I've been feeling rather poorly today (throes of allergy season and my medication seems to have decided to stop working... joy), but me Beta is wonderful and heard my cry for aid and got me through word count today! So as always big thank you to Honey Jenkins.

And now, I think some aftermath is in order... and I think I've been promising a date for a while now...

Onward!

XXXII

She hadn't meant to make him cry.

And yet it seemed that the simple brush of her lips against his skin—his so delicate skin—caused some hidden part of him to break, and tears fell freely as he clutched her to him.

"Oh, Christine!" he muttered over and over as he wept, and she sincerely hoped that she had not triggered some horrible memory for him. Not when they had discussed such painful things already. She couldn't bear to think she had so unthinkingly added to his hurts.

"Erik," she tried, brushing her fingers through the silky strands of his hair as she sought to understand. "Did I... did I do something wrong?"

He gave a choked sound and pulled back from her ever so slightly, just enough so he could see her properly. He was a sight, his eyes so red and swollen, tears streaming down his cheeks as he looked at her with such awe, such reverence.

It nearly made her breathless.

"You love me," he whispered disbelievingly. "You would not kiss me if you did not love me and... no one has ever done either. And... and you did not die."

How her heart ached for him.

She swallowed back her own tears, but her words were strained as her throat felt tight and thick from the sobs that threatened to undo her. "Die? Why would I die?"

Erik fiddled with an errant thread instead of looking at her. "I begged a kiss once. Just to know what it was like. And she," and Christine needed no explanation as to whom he referred, "said that if anyone did manage to ever kiss me, they would drop down dead from the horror of it."

She wanted to find this woman. She wanted to hit and scream and demand how anyone, anyone could look at a poor unhappy Erik and treat him with such disdain, wounding and tainting his lovely soul with such poison.

Her tears fell freely, but she managed to speak despite them, trying to imbue all the sincerity, all the love she could. "Well, you have someone to love you now. And to kiss you, if you'd like. That was a horrible, horrible thing for her to say because it isn't true. It never was true. You're a good man, Erik, despite it all, and I wish you could believe that."

Erik made no reply, but then, she didn't truly expect one.

"And I... I'm glad you know I'm not the kind of girl that goes around kissing men that I don't love."

Erik nodded solemnly at that and tucked his head back into the crook of her neck, content to simply hold her, to bury away his visage so she could not see and that, in that moment, did not matter in the least.

"Does this mean that you... that you forgive your Erik. For what he did to you? And for not being sorry?"

Christine wasn't sure whether she was closer to laughing or to weeping, so she simply gave a sad sort of smile and continued to stroke his hair, thin though it was, as she offered him what solace she could. "It is terribly hard to remain upset with you, you know. Not when you're so sweet and thoughtful all the time."

Erik made a funny humming sound in the back of his throat. "I am not sorry for that either."

He sounded almost like a boy... a boy he had once been, tortured and abused instead of loved, regardless of the circumstances. But she didn't mind, not now. Not now when that childish part of him could at the very least be soothed with a hug and a kiss to the forehead.

She wasn't so foolish as to think that the rest of him—the man who did terrible things, and thought that they were justified because of past hurts—could be pacified so easily.

And yet still, somehow in the midst of all the craziness, all the confusion he had wrought upon her…

Her anger had faded.

Her understanding had grown.

And forgiveness had been nurtured.

"Yes," she murmured softly. "It means I've forgiven you."

And her Erik held her all the more, whispering words she could not hear, yet she felt in her heart were declarations of thankfulness.

And maybe even of love.

Christine was fairly certain it was too early for sleeping, but she suddenly felt weary from the heavy nature of their discussion, and she wanted nothing more than to retire. To sleep until her mind could make sense of it all, could manage to remind her that justice was in the world, even when it seemed so very lost.

But that would leave Erik alone, would leave him with his thoughts and, if he was equally tired, with that coffin.

Christine swallowed again, bracing herself for his response. "Erik," she began slowly. "Why do you have a coffin in your room?"

Erik chuckled, that horrible sound that came without humor, and she knew without seeing them that his eyes would turn to flat, cold embers, his mind lost in the abyss of long ago. "We must grow used to everything, Christine, including Death. It comes for us all and perhaps I would like to not fear it so very much."

Would she never stop crying?

Lots of people feared death. Perhaps not the act of dying itself, but the unknown, the uncertainty that accompanied the experience.

But that did not mean they commissioned caskets and scattered them throughout their homes, forcing themselves into the confines prematurely so they could see what it felt like.

To actually be a corpse, if only for a while.

And she couldn't bear the thought of him returning there again.

"Would you… would you stay with me tonight?" she asked quietly. "I… don't want to be left alone."

I don't want to leave you alone.

Erik grew very still, and she hastened to clarify.

"Not to… not to do anything. Just… just to be with me. And you can stay on top of the covers if you like, or sit in a chair," she winced at that, knowing that if she asked it, he undoubtedly would remain so for the entire night, uncomfortable and possibly cold even though she had asked that his underground home be kept warmer for her sake. "But just… so that you're there."

"You wish for Erik… for me to be there while you sleep?" Erik asked haltingly. "You would invite me into your bed?"

Christine blushed thoroughly at that, as she had only heard of such things in relation to… well… relations. And no matter that she loved him, no matter that she grieved with him, she was most certainly not prepared to do anything of the sort. Not yet anyway. Probably not for a while.

But the idea itself did not repulse her. She had no doubt that Erik would be a gentle sort, especially since he knew what it was for it to be a…

She pushed the thought away before she started to cry once more.

"Only if you want," she assured him. "But… maybe you need me too. If only a little. And I'd like to keep you company as well, if you'd let me."

Erik scoffed at that and finally he was looking at her, his shock and hopefulness mingling and making her very glad for her offer. "I need you very much," he murmured, allowing one hand to reach up and stroke her cheek softly. "I do not think you realize how much."

She was beginning to. And while the prospect had once been a daunting one, still was if she thought about it for too long, she didn't mind the idea any longer.

Not when it meant being with him.

Christine clamored off his lap, suddenly remembering their position and her embarrassment at being so forward finally settling over her.

Erik rose as well, and she forced down her blushes and stuttered apologies, instead taking his hand as she made to lead them to the bedroom.

Nerves settled in her stomach at the thought.

She'd been clear. This was not the beginning of a romantic tryst. She only wanted to offer comfort and receive it in return, and sometimes that could only be given by company.

Christine turned to Erik to remind him of that again, just so things were perfectly clear between them, but his attention was focused on a dozing Boo. "I will be accompanying your mistress now. Your presence will not be required. But do be careful of the leather."

He only gave a little snore in response.

And Christine wondered if it was actually possible to fall further in love simply because of a cat and a man's covetousness.

"He'll do as he pleases, you know," she reminded Erik gently. "And he gets lonely too. Surely you wouldn't deny him."

Erik sniffed and followed obediently as she led him through to her room, although he looked awkward and unsure as she went to her favored side of the bed and climbed beneath the covers.

"Perhaps not," he relented, his attention never leaving the vacant side of her bed. "Although I did not allow him into my coffin, no matter how he cried to investigate."

Christine shivered at that and resolved that in the morning, when she was rested and no longer so wholly overwhelmed, she would address that particular matter further.

She tapped the bed at her side in invitation, and she could easily see Erik's conflict. "It's just to sleep, Erik. That's all. I'm not... I'm not ready for more. Not yet. I hope... I hope that's okay."

It would certainly have to be, but she knew, even before he had revealed the horrors of his childhood, Erik was not the type to press her, to demand liberties that were not his to take.

He took a deep breath and nodded, and when he settled beside her, still fully dressed in his suit and shiny patent leather shoes as he crossed his ankles neatly, she suddenly realized she should have asked if he'd prefer to change first.

But he waved away her concern, his body tense. "I would prefer to remain as I am," he replied stiffly."Unless... unless it is displeasing to you."

Christine shrugged and tapped at the lamp on the side table until the light dimmed. "I want you to be comfortable," she reminded him. She nestled down further in the covers, the silence suddenly heavy and almost smothering.

And how she hated it.

She wanted comfort, not to add more complication to her already muzzy thoughts, and she did the only thing she could think of to at least alleviate some of the strain.

Christine scooted a little closer, careful and prepared for Erik to flee from her completely, until she rested her head against his arm, her hand nestled in the crook of his elbow, a soothing place from its familiarity. His suit was soft against her cheek, and she tried not to notice Erik's hitched breath at her action.

"Thank you for staying with me," she whispered into the dark, some part of her settling as they were once more touching, once more together. "I hope it is not too difficult for you."

He was silent for a long while, and she was very nearly asleep before he answered her.

Yet suddenly a trembling hand was smoothing a lock of her hair back behind her ear, and she wondered if it was real or simply a dream.

"Your Erik would walk through fire in order to please you. Yet instead you ask him to guard you while you sleep." His voice was tight and rather choked, and even in her muddled state, she recognized that he was close to tears once more. "You are far more than I could ever deserve."

"S'not true," she mumbled, trying to convince her partially asleep mind to allow her to answer him properly.

But he merely hushed her and continued to pet her hair, humming softly until she could fight the sleep no more.

-X-

When next she awoke, she was alone.

She briefly wondered if she had imagined the entire exchange, but the bed beside her was slightly rumpled, more than was usual when there was only her within it.

"Erik?" she called tentatively, suddenly worried that she would find him in a woeful state—that he abandoned her during the night and returned to the terrors of his thoughts and memories, with no one there to help him.

She received no reply and her worry heightened.

He was not in the living room where he so often sat waiting for her to awaken, and with growing dread she hurried to his bedroom door.

Only to hear sounds emanating from the kitchen.

The sight there surprised her, but perhaps it really shouldn't have.

Boo was on his little platform, happily lapping at his breakfast as Erik bustled about the room, baking and frying in turn—the very picture of domesticity.

And not a hint of upset on his features, even as he glanced down at Boo and tsked at him. "Do try to keep your chicken in the bowl, little fellow. I shall have enough mess to clean as it is."

She didn't know why but her eyes started to sting as she witnessed his gentleness, the tender care he showed to their little kitten—no less than he had ever shown to her.

And then she remembered the state she was in, her hair likely a mess from sleep and her teeth not even brushed.

And she fled back to her room and hastened to rectify her appearance, she realized with a rueful smile that it was the first time she cared what he thought of her looks. She wanted to be pretty for him, for him to appreciate the effort she had put forth.

Just as other couples did.

Except they weren't a couple. Not really. They hadn't even had a proper date, but already he had spent the night in her bed. And, she supposed with a grimace, they were living together—something she was not wholly comfortable with.

It sent an uneasy feeling in her belly to think of it, and she wondered what her papa would say. He had been so clear about the importance of marriage, of her choosing wisely the man she would call husband, and never once did he suggest that things could happen so completely out of order.

Her hair tamed, her teeth brushed, and the facilities used, Christine emerged once more from her bedroom, feeling much more prepared to greet Erik properly.

"Will you be staying this time?" Erik asked when next she entered the kitchen, his gaze never leaving the oven as he carefully watched the muffins within for signs of turning a golden brown.

Christine blushed, hoping that he truly hadn't noticed her, but she supposed there was nothing for it now. "Yes," she replied cheerfully, hopping on an unused bit of counter and deciding to simply watch him as he worked.

Erik gave her a dubious look but at her cheeky smile said nothing about her current position.

That was for the best.

"What's all this?" she asked, gesturing to the signs of breakfast to come.

Erik shifted slightly, and she realized he was slightly uncomfortable at her question. "I had... hoped that last night could have been the beginning of..." he took a deep breath seemingly to settle his nerves. "You have seemed rather... agreeable to my person, and it was my intention that perhaps dinner last night could have been the beginning of our... of our courtship. But instead I had to open my mouth and ruin what could have been a perfectly pleasant evening, so I wondered if you might consent to have breakfast... with me."

She blinked at him. She'd had breakfast with him before... he'd yet to let a morning go by without her eating something promptly upon her wakening. But as he looked at her so bashfully, so unsure that what he asked was too much to actually hope for, she could not help but recognize that he was asking for more.

He wanted a date.

With her.

"You did say that you had forgiven me," he reminded her softly.

She cleared her throat, cursing that yet again she felt the urge to cry for his unhappy plight, but instead she reached out and popped a freshly sliced strawberry in her mouth from a nearby bowl and gave him a smile. "I should be happy to have a breakfast date with you. Assuming you will actually eat with me."

Erik appeared torn between grimacing at the prospect and beaming at her acquiescence.

And not for the first time, she thought him one of the sweetest men she had ever known.

"I realize it is not as traditional as dinner," he apologized, returning his attention to the muffins.

Christine took another strawberry. "Erik, this is perfect. I've seen plenty of first dates at the restaurant, all formal and stuffy as they try to impress each other, completely self-conscious about how they chew and how they hold their forks. I just... want to know you. That's all. And for you to know me. And I think we can manage to do that over muffins just as well as a nice steak. Maybe even better."

She meant it too. While at times she would look at the new couples with a pang of longing and loneliness, typically she found the entire exchange stilted and forced. She even felt awkward as their server, and she couldn't imagine how much worse it would be to actually be forced to be a part of the dinner itself.

Their breakfast apparently the color he desired, Erik retrieved them from their heated prison, removing them from the pan and settling them on a plate. He piled it high and she knew it wasn't possible for her to eat so many, and she hoped that meant he was actually going to eat with her. It had not escaped her notice that he had not actually stated that he would.

His mask had returned today, but she made no mention of it. Somehow she felt that would be worse, to continue to bring up a subject that obviously pained him, especially after the night they had shared. He had been vulnerable, some of his darkest secrets laid bare, and she could offer him some small comfort, no matter how it saddened her that he should think such a thing necessary.

"If you would not mind bringing the strawberries, my dear, we can adjourn to the dining room."

Her cheeks pinked at his endearment and she almost fumbled with the bowl of fruit, giving him a sheepish smile at his look of concern. "I'm fine," she promised, wishing that it was true.

Why did he affect her so?

Erik did not appear wholly convinced, but he nodded anyway and carried the plate of muffins behind her as they made their way to the long dining table.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, not expecting to find even more food laid across the table.

He apologized again as he took away their coverings, "To keep them warm," he explained, eggs and bacon and even fried red potatoes being revealed. "If you had slept a bit longer I could have had it all laid out properly." His tone was not one of chastisement, but embarrassment, and she gave an incredulous chuckle that a bit of foil on his fine table should be a source of discomfort.

"Erik, it's perfect. Truly."

And because she could stand it no longer, she placed her bowl of strawberries down next to the plate she hoped to make hers, walking to him purposefully and going on tiptoe to place a kiss on his covered cheek.

For he was so very sweet and so very kind, and he made her heart flutter in all the most pleasant ways.

He raised a hand to touch where she had kissed when she had once more pulled away and returned to her place, taking bits of everything and lathering a generous amount of butter on her blueberry muffin.

"Aren't you going to sit?" she finally asked him, a teasing lilt to her voice.

Erik nodded solemnly and did so, and to her relief she saw him taking small portions of things as well.

But instead of eating, he merely picked at his food with a fork, not taking a bite of anything.

She chewed a bit of bacon, considering, before she forced herself to set aside her own fork and napkin. "I'm going to get a sweater," she announced, "so if you want to perhaps... remove your mask while I'm gone, I wouldn't mind."

And before he could reply, she did just that.

She truly wasn't cold, Erik keeping his home much more of a pleasant temperature due to her request, but she hoped that maybe with a bit of privacy he wouldn't feel so badly about revealing himself to her. And to her great relief when she returned to the dining room, this time swathed in cashmere that felt far too grand for the t-shirt and soft pants she had donned the day before, Erik's face was indeed uncovered. He kept his eyes lowered to his food, this time taking small nibbles every so often.

Christine returned to her chair and searched for a safe enough topic. "You didn't learn to cook just for me, did you?"

Erik shook his head slowly, his shoulders relaxing somewhat, perhaps because she hadn't commented on his eating habits or his appearance. "No, I learned when I was young and... on my own. It was a grand diversion for a time, exploring new tastes and flavors, especially when I began to travel, but..." he sighed and gave a little shrug. "The novelty passes over time, especially when there is only one to cook for. It ceased to be worth the effort."

She thought of him, alone and miserable here before she came, so lost in his own despair that he had simply stopped living. Stopped creating, stopped thriving, stopped... everything.

"But it's worth it now?" she asked cautiously, hoping that he was not upset at having to do so again.

"Oh yes," he breathed, his expression of pure earnestness. "For it places such a lovely smile on your lips when it is good. I would cook for you the rest of my days if it meant that you would share such things with me."

And as Christine took a bite of her very excellent muffin, she thought that might not be such a terrible exchange.

Sooo... The beginnings of a date! And a breakfast one at that. Not all dinner and candlelight, but whoever suggested that a muffin couldn't be romantic food? And our sneaky Erik even made it into Christine's bed last night! And a glimpse at his own room for the first time... is it what you thought it would be? Wonder if Christine will have more to say about that coffin...

Please review!