was still wanted by Parisian police.

"Of course not," he reassured, deftly cracking two eggs into a slowly heating pan. He could have mentioned his decades of practice slinking about in shadows, but that would have raised too many questions. At any rate, she already knew well enough how invisible he could be. "It is you I worry for. No one suspects a veiled woman dressed for winter, but should the veil rise… I am unwilling that you should experience the same humiliation I have." He knew all too well how unforgiving humans were to the macabre and ugly things of the world.

Christine came round the corner to watch him, despite the heat of the stove. After a moment, she tipped her now bald head to the side. "I would not be humiliated if someone should see me." He could see the red lines of scars and blue lines of veins under her skin, like channels through the natural pallor of her skin.

He pushed the eggs around the pan with a spoon, breaking the golden yolks. "The world is cruel, Christine, the world is wicked. If someone sees you, they will undoubtedly delight in your pain." Perhaps she does not realize because she has yet to catch sight of a mirror. She is beautiful to me, but a city built on perfect looks will mock her.

She placed her hands over his thin shoulders. He stopped moving to consider her. "I will not be hurt by them because I know who I am. They do not know me, or you- and if they pick up their stones to throw I will walk before so not one touches you."

"But neither could I allow you to be harmed, my dear- we are at an impasse."

She had a brilliant smile. "We make quite a pair, don't we?"

"Yes. Yes, I suppose we do." He set out plates for eggs and upcoming toast. I have the most remarkable woman in the world living in my house. She could have even this cruel world eating from her palms. She certainly has me, all of me. Christine had me in her clutches from the moment she asked heaven for an angel, for in that moment she became my own. He sniffed and wiped his nose (or rather, his lack of one) on the hanky he always kept in his breast pocket. Crying at breakfast was likely not the best way to start their day.

…

Det. Moreau rummaged through her desk drawers and huffed with frustration, tucking a strand of her dark curls back behind her ear. She really didn't know why she bothered; the stubborn strands fell back into her face as if they belonged there. On top of that, for a good half hour, the location of her tin of lip salve had evaded her. She pursed her chapped lips and glared at herself in the mirror. "Botheration!"

She had originally intended to begin her investigation of the Persian assassin with a trip to the various foreign embassies, since that was the only way to get any useful information. However, finding herself out of lip balm, she decided to put the investigation on hold. With winter in full swing outside, her mouth had swiftly become dry to the point of bleeding. Maybe I'll charge Count Philippe de Chagny for the balm. He can afford it, rich bastard that he is.

With some reluctance, she dressed for the weather in a thick coat, scarf, and boots, letting her hair down over her cold ears. Then she trudged out towards the nearest pharmacy.

The air was stinging and cold on her fingers. She stuck her numb digits deep into her sleeves for warmth and grinned to herself. Winter is a bit like a dog this year; it bites, and requires food and shelter to be any sort of nice. Ice crunched beneath her soles like powdery glass. The trees were laden with icy spears from the night's sleet, sparkling under a white sky. I suppose winter has to be my favorite season. For all his cruelty, old Boreas puts on a breathtaking show.

It took almost twenty shivering minutes to reach her destination. The warmth that greeted her upon entering the drug store prompted her to unwind the scarf over her head. Reflexively, she scanned the store for potential threats, then made her way to the aisle she knew housed her favorite brands. After picking out a rose-scented tin of balm, she paced about, running her eyes over the shelves of medicine, sweets, and convenience items. Is there anything else I need? Not particularly, but…that licorice looks rather good. A warming herb for a chilly day like this.

The bell at the door rung, announcing more visitors. One- no, two sets of feet sounded on the hardwood floor, shaking off an accumulated crust of ice. They must have come a good way to gather that much on their feet. From the sound, she knew one walked lightly and the other with a practiced quiet. Interesting… Unable to contain her curiosity, she poked her head around the aisle corner to observe the strangers. As she suspected, it was a man and a woman, bundled up. However, she knew at a glance that something was off. Winter called for hats and scarves, but not complete facial cover.

The man's hat was so wide brimmed that if he tipped his head, his face was rendered completely invisible. Beneath the hat was a scarf so thickly wrapped it must have been stifling in the heat of the indoors. He covers his face as if he fears recognition. Maybe he does. He did not remove hat or scarf upon entering.

The woman, too, was oddly dressed; she wore a man's coat, probably borrowed from the one beside her. She was a young woman, by the ease of her walk, and young women nowadays never wore the veils of widows. Her face was further muffled by another dark, wound-up scarf. Through the veil, Amata witnessed only shadows. Perhaps she and this man are celebrities who wish to remain incognito on their day out. News reporters nowadays are merciless gossips. Still, she never discounted intuition; her short look at the couple screamed suspicion. A second glance yielded something even more incriminating: the edge of a strip of gauze peeked out from under the woman's long coat sleeves. Is she hurt in some way? Amata had dealt with enough battered women to spot serious injuries, even from a distance.

As the two made their way towards her section, she moved to the opposite end of the store, senses trained on their every move. And now they've selected an odd array of items: lip salve, candy, and more bandages. Could an abuser buy bandages for their victim? I suppose so. People have done stranger things. She had met women so in the thrall of their captors that they insisted they were being taken care of, even as they accumulated bruises and broken bones.

The couple moved about together, always one hand on the other, and without a word, paid for their things. The man behind the counter barely looked up as the 'hat-man' handed him an abnormally large bill and received several smaller ones in change. Amata did look, though. Anyone who possessed bills that large was either obscenely rich or a criminal- or both.

They left, bell on the doorpost ringing as they did so. Det. Moreau did not wait; she paid for her licorice and lip salve, and hurried out to follow the strange man and his veiled woman. Across the city they went, sometimes through the busiest byways and through the shopping district. Damn, they're good at slipping away. They probably know they're being followed. She steeled her resolve and ran across cab-filled avenues, taking shortcuts whenever sure.

After three mad dashes across intersections, she trotted to the next street over and was about to cross when-

"Look out!" A horse neighed, half-screaming with alarm. Amata was forced to dive out of the way and into the freezing gutter as the cab horse's hooves flailed above. She landed hard on her front, and the impact knocked the air from her lungs. Her poor fingers felt bruised on the hard-packed snow. Still disoriented, she struggled to her feet as the cabbie rushed to see she wasn't injured. Vaguely, she registered the flustered man asking if she was well, and nodded, brushing off her coat.

Damn. They've gone. She pursed her lips in a frustrated grimace. Botheration!

…

Christine noticed Erik's ever so slight change of pace when they left the druggist. She said nothing, only revised her steps to match his. Maybe he's in a hurry to reach that little park? He never liked people staring. The citizens of Paris did not look overly long at them, to her relief- instead they hurried on their ways. Winter clothing and scarves up to their eyes were not unusual. Still, he did not take the expected route to the park. Along the way, she followed his direction through several crowds of Christmas shoppers and across busy streets. She knew better to question his movements. If Erik felt they needed to hide in one direction or another, he knew better than anyone how to stay invisible.

Finally, they slowed to a leisurely walk and entered the park's gates. When they were shielded from view by a dense line of trees, Christine sat on a small bench, resting her feet. "That was a rather brisk walk, Erik."

"It was, it was." He looked out towards the main section of park for a moment.

He must be anxious. Hoping to take his mind off imaginary dangers, she swung her feet and clasped her gloved fingers together. "So, you mentioned something about a surprise? I've been waiting two days now, you know!"

He turned back. His face might be obscured, but she knew from his tone that he smiled behind all the layers. "Well, you will wait no longer. I only ask that you remain calm as you can-this experience might be somewhat harrowing," he cautioned, reaching into his coat pocket. He paused that way for a second, waiting for an answer.
"I promise- I won't scream," Christine reassured with some humor. What could he possibly have in store? Her eyes narrowed as he withdrew a matchbox and a long, paper-wrapped box from the folds of his coat. She did not scream, but she was hard-pressed to keep her breathing steady. Even though she was not touching the matches, her fingers clenched and shook slightly. What is that? Is he planning to light a torch? I hope not.

Erik watched her reactions carefully and moved slowly. First, he unwrapped the long box, set it on the bench, and picked a long, grayish stick from the bunch inside. "I must strike the match," he announced. "Can you manage?" Christine gulped in a breath and nodded. "Remember, we are surrounded with ice and snow. Nothing can burn you." She watched his gentle eyes. He is doing this for me, so for him I will remain strong. "I will not let you be burned."

When the tip of the match exploded into flame, she flinched, but forced herself to watch. Erik held the tip of the long stick to the fire for several seconds. "Perhaps you have seen these before, Christine. Children play with them during holidays, or so I hear." Her heart thudded in her chest, so loud that his voice was almost drowned out. With a great fizzing, the stick lit up and began to shed bright white sparks that dropped into the icy grass. Christine bit her lip as he dropped the match on a patch of frozen mud and stamped it out.

"You need not touch it- but if you did…" To her alarm, he peeled off one glove, holding the sparkler far too close to his face.

"Erik!" But he did not stop. Instead, he put his dry, thin hand right next to the tip of the miniature firework. The bright sparks danced along his papery skin and fell to their doom below. Christine clapped a hand over her mouth and prayed.