A/N: Hiya, welcome back! I think this is the longest chapter so far, eeek! This is where things start to finally pick up, and I'm afraid our story is about to take a darker turn. Not for sure when the rating will change to M, but I'm pretty sure it'll be within the next couple of chapters? Anywho, enjoy~

III. Marked

It was funny how one could spend weeks channeling their solitude into an obsession for answers, only to find themselves speechless. His confession left her mute, but her thoughts were like a packed auditorium. Noisy, and filled with snippets of different voices.

Could this affliction truly be of his own hand? Perhaps he was being cryptic, she knew Erik had a flair for the dramatics. Yet, somehow, she knew this wasn't the case. Erik was not lying. His voice had been too vulnerable for it all to be a trick. He had been entirely exposed to her in that moment, and she felt the shame that haunted him as he spoke.

The kettle whistled, demanding her attention.

Tea, her hidden blessing. They had remained unmoving in a tense silence after his voice broke off, until she had clumsily scampered off to make tea. She must have been quite a sight, rambling about preparing the kettle and flying through the kitchen to gather everything. It was an awkward retreat at best, but she welcomed the chance to give her hands something to do while she went over his grim admission.

Erik remained deathly quiet as she moved through the small space, save for the occasional cough. With her back to him, she tried to ignore the feeling of his eyes trailing after her every movement. It reminded her of a cat that had spotted a pretty bird outside the window, and it made her shudder. She nearly lost her grip on the shabby kettle.

Christine huffed. While she had avoided a complete disaster, her lack of grace had created a small pool of water around the teacup. She fetched a small rag and began to dab the mess up with her cheeks burning. She didn't need to turn to see the amusement on Erik's face, as she could easily picture it in her head. He likely had at least one brow raised, if not both. If she was lucky, he might have even twisted one side of his lips up into a rare, crooked smile.

She couldn't help but turn her head to confirm her suspicion. At once, the slight quirk in his mouth fell. Erik deflected his attention to the table before him, ignoring her dejected look. Flustered, Christine returned to her mess of water and tea leaves.

There was no reason to feel so scorned by his reaction, and she reasoned with herself not to be so childish. She knew of course just how timid Erik was, as it was one of the first things she learned about him after joining him in his home. He avoided making eye contact with her the majority of the time, and would often scurry away if she came too close.

Despite his reclusive nature, a seed of doubt took root in the more anxious corners of her mind. She had spent much of her younger days cursing her small stature, despising her thin face and the firm lines of her cheeks. Those same whispers of vanity that had haunted her youth began to speak to her once more.

What if he simply disliked looking at her?

The idea continued to tease her as she brought two steaming cups to the table. She quietly took her seat as Erik feigned interest in a slight chip in the floor. The silence she was previously thankful for was quickly becoming uncomfortable. Christine pressed one of the cups forward, desperate for any sort of acknowledgement.

"Am I so terrible to look at?"

She nearly threw her hand over her mouth, as it seemed she had no say in what came out of it anymore. It was too late now, and she instead took a small sip from her own cup. The tea was far too hot of course, and she burnt her tongue.

Christine glanced up from her drink, only to immediately look down. Golden eyes burned in her direction, hot enough to make her lean back in her chair. While her mouth had no issue throwing out whatever thought came into her head, suddenly her lips could only press together.

"Is that what you believe?" Erik scoffed.

She shook her head, bringing her hands to her lap. For the first time, she could not bring herself to meet his eye. He searched her face for something, though she didn't know what.

"I enjoy…. looking at you," he said, his tone softer. "I am merely afraid you will ask me to stop."

"Stop what?" She looked back to him, leaning forward again.

"Looking at you," he replied.

Whatever logic he was using was entirely lost on her, and she made little effort to hide the fact. Christine shook her head before asking, "What do you mean?"

Erik shrugged. His hand went up to push some of the wilder strands of his hair away from his mask and forehead. It was a pointless attempt, as his dark waves had grown even more untamed since she last saw him. Absently, she wondered if she should offer to trim his hair, but disregarded the idea away immediately. It was doubtful Erik would allow anyone, including her, within reach of him with a pair of scissors.

Besides, despite him always thinking his hair unruly, she didn't find it all that bothersome. In a way, it fit him. Just as he was a contradiction to the rules and expectations of society, his hair was in open rebellion against the standards of men's hair.

Christine scolded her thoughts for drifting off. She cleared her throat, and with it, her girlish thoughts. "Why would I ask you that, Erik?" She pressed. She waited for a long pause, and almost stood to leave before his shoulders drooped

"Because my mother asked me not to look at her." Erik met her horrified expression with a black face. "She demanded I never look her in the eyes. God forbid she ever caught me watching her." He laughed, a short and cruel sound. "She'd scream until my ears would ring, and then she'd lock me in the cellar. It was dark there, all dark. She said it was the only place my eyes couldn't find her- down there, in the dark."

All at once, her thoughts flickered between fierce sympathy and the need to track such a wicked woman down. Of course, even if she ever did come face to face with Erik's mother, she'd likely break down into tears before seizing the chance to give the woman a piece of her mind.

"Why are you crying?" Erik rose from his chair and his eyes grew wide. "Are you upset that I look at you? Are you too frightened to ask me not to? Oh, Christine!" His hands gripped the sides of his hair and he turned, his back tense.

She went to him without hesitation. He was a murder, a thief, and god knew what else- but her heart wept for his miserable life. She knew she could hurl every terrible thing he had done thus far at him and be completely justified. She also knew the right thing to do would be to condemn him for his crimes.

Instead, she stood behind his tall form and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. He flinched away from her touch, his own hands falling from his head as he spun around.

"What are you doing?" He snapped.

"I won't ask that of you," she promised. She threw her arms around him, drawing him into her embrace. As expected, he squirmed beneath her grip before growing still. She noticed his clothes were slightly damp, but his feverish skin was so warm she could feel the heat resonating from him. "You can look at me."

He began to tremble. Christine felt a sudden spur of curiosity, and she brought her ear to his chest. She grinned. Her assumption was right, and she could hear his heart drumming frantically beneath her ear. There was another sound within his chest, a sort of wheeze that crackled with every breath. She didn't like that sound, and she pulled her head away.

His hand came up just as she began to withdraw. Her movement startled him, and he dropped his hand. They stood there like that for several breathless moments, her with her chin tilted up to look at him and him peering down at her with bright, wide eyes.

"Thank you," he murmured.

He carefully unwrapped her arms from him, though he didn't remove his hold on her wrists. She wanted to wait for him to move, to speak, to be the first to act, but something behind him caught her eye. She leaned to the side.

"What is that?"

Erik raised his brow, his grasp on her falling.

"What is what," he asked, turning to see what she looked at. A plain, brown box sat on the stand between the coat rack and the door. Erik shrugged. "Oh, that was outside your door when I arrived. I didn't want anyone to steal it."

Christine stepped around him. She wasn't expecting any sort of delivery. She went straight to the strange package, looking over the plain material for an address. She found none. Only her name waited on top of the box, penned with red ink.

There was something odd about the lettering. It was small, almost too small to make out. The sender had also used rather watery ink, as the red coloring of her name had bled across the surface. She touched her name with a single finger. Abruptly, she remembered leaving the opera house with a sense of dread the day before. Someone had been watching her.

"Was that you at the opera house?" She jerked away from the box and turned to Erik. He looked bewildered, which in turn made her stomach drop. "Yesterday," she whispered. "When I left…. were you watching me?" Erik shook his head, his hands coming up beside him as if he were surrendering. Her voice became frantic as her heart sped up. "No, but you must have! Don't lie, please don't lie Erik. How else did you find my note?"

"I haven't stepped foot inside the opera house since," his voice caught. He coughed into the crook of his elbow, but his voice remained hoarse. "That night, the show!" He carefully reached into his pocket and withdrew the same piece of paper he had shown her last night. "My associate brought this to me. I had him check box five and my….other, deposits. I've been…away."

"And where is away, Erik?" She shot back, spinning back to the box. Christine ignored his calls for her as her hands tore at the seal on the box. His voice became distant, far away from her one-track mind.

She threw the package open. A layer of crumpled newspaper waited inside. Piece by piece, she removed the many layers within, tossing the paper to the side. Her heart began to thud in her ears as she reached the final barrier of paper. Part of her wanted to simply throw the whole thing out and forget about it. But her other half demanded to know, to see what hid within. Christine removed the last layer.

She regretted her choice instantly. She screamed and cowered away from the terrible sight, her hands coming to cover her face. She knew it was pointless to hide her eyes now, as she had already seen the horrible thing within. Just as the memory of Buquet hanging above the stage was seared into her mind, so too would the image of the dead dove inside the box.

A dead dove with her portrait pinned to its lifeless chest. The eyes of her smiling self within the photo were scratched out, and a dark line stretched from one end of her throat to the other.

She gagged. Her entire body shook as hands came to pry her own away from her face. The heaving of her chest continued until she could only gasp for air. The sound drowned Erik out completely, as she could see him frantically try to say something, but her cries made her deaf. She felt trapped in her own personal world of terror.

She knew that picture, it was Raoul's. He had insisted on paying for her to have it done, he had proudly informed every soul on the way to the studio that she was a rising star. The next diva of Paris, of all of France even. Raoul adored her portrait, he treated it like a prized diamond. So how had it come to be defaced and nailed to a dead bird?

Erik's hands cupped her face, his eyes pleading with her. She still couldn't make out what he was saying over the sound of her erratic sobs, but she thought his mouth was forming a single word over and over.

"Breathe,"

Breathe. He was telling her to breathe. It was impossible to slow her desperate gasps, as her body felt convinced every shallow breath would be the last. She tried to no avail and, wide eyed, shook her head. Her hand flew to her throat, it felt like she was being strangled.

Christine squeezed her eyes shut. Was this dying? Would she die, right there and then, with only the opera ghost to bear witness?

Her hand was ripped away from her throat. She pulled against the guiding force on her hand, but suddenly felt the damp material of Erik's shirt. He kept her hand against his chest as he slowed his own breathing. She felt the steady pace of his breathing under her hand, realizing she was meant to mimic it.

It was easier to control her panic with him to guide her, and she followed the rise and fall of his chest until her gasps slowed. Erik still kept one hand against her face, and she felt his thumb begin to brush over her cheek as the world around her started to return.

"T-The b-b-box," she whimpered. Erik hushed her, nodding. He had seen it too.

A wave of relief washed over her, as she doubted she could bring herself to ever describe what was inside. The thought made her throat clench, and she crashed against him as a fresh batch of tears formed in her eyes. It was odd, but she was thankful his clothing was already a bit wet. At least her tears wouldn't leave stains.

"Did you see who was watching you?"

Christine shook her head. "No, I was alone. I was waiting for Meg." She shuddered, and sobbed out, "I thought it was you."

Erik shook his head. "Listen to me," he said gravely. "You are in danger, I think you know this, yes? I've made many enemies in my time, Christine- and any of them would strike at the chance to harm me. In any way they could. This has been my greatest fear, that the consequences of my sins would fall to you. When I received your note, I nearly died there on the spot. I thought they had come for you."

She shook her head, baffled. "But, why would they…if they wanted you…" She trailed off, the look on his face answering her question. It made sense, in a devious way, that they would use her to get at him. Christine was the single flicker of light in his otherwise dark life, and he had told her so many times.

Erik titled his head to observe her, waiting for her to speak. When she did not, he sighed. "I swear I will explain everything to you, Christine. Everything. Even that night." His implication was not lost on her, and she nodded. "But not now, it's not safe. You aren't safe, and for that I ask that you forgive me. We must go."

With that, he let go of her and went to peer outside the window. She stayed in place, shocked by his boldness. Go? She had no intention of going anywhere, except to the police. Surely, they would know what to do after receiving such a terrible thing. She would just make sure to leave out any mention of the opera ghost seeking refuge in her home. They didn't need to know that.

"It's daylight, but it's still early," Erik murmured from the window. He leaned back against the wall, his eyes closed. His skin had taken on that sickly, green hue again, and she knew he was most likely quite dizzy.

"I can't just leave," she mumbled, fighting to break through her daze. Christine shook her head, bringing her eyes up to look at him. "You're sick, you can barely walk. Erik, we can't go anywhere!"

"I know," he snapped. His eyes shot open, and he stumbled from his place by the wall. "But we must. There is no other choice!" He came to grip the back of her sofa with trembling hands as he tried to steady himself. "I know I have no right to ask-"

"Then do not ask!" She crossed her arms, trying to ignore the sting of angry tears in her eyes. "Don't ask this of me Erik, please. And don't give me your word, you may keep it! I have no desire for your word as so far, you've shown your word to be little more than half-truths and false promises!"

She turned her back just as a small sob left her throat. She considered making a run for the door, perhaps she could make it to the police before he stopped her. It was a foolish plan she knew, as she would never have the strength to hand him over to the law.

"You want the truth, Christine?" His even tone made her freeze. She didn't dare turn her head. "Fine, that is fine. I will tell you the truth." He was beside her in a heartbeat, pulling her towards the open box. "I will show you the truth, here-! Look inside, do you see? Do you see it?"

Christine frantically shook her head. She dug her heels into the floor, trying in vain to slow their arrival at that awful box. Her hands pried at his wildly, clawing at his skin like a hellcat.

"Oh, stop it! Stop it, why must you be so cruel!" She wailed.

"Because the truth is I know the meaning of this message because I have sent one just like it to others!"

Erik released her, and she fled to the opposite side of the room.

"You're marked," he said dangerously. "That's what this means, the bird. The picture. It's a warning, Christine. I know, I've sent it countless times. A banker, a merchant, a junk dealer, a doctor…. I've set my mark before, and now, someone has marked you."

"Marked me for what, Erik?" She whispered.

The sorrowful look on his face said what he would not, and she wept into her hands. She had never harmed another soul her entire life, and yet, someone was out for her blood.

She heard him slide down to the floor, and she lowered her hands. Erik sat with his back against the front door, his knees almost to his chest. His eyes were alarmingly bloodshot, and his head tilted gently from side to side.

"You're sick," she whispered again. She lowered to the floor as well, her clasped hands coming to rest against her chest as she hunched forward and wept. Erik sluggishly dragged himself towards her.

"I know, I know. I am very ill, b-but I can get better." He crouched beside her, his hands hovering by her arms as he didn't dare touch her. "I can, I will. I can get better," he murmured. Even with the wheeze in his voice, she could hear a hint of that soothing tone he often used for her.

"You can get better," she asked. He nodded eagerly, like a child. His eyes grew brighter. "And…you can take us some place safe?" Another series of nods, and he inched closer.

"I swear, I promise. You will come with me?"

She considered her options, and all of them were bleak. Leaving with him wouldn't be that unreasonable, considering the circumstances. After a moment, she nodded.

"Where will we go?"

"There is a doctor, an old…. acquaintance of mine, I have been staying with him. He has a summer home, a day's ride from Paris." His skin was slowly losing the sickly tone it had taken, and he seemed to regain some of his balance. He rose to his feet, and offered his hand to her. She took it warily as he spoke. "He will help us, but we will wait with another associate until night. Then, we can go."

"Another associate?"

Erik peered out the window once more, nodding absently. He suddenly whipped around, startling her.

"Pack only what you can carry. Do you have a cloak?"

She nodded.

"A big one, with a large hood."

Annoyed, she nodded again.

Erik waved his hands at her, gesturing for her to get going. With a huff, Christine hurried off to her room. She double checked that the door was locked before changing in record time.

She donned her simplest dress, one that wouldn't cause too much issue should he literally mean for them to travel by horseback. It wasn't ideal, nor flattering, but it would do. In a worn messenger bag that she had accidentally brought home from the opera house, Christine folded two spare dresses within. Her long curls were the next obstacle, and she decided to quickly pin them up and out of the way. It occurred to her then she wasn't sure what all she was meant to bring. Would Erik need anything during their journey?

The thought gave her an idea. Christine rushed over to the small chest at the end of her bed, calling out for his name as she did. She started to rummage through the disorganized mess of old stationary and forgotten momentous just as Erik arrived at her door. He knocked after trying the knob, an edge of concern in his voice.

"What is it? What's wrong?" He called from the other side.

At the very bottom of the trunk she found what she was looking for. A well-worn shirt, and a pair of patched up trousers. Erik knocked again, rattling the doorknob as he did so. She went over to unlock the door before he broke it down.

"Here," she said. She dropped the crumpled clothing into his hands with a smile, but frowned when he looked at her as if she had given him a dead animal. "Your clothes are still wet, I thought this would be better? They were my father's, but he wouldn't mind. They may be a bit large on you."

The smoldering look in his eye flicked out, and he nodded.

Christine snapped her fingers and rushed to the trunk again. "Just a moment, one more thing," she said, leaning into the depths of the trunk. She withdrew a dark cloak, and handed it to Erik. "I forgot to return this to the opera house, I didn't realize I was wearing it when I left!"

His brow arched. "Miss Daaé, I believe that's thievery."

She wanted to smack the smirk from his face. "It was an accident."

"I'm sure, are you nearly ready?"

He left before she could answer. She closed her door harder than she needed to. At least he was feeling well enough to irritate her. Maybe that was a sign, perhaps he would be back to his sarcastic self in no time.

She doubted it.

Her time was running short, and she gave her room a final once over. In the end, she decided to bring her journal, which contained a small portrait of her father and an old letter from Raoul, and the pitiful collection of savings she kept under her bed. She doubted Erik would let her use her own funds in any case, but she still felt the need to bring it along.

He was back at her door with a knock, and she bid her room a silent goodbye. She had no reason to believe she wouldn't be back, but something tugged at her gut. The same alarm bell that told her to bring her savings also warned her to take in her room one final time.

"Are you ready?" Erik asked when she pulled her door open.

She nodded, noticing he had indeed changed. Her father's clothing was much too big for him, but at least he was dry. Besides, she thought, that's what belts were for.

"Christine?"

Erik had moved to wait beside the front door, one of her darker cloaks in his hand. She let herself draw in a slow breath before going to him. She couldn't shake the feeling that every step felt like the last she would ever take in her home. Erik helped her into her cloak, and then turned her so she faced him. His hands carefully brought her hood up, and he let it settle against her hair.

"There," he said, gently brushing a stray curl away. His hand shot to his side when he was done, seemingly realizing what he had done. He stepped away to hold the door open, his eyes firmly on her.

They said nothing, and she knew everything waited on her to take the first step. Another draw of breath, as it made her feel braver. Christine straightened her shoulders and held her chin high.

"Do you promise to keep me safe?"

"I promise," he said as she stepped out of her home determined to hold him to his word.

A/N: I hope I didn't lose you in this wild mess! I promise things will start coming together. Let me know what ya think, thanks so much for reading!