Her feet were freezing.
Hopping from one foot to the other to get the least amount of contact with the cold floor, she hurried over to the bedroom, creeping through the front, where Erik was dozing in his chair. The bedroom was dark and she grabbed the first few pairs of socks she could find, pulling them on hurriedly. Only when she was back out into the light did she realize she had pulled on a pair of Erik's black socks over her own. They were much too big for her and went past the middle of her calf. She shrugged and headed back to the kitchen, her feet warmer.
The snow had begun to melt, but it was turning out to be a wet, chilly sort of spring. Every time she went aboveground, there were puddles everywhere of slushy snow, mud and grime coating the sidewalk. The cold permeated the house, and the heating system was fighting a losing battle. More often than not, she was chilly.
To make matters worse, she knew that the temperature was doing nothing to help Erik get better. It had been over a week since she had returned, and he was still ill and fatigued. She was caring for him as best she could, keeping things clean and tidy, but the sickness persisted. He didn't seem perturbed about it, so she tried to follow his lead, but…she did worry.
He spent a lot of his time sleeping, which was hard for her but probably good for him. Now that she was back, she wanted to be near him and talk to him and see hear him play or sing, but he still hadn't touched an instrument. She had to be patient, she knew. Pushing him too hard would only make him regress in his recovery.
That was how it had been the day she had returned. He had shouted at her, had demanded to know why she was there, and that anger followed by the emotional embrace had drained him completely. They hadn't really discussed her being back or their relationship yet. It had been put on hold until he was better, but sometimes she felt him watching her, and her skin would prickle—he was watching her with suspicion, as if he didn't really believe she was there or he thought that she was just playing with him and would leave at any moment. It saddened her and only deepened her resolve: she was staying.
There were still so many things to talk about. She had so many questions and so many concerns, but she simply needed to be patient. Hopefully, everything would come to place soon.
After putting some things in the oven to keep them warm, she went back out into the front room, unable to resist grinning a bit. He usually fell asleep in his chair, because he wanted to give the impression that he was fine and was perfectly capable of being in the front room and not cooped up in bed. However, as the minutes and hours wore on, more often than not he would nod for a few minutes and then fall into a deep sleep. And she would let him rest for however long he needed to.
He had several piles of books around his legs, and she picked them up, returning them to the shelves. Many of her books were there as well. A migration of her things had started, and most of her clothes, music, and other personal items were scattered throughout the house. She hadn't spent one night in her old apartment since coming down, though she had made many trips there to bring necessities down here. In fact, she was hoping to sell it soon. She had also quit her job—they had not been impressed with her, but taking care of Erik had turned into a twenty-four hour thing, and she didn't regret leaving that boring, thankless desk for an instant.
A book fell from her full arms and landed on the floor with a dull thump, and she looked over toward Erik hurriedly, hoping that it wouldn't wake him. His face scrunched up in annoyance, which did nothing to help his features, and he woke.
She noticed his face less and less with the passing days. Of course it would always be there—horrible and ugly—but as she became accustomed to it, there was less there to scare her. She was still holding onto his mask. She hadn't told him about it, and he had never brought it up. Maybe he didn't know Nadir Khan had given it to her. But she didn't want him to have it back just yet. He would undoubtedly put it right on as a way to hide from her, and she couldn't stand that thought, not when she was learning so much. One day soon, she would have to give it back to him, but she was selfish and wanted this type of situation too much.
"Sorry!" she said quietly, grabbing the fallen book and shoving it onto the shelf. "Sorry. I was trying to be quiet."
"Give me that one," he said, pointing. "There. That Russian one."
She put the rest back and brought over his requested book. He took it, and she re-tucked the blanket around his lap.
Instantly, he squirmed. "You are smothering me."
"It's cold down here," she said, ignoring his attempts to get the blanket off. "And you're sick."
She picked up the cup of cold, untouched tea that sat to the side of him and resisted sighing a little. True to his usual self, he was reluctant to eat much, which only made her frustrated, as he needed a full diet to get healthy. She could sense him watching her as she walked to the kitchen to put away the cup, and she could tell it was that shrewd, calculating look that he so often gave her lately. It annoyed her. He still didn't believe her, not even after weeks of caring for him and weathering his mean sarcasm and biting her tongue when he snapped at her. Had she not proved herself to him? She came back. She had the ring. She hadn't married Raoul. It was more than Erik had expected, but he was stubbornly clinging to some sort of snooty, bitter suspicion.
Well…that was probably to be expected, she reasoned with herself, washing out the cup. Erik had had a trouble past, and it was undoubtedly filled with betrayal.
Look what happened with that professor he had liked, she thought sadly to herself. And Nadir Khan.
She wanted to be different to him—not be on his list of people who had hurt him. She wanted to be everything he had ever wanted in a person—trusting and kind and caring and compassionate.
"It's only been a couple weeks," she murmured to herself, checking the oven to make sure the food wasn't burning. She had to be patient and let him realize on his own that she really was staying. Years of hurt couldn't be forgotten with a few weeks of her being his nurse.
The door opened, and she frowned, hurrying out to the front room, wondering why in the world Erik would get up and venture out. But he was still in his chair. Nadir Khan was there, his coat dripping all over the floor. Erik's hand quickly went to his face.
Before he even had a chance to speak, Christine said coldly, "Hello. Is there something you need?"
Nadir Khan looked back, appearing equally-irritable. It was probably natural—it wasn't as if they had parted on the best terms.
"I'm back to check up on Erik," he said shortly. Then she felt guilty immediately for her frosty attitude—in all likelihood, Nadir Khan had been the only person keeping Erik alive for those long months. She sat down on the sofa and glanced toward Erik, who was looking at Mr. Khan through the gaps in his long, spindly fingers.
Reaching into his pocket, Mr. Khan pulled out another bottle of pills and handed them over.
"Those are the last ones," he said. "I can't get you anymore."
Erik grunted. "I should not have any more at any rate. I will not want to get rid of them."
Mr. Khan nodded. There was silence for a few moments, and Christine looked between the two of them before sitting on the couch near Erik. She reached over and put a hand on his forearm.
"I have some chicken in the oven," she said quietly. "I can get some for you while you talk. And—and Mr. Khan, if he wants some…" She glanced at him. It was only polite to offer, and even though she still felt that lingering resentment and bitterness, perhaps it was best to let it go. Erik was alive, and Mr. Khan had kept him alive, and he had provided Erik with medicine that she wouldn't have been able to. So…maybe having him around was a good thing. Maybe. She wasn't sure anymore. Her views on Mr. Khan had changed so rapidly, so quickly…she didn't know what to think.
"No, I should probably—probably be on my way…" Mr. Khan said, looking a little uncomfortable.
"Oh, eat it, for pity's sake," Erik said, glaring from behind his bony hand. "I think she might cry if one more meal of hers is wasted."
She stood, and Mr. Khan nodded, though he still appeared apprehensive.
"We can eat in the dining room, I guess," she said hesitantly, unused to playing hostess. "I'll go dish some up. Erik, do you want…?"
"I am going back to the bedroom," he said, and he stood as well, gripping the back of the chair for support. It made her heart sink slightly to see him go—she wanted him to stay. She always wanted him to stay.
Still, not wanting him to go hungry, she resolutely dished up a plate and marched to the bedroom, knocking and the opening the door carefully, He was sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the opposite wall, and the outline of his bony shoulder blades could be seen through his white shirt. She approached him and put the plate on the bedside table.
"Here," she said quietly. "If you want it." Then, before he could protest, she leaned over and wrapped her arms around his neck, giving him a quick hug before leaving.
Mr. Khan had brought in a chair from the front room, and she set a plate in front of him as well, her heart pounding a little harder than normal. She sat down across from him and poked at her food for a while, her appetite gone when just a few minutes ago she had been feeling hungry.
"Well…" she said after a while of silence. "I—I'm still here."
Mr. Khan merely raised an eyebrow, and she knew he was probably thinking something along the lines of 'For now.' But he didn't reply and continued to eat.
"There's plenty more if you want any," she said, gesturing over to the kitchen. "I mean, there's always food left. It's not like he eats much—I feed him whenever I can—and I know that he'll probably never look…look, you know, normal, but it's good that he eats what he does.
"There are cookies," she continued after a few more minutes. "I made them yesterday. He didn't eat any, of course, but you can have them after if you want."
Mr. Khan looked tired. Maybe he was tired of being involved in this whole thing. She knew that she would be—he had tried to clean up so much of what he thought was his mistake and his mess, and nothing had really worked out the way he had intended. She wouldn't be surprised if one day he simply disappeared—maybe to a different country, to forget them and enjoy his remaining years.
"Mr. Khan," she then said, feeling her pride crumble and her indignant feelings sort of slither away. "I'm—sorry for being so rude to you. I really am. It's just so hard to…to understand this all, y'know? You're back here, and you're talking to Erik, and…I mean, you shot him."
"Ah, well, he's broken my nose twice now," Mr. Khan said, and she actually laughed, and it was a wonderful feeling. The tension in this house had been straining her for days; to have a break from it felt good.
"I just didn't think I'd ever see you again," Christine said honestly. The humor had eased her up, and she felt more open than she had for weeks—she almost felt like her old self. "It was really hard for me, to think for almost six months that…yeah. And then I come down here and you're here again, and you have medicine for him, on top of all things…"
"I don't expect you to understand this relationship," Mr. Khan said, and he, too, looked a little more at ease. "Sometimes I don't think I do myself. I just—I still stand by what I said earlier: I did what I had to do. I had to get you out."
She sighed. "Yeah. Poor Erik...I wish he hadn't been so scared. Maybe if he would've asked me instead of trying to force me…"
"You would have said yes?" Mr. Khan said sharply, looking at her intently.
"I—well—I don't know!" she said, feeling flustered. "I'm not sure what I would've done. It was all so sudden."
"I am sure we all could have done things differently," Mr. Khan said. "Nobody ever behaves perfectly in those critical situations."
"You don't have to tell me," she muttered, going back to her meal. That seemed to be her whole life—one huge mistake or blunder after another.
They ate for a while, and she was pleased when he didn't refuse another helping. If only he was Erik, sitting with her and eating the food she had made just for him…talking to her frankly and openly…
She looked at Mr. Khan and gathered some of her courage.
"Can I ask you something?" she said.
He nodded, and she tapped a finger on the table for a few moments.
"I haven't asked Erik yet," she said, unsure of where to start. "And I know you said that you think there are some things he should tell me, but I just wanted to know. I need to. You didn't really give me an answer last time." She shoveled in a few bites, trying to get the words to form in the right way. "When Raoul told me…about Erik going to prison…and why…"
Mr. Khan looked troubled immediately. "Christine, that's a very…unpleasant time in Erik's life. I don't think he'd want me discussing it with you."
"You already have," she insisted. "You told me about his drugs and how you two worked together."
"That's the surface of it all," he said. "And what if I tell you all the gory details? Would you leave?"
She paused. She already had to deal with Erik's murders…the rape of a woman was something she wasn't sure she could forgive so easily. Maybe it was because she was a woman, but the thought of being hurt like that and unable to defend herself—it was more frightening than hardly anything else she could imagine.
"I warned you that you wouldn't be able to handle it all," Mr. Khan said. "I told you to leave that first day. He's just going to start hoping again the longer you stay."
She clutched her fork tightly. "You haven't told me anything yet," she said, keeping her voice firm. "I want to stay, but I can't stand that thought. It's been haunting me for months. I can't wait any longer. I have to know."
Mr. Khan set his fork aside, leaning back in the chair. In the silence, she strained to listen if Erik was up and moving about, but all was silent. He had probably fallen asleep again. She hoped he had at least eaten a few bites.
When she looked back, she saw that Mr. Khan had closed his eyes, and she waited quietly for him to gather his thoughts and finish contemplating whatever was swirling around in his mind. At last, he sighed a little and looked at her, his eyes sad.
"Erik was in Iran for several years. There is always tension and turmoil in my country, so he was more than welcome when he arrived. He was young and had no family to claim him, which was even better. He was a prodigy at everything—and we exploited him as much as we were able to. He designed weapons, mostly…"
He paused for a moment, and Christine shifted uneasily.
"Everything was completely fine for a couple years," Mr. Khan continued, a deep line appearing between his brows. "Erik was good at what he did—I think he could do whatever he wanted if he set his mind to it. He was much more stable then, too, if you would believe it. He made me laugh a lot. But then things got out of hand." He paused again for a very long while, staring at the wall and apparently thinking deeply. Christine let him sit in silence until she began to squirm with impatience, and then she asked,
"Mr. Khan? What happened?"
The wrinkles in his face were shadowed with guilt. "Because of what he worked on, Erik was in contact with a lot of military personnel, and there was a man. A high-ranking official…a general of some type. And he had a wife. She was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. Everyone knew it, and this man was so proud of the fact that he was married to her. She had a…peculiar relationship with Erik. I'm sure she was commanded to stay away from him, but she was never punished for disobeying. Her husband was too blinded by her—he worshiped the ground she walked on."
Mr. Khan looked at her seriously. "I know you can't understand this all. It's a different world over there, especially in that dangerous circle. It was well-known that she slept around with other men, but her husband turned a blind eye, maybe because he was unwilling to divorce her or punish her, since adultery is strictly forbidden in our religion." He paused again. "And Erik…Erik. I was there one day, I saw how she interacted with him. She tried to flirt with him—she tried to excite him in any way she could, by whispers or touches…He never gave any type of visible response. And then one night…" He trailed off, his expression grim. "Apparently the woman ran out of her bedroom one night, screaming hysterically that the heathen monster had broken into her room and had raped her. Her husband had a decent amount of power, and so it wasn't very hard for him to arrange a quick murder in a matter of hours."
Christine's hands were pressed against her mouth. She took in a few breaths and forced herself to ask the question:
"Mr. Khan…Did—did…?" She couldn't finish the words.
He understood. "I don't know." Her heart clenched. Again, she repeated that mantra that had run through her mind for the past six months. He didn't. He didn't. He didn't. He wouldn't…
"I heard what was happening," Mr. Khan continued, "and I persuaded the general to throw Erik in prison instead. I told him that it would bring him more satisfaction to see Erik suffer than to simply shoot him between the eyes and be done with it. I don't know if that was the right thing to do." Mr. Khan rubbed his forehead. "Maybe it would have been better if Erik had simply been shot."
"But…" Christine said, her voice trembling. "No! No, it wouldn't have been! You saved his life, Mr. Khan."
"Did I?" he said, a humorless smile on his mouth. "Erik was in prison for three years before we managed to implement our escape plan. I ruined him by having him put in that prison. I've never asked what happened to him. I don't want to know. I feel like I created a monster and then set him loose on the world."
"Don't say that!" she said. "You saved his life, you—you helped him escape! What happened wasn't your fault. You saved him."
Nadir Khan was silent, and Christine hurriedly wiped away a few stinging tears.
"He didn't," she said softly, not necessarily speaking to Mr. Khan. "I know he didn't. He wouldn't hurt someone like that. I know he's done bad things, but he wouldn't do that."
"I didn't think so either, until you appeared. He was different about you, and it made me think that perhaps this sort of thing has happened before, but…I don't know. This is all my own thinking. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything at all…" He picked his fork up again and began to finish clearing his plate, an unspoken signal that this part of their conversation was over.
She sat there for a while, contemplating and thinking. He wouldn't—she knew he wouldn't. Knowing the circumstances hadn't changed her opinion. How could he when he always reacted so strongly to holding hands or embraces? And if he had…then who was to say he wouldn't feel guilty doing it again? He had had ample opportunities with her, yet he had always been so respectful of her space and physicality, going so far as to give her his own bed to sleep in.
But…he had been the Phantom. She remembered her first encounter with him. He had threatened to kill her. He was not above violence…and yet…this seemed so much worse than that. Still, her hoping and her heart won out, and she refused to believe it until Erik told her otherwise.
When Mr. Khan was finished, he stood and thanked her—somewhat warmly—for the meal before excusing himself.
"I will try to come down again in a couple weeks," he said in the front room, pulling on his coat. "If there is anything you need…anything, Erik will be able to get into contact with me."
She nodded. "Thanks. And—and thank you for telling me."
He nodded and left, and the opened door let in a chilly little blast of cold air. She shivered and rubbed her arms. Summer couldn't come soon enough.
He wasn't sleeping when she went back to the bedroom, still sitting on the bed, and she looked to see that his food had been touched…maybe not eaten, perhaps mostly just played with, but it gave her a little burst of happiness to see. She sat beside him and looked up.
Sometimes, when he was particularly irritable, he made every effort to hide his face from her. He was talented at tilting it just right so that it would be hidden from her. However, most of the time she had the impression that he was simply too tired to care anymore—and for that, she was glad.
"Hey—Erik?" she said, trying to stir up conversation. He was up and coherent; she wanted to talk to him. "Those pills Mr. Khan gives you. He said they're pain medication. Are you—I mean, still hurting…? Is there anything I can do to help?"
"The medication helps me sleep," he said, his tone blunt and short. She nodded in understanding, watching him for a minute and then looking down, not wanting him to think she was staring.
"I heard your conversation," he said, and he was looking straight at her. "I know what you are wondering."
She shook her head. There was no use arguing about what she had been talking to Mr. Khan about, so she said, "I know—I know you didn't."
"You cannot know that."
"I guess I can't," she admitted. "But you…I don't think you would."
They were silent for a long while, and she twisted a few curls around her fingers. Finally, when she couldn't take it anymore, she looked up at him.
"Erik—"
"No," he interrupted. "I would…No. I never touched that woman."
Although she hadn't thought he did before, she couldn't help a huge wave of relief wash through her. It swept away months and months of questions and guilt and worry and anxiety, leaving her feeling cleaner and happier than before. She tried hard not to let it show on her face.
"I knew it," she said simply. This confession, this revelation, left her feeling calmer than she had in weeks.
"Erik?" she said hesitantly. "Why would...why would that woman say those things? Why would she lie like that?"
He looked away. "I've no idea," he said shortly. "Perhaps she merely wanted to see a heathen monster murdered."
She shivered. "You're not a heathen monster. And I'm so sorry for what happened to you."
Carefully, she wrapped an arm around his and put her head on his bony shoulder. He tensed at the touch though he did not push her away. Christine wondered if the scars were from the prison...the thought made her sick.
"Erik?" she said again.
"What?"
"Can we talk for a minute?" she murmured. "I know things have been…well, different. Hard. I've done a lot of things I shouldn't, and…" This was suddenly turning out to be so much more difficult than she had expected. She hadn't really had these types of conversations with Raoul. Whenever they had happened, they usually turned out for the worst. She remembered the argument they had had around Valentine's Day last year. Talking to Erik about her relationship with him was not something she was exactly used to, and she was having a hard time finding the courage and the right words. However, she had a feeling that complete honesty would be best here, and so she gathered her thoughts, her face already growing a little warm.
"It's been hard for me," she said. "These months. Without you. And maybe it was good that I was alone for a little while—I think it was. I think I needed to get away from everyone and just be with myself. You guys always took care of me—Dad and Raoul and you…so being alone helped me. But I didn't like it." She held onto him tighter, and he twitched a little, unused to all this physical contact.
"I was being honest," she said. "I know you still don't believe me, but I want to stay with you. If—if you still want me, I'm here. We've both made a lot of mistakes, I think. And I'm not going to be perfect." She ran her hand up and down his arm a few times, wanting him to relax, wanting the tension to leave him. "But I just…when I thought you were…but you're here now, and…" She gave an embarrassed little laugh. "I'm not doing a very good job at this."
His fingers briefly skimmed over the gold band on her finger and then—slowly and hesitantly—they reached out toward her. Maybe he was testing her. Maybe he just wanted to. But she let him, and his hand carefully brushed over her curls, more of an awkward touch than a stroke.
The pressure made her heart skip and her smile widen. That was a good sign—the touching. When Erik initiated touch, she was aware of how nervous he was, like he was afraid she would push his hand away or avoid his skin. It had probably happened before.
"You're here now," she repeated.
And she sat there, an arm wrapped around his, her head resting against his shoulder, sitting quietly in the chilly room, listening to him breathe and content to do so.