Curse the pain in his leg. Erik realized he was delusional when he saw not the doctor but an old gypsy and Christine as an Angel. Not that she wasn't, but surely she didn't really have feathery wings?

He cursed himself, his pain, his face, his leg and everything else he could think of, while watching the doctor's needle and thread turn into a string of pearls and one of Carlotta's horrible hat pins. He growled when the hat pin started talking to him. It kept telling him he could fly away from it all if he just let the pain exist and stopped fighting it.

"Twice cursed Italian hat pins," Erik moaned aloud.

Christine looked down at him worriedly. Erik thought she looked beautiful with the halo of light behind her. Suddenly Erik could take the throbbing, stabbing, spiking pain in his leg no longer. With an agonized scream, he clutched Christine's hand, knowing he could very well break her fingers with his grip. His pain shoved his caution to a very small place at the very back of his mind.

He felt himself sink into full on hallucinations...

Carlotta was singing Christine's part in Don Juan, doing a horrible job, sounding like a goat and murdering his lyrics with her Italian accent. Suddenly his lasso shot out from his hands and pulled her off stage, where a veiled and mysterious Madame Giry pulled off the rope, slapped her and then the pair began dancing. Erik screamed again, as the pain burst though his hallucination.

Suddenly there was a deep, pulsing, throbbing sound, something so modern even Erik didn't know what it was, and the music it held gave him the most delicious headache. He began to laugh hysterically as Raoul fell from the opera box, his managers grew tails and leathery wings and swooped down to save him, missing him, and then the Chandelier fell, crushing everything out into absolute darkness.

Erik awoke with a moan that startled Christine out of her quiet haze. "What happened?" he demanded, realizing that his mask was gone and his leg didn't feel quite as hellish anymore.

Christine looked around, confused at first, then her eyes lighted on Erik and she remembered why she'd been in the stiff chair and not in her soft bed.

"Erik!" she cried, as she realized that he was awake. "Are you feeling better?"

Erik snorted, disliking her all too concerned tone. She had better not think she gets to be my mother while I'm healing, he brooded. Aloud he muttered. "Marginally. Where's that doctor?"

"He went home. He did everything he could, but said that until you'd slept out the infection, he couldn't do anything else to help. He mentioned coming back in a week or so..."

"Christine," Erik said, stopping her flow of useless words. "If you don't stop talking, I promise, I will go back to the theater and leave you here."

Christine flushed at his threat, realizing she had been babbling. "I'm sorry Erik. I seem to have lost control of my mouth..."

Erik quirked an eyebrow. She quieted. "Now then, to distract you from blathering, perhaps you would oblige me and help me sit up?" Christine did so, her face coming in achingly close contact with his own face and neck. After she had her Phantom upright, she sat next to him.

As he studied her, she reached out slowly and touched his face, the right side, the scarred side. And then she touched the left side.

Erik stayed still, watching her movements.

Finally she leaned in closer and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Are you hungry? It's nearly supper time. I'll go find something to eat." She rose from the bed and left before Erik could protest, but he did feel hungry. Perhaps, something to eat would be a good idea, he mused.

He couldn't remember his last meal.

Within minutes, he could smell a lovely, thick stew bubbling in one of the adjoining rooms. Christine reappeared, a white apron tied across her dress, and a tray in her hands. She sat back on the bed and slid the tray onto his lap.

Before he could take the spoon from her, she scooped up a spoonful from the bowl and brought it to her lips, blowing on it carefully before feeding the bite to him.

Erik was stunned at the young woman's grace. Had the positions been reversed, he would never have thought to feed Christine himself.

Before she could finish feeding him the second bite, Erik guided her hand back to the bowl and made her release the spoon.

"Is anything wrong?" Christine demanded. "Is it too hot?"

"No, it's perfect. But I want to ask you something," Erik murmured.

"What?" she asked, her eyes clouding with concern.

"Where is your Vicomte? Surely he must be worried about you?"

Christine sighed. "I knew you would ask this eventually. I did hope you would be a bit stronger. He's married now, you see, and I don't want you getting all jealous and going over there as soon as you're better and finding him and killing him. Or maiming him."

Erik ground his teeth together, frustrated. "Dammit! Why did you marry him? Why did he allow you to leave him?"

"No, see, you didn't understand, just like I thought you would. I didn't say I married him. I just said he was married."

"Christine, stop this NOW, or I will go kill your Vicomte."

"But he isn't my Vicomte any more. He's married Meg."

"Damn you Christine!" Erik cried in relief. "Never do that to me again. I thought I'd lost you. And you promised, you said you'd stay with me..."

Christine giggled at his petulance, he seemed so like a child sometimes. Then she noticed he hadn't let go of her hand.

Delicately, he picked it up and kissed the palm. She watched him, fascinated by his affection.

He kissed the tip of each finger, careful to be gentle, then quickly pulled her toward him, capturing her lips with his. The kiss was sweet, their lips tangling together in a timeless pattern, each touch sending chills of fiery heat down their spines.

Carefully, Erik broke the kiss. "There," he said. "Perfect."

Christine blushed. With a flustered smile she continued feeding him the stew.

Erik let her, his mind churning. He'd kissed his Christine. She hadn't kissed him, he'd kissed her. And she hadn't shied away from his touch.

Erik swallowed the mouthful of stew, and tried to relax. He could figure this out later.

There would be plenty of time to think later.