In case anyone who has read my stories before was wondering, the reason Civic Duty is only updated once a week is because I've been writing an original novel alongside it... and I am finally coming to the end! But that does mean that it's taking up more of my attention, and alas, until it is finish, this story is officially going on hold in terms of being... worked on.

The good news is, I'm creeping up on the epilogue so that really shouldn't have much ramifications for all of you as I should be able to finish up my novel and get a new chapter for this story written next week. Should. Probably. Fingers crossed. So all that to say, I'm going to try my hardest to update on schedule, but just... have patience, please! I've been writing these stories since August and I'm a wee bit exhausted... yet the final push is on to at least be free of one of them! I mean... have on finished. Yes, that's what I meant...

So for now, onward!

XXXIII

There were so many things that she wanted to ask him, but as she continued to nibble on the bounty before her, she found that she was nervous about doing so. It was clear that things in his life had been far from pleasant, that they had broached some of his most intimate and painful experiences before even going on their first date, and she didn't know how to return to the relative ease and superficiality that came with simply getting to know someone.

But she supposed she needed to be the one to try, yet how was she to know which innocuous questions could lead to more sinister or haunting memories?

She swallowed and continued to ponder, only for Erik to be the one to break the silence.

"Did you always love to sing?"

Grateful for his attempt at conversation, she smiled at him. "Yes," she replied, the familiar fondness creeping over her as she thought of what she and her father had shared. "My papa taught me. He was a great musician, you know, always had such big dreams. But I didn't care about those things, I just wanted him to be proud of me. I can't remember ever being happier than when I was singing while he played."

Erik was quiet for a moment, breaking apart a muffin top as he stared down at the decimated remains. "And you… you still would not consider doing so with me?"

Christine hesitated. She had forgiven him, of that she was certain, and already she was sharing one of her favorite morning rituals with him…

Would continuing to deny him her voice be because of true discomfort, or because some small part of her still wanted to punish him for having frightened and absconded with her?

Christine grew increasingly uncomfortable that it should be the latter. She loved him, she knew that she did, and it was not like her to want to hold a grudge.

"I… I hadn't really thought about it," she confessed. "We've had so much going on."

Erik sighed and nodded his head, his disappointment obvious.

And she knew from the set of his lips, the slump of his shoulders, he would not be asking her again. He had accepted her refusal, that she had no interest in sharing her musicality with him, no matter how important it was to him, and he resignedly considered the subject closed.

She nibbled at her lip, her heart pounding as she considered, finally deciding that she would rather he be happy, even if it meant being open in such a personal way.

"But maybe… maybe now I'd be… willing to try. With you."

Erik stood quickly, his eyes alight with excitement. "We shall begin at once," he declared firmly.

Christine chuckled and shook her head. "Not now. We are on a date, and I believe it's customary for you to allow your companion to eat her fill before whisking her away on the next adventure."

Erik sat immediately, looking properly chastened. "My apologies," he muttered into his plate, although she could not help but notice the surreptitious glances he gave her own food, evidently trying to judge how long she would make him wait.

Christine took another bite of strawberry and chewed slowly, having no intention of rushing, despite Erik's enthusiasm. Now was their time to know one another, and she was not going to squander it by letting them scurry off to his music room.

"Did you ever go to school? Is that how you know so very much?"

Erik snorted and poured himself a cup of something dark from the pot resting near his plate. She had a personal pot of tea, but from the smell wafting from his side of the table, she supposed he was drinking coffee.

Her nose wrinkled as she imagined the bitter brew, taking a sip of her own sweetened tea instead.

"Education was of little importance during my early years, and evidently when you lack the foundation, traditional schools do not know what to do with you."

"Then how did you…." She gave her fork a wave, gesturing to the architectural marvel that was his home.

Erik smirked at her. "While others did not know how to educate me, that did not also mean I did not take it upon myself to learn."

Christine gaped at him. "You learned how to do all of this by yourself?"

Erik shrugged modestly, even as his eyes glittered at her wonder. "I am rather intelligent," he explained simply.

She had known that. Really she had. But to hear he had begun from nothing—completely alone and without anyone to guide his instruction… was it any wonder that parts of his moral compass had become skewed along the way?

Christine glanced about the dining room, not for the first time wondering how his home had come to be. "Did you actually build all of this yourself?" She couldn't imagine how long that would have taken, and she hated the thought of him toiling alone.

"Alas not," Erik replied almost woefully. "When renovations were underway downstairs, I hired my own crew for the implementation of this particular structure."

Christine's brow furrowed. "But… how did you keep them from talking about the project? I mean, surely it was a peculiar order."

Erik smirk turned into a grin. "You would be surprised what proper financial motivation can provide in terms of discretion."

Christine gave him a dubious look and he picked imaginary lint from his sleeve. "They might also have been under the impression that it was a highly classified government project that would result in some… unpleasantness if word ever leaked of its creation. And they might have signed some heavily worded contracts to further ensure their silence."

"Erik!" Christine cried reproachfully. "That's terrible!"

"No," Erik corrected patiently. "That is effective."

Christine rolled her eyes. "And what would you have done if one of them had talked? Had them arrested? Threatened them more?"

Killed them?

She did not say it. She bit back the words even as they tried to escape her, but as Erik's eyes narrowed, she could have sworn that he heard them anyway.

"Is there something you would like to ask me, Christine?"

Christine nibbled her lip, uncertain, but Erik continued before she could fully order her thoughts.

"You are by far the most compassionate creature of my acquaintance, and yet you suddenly question how my workers fare. But if you are too afraid to ask it, I can assure you, I would not have bothered to pay them so handsomely if I intended merely to murder them when the project was completed."

Christine kicked herself for being so accusatory. She knew better than that, especially when she wanted a pleasant breakfast. A proper date.

But a question from the second trial still niggled at her mind, and she supposed she had ventured too far into the matter to simply change the subject.

"What happened with Mr. Buquet?" she asked quietly, fiddling with her napkin.

Erik sighed deeply. "Are you asking me if I attempted to kill him?"

Christine hesitated. Did she really want to know?

But eventually she managed a reply. "I want to know your side of things. Not so I can be angry, but just... everyone else got a chance to speak except you." Although really, she supposed there was nothing keeping him from revealing a great deal more when the second trial was entirely of his own creation, but still, he had not taken advantage of his audience by revealing all of what he had thought and done.

Erik sank back against his chair, looking at her thoughtfully. "What sort of a man do you think he is?"

Christine bit her lip, considering how honest to be. Throughout the entirety of the trial, she was becoming far more aware of how biased she had been. While no less right regarding Erik's innocence, her compassion and that inexplicable pull she had felt toward him had colored her view of witnesses and their testimony, perhaps to the detriment of her judgment. And yet with Mr. Buquet...

"He did not seem very nice."

Erik barked out an incredulous laugh, startling her with its vehemence. "You have a gift for understatement, my dear. No, Joseph Buquet is not a very nice sort of man. He is negligent in his work, he is often intoxicated on one substance or another, and he is a general nuisance to my person."

Christine took a sip of tea, not sure how to respond. "But... is that really reason enough to hurt him?"

"Ah, have you changed your mind so quickly? Now I merely wished to hurt him instead of end his miserable existence?"

Christine took a deep breath before looking at him pleadingly. "Please don't mock me, Erik. I'm just trying to understand."

Something in her tone made him soften and he lost some of his sarcastic bluster, instead finally speaking in the much gentler voice she was used to. "I do not ask you to be my judge, Christine. I am well aware of my sins without you poking at them."

Her eyes widened. "I... I didn't mean to..."

He smiled at her sadly. "No, you mean to understand. But how can you? When your world, while painful though it undoubtedly has been, has still allowed you to think that there is the potential for good within even the sorriest excuse of humanity." Erik huffed, a resigned and miserable sort of sound. "And eventually, when you pry out such secrets from me, you will begin to realize that not all of us are worth loving, worth your compassion."

Christine could stand it no longer. She stood and walked closer to him purposefully, not completely certain of what she intended to do but hating the way he had simply accepted this terrible untruth as an inevitable.

"You think there are conditions on my love?"

There was no chair near him, and though she could have knelt upon the floor, in this moment she rather liked that she was able to tower above him for a change—although even seated he was not so very much shorter than her.

Erik gave a little shrug. "Why should there not be? It is very generous of you to overlook certain failings, to forgive what I... what I have done to you... but I have no illusions that at some point you shall hear something of my past, some blight upon my soul that will make it so that I am no longer worthy of even your smallest affection."

How she hated his doubts!

And was it any wonder that he was so reticent to share with her, if he feared that at any moment a story or a mention of his past would suddenly cause her to withdraw the love he was so careful to accept in the first place?

"Erik," she replied finally, words seeming so inadequate. But they were all she had, and she was all he had to face a lifetime of demons.

And that made her feel all the more sorry for him.

"Papa always told me that when I loved someone... if I had to love anyone other than him," she smiled at the memory, of her younger self shaking her head adamantly that such a thing would never be necessary, not when she had him to dote and care for her. To love her.

Still it made her heart ache to think of it. Of the easy love that she had known, the knowledge that it was fully reciprocated.

Erik had never had that. He wouldn't have the least idea of how this was supposed to work. But she was new to anything romantic, to fluttering hearts and this strange desire to see what his lips felt like against her own.

She cleared her throat as she pushed away that particular thought. At least for now.

"When I fell in love," she started again, "I had to make sure it was with a man I could love completely. I couldn't pick and choose which parts I decided I would keep, nagging and wheedling until he changed into someone different. Because that isn't fair and I would hate it if he tried to do that to me."

Erik looked up at her sardonically. "Why would anyone suggest that you should change a single hair on your head? You are utter perfection."

Christine smiled, despite herself. "Thank you. You are certainly wrong about that, but it's nice to hear you think well of me." He made to say more, but she shook her head, wanting him to fully comprehend what she was trying to say.

"I want this relationship to be good for you too, not just for me. And I... whether it was too fast, or maybe even a little foolish, I started caring about you the very first day I saw you in that courtroom. I didn't recognize it then—how could I?—but I'm starting to now and..." She paused, collecting her wildly scattering thoughts as Erik continued to stare at her so intently, his unmasked face still so inscrutable. "I only wanted to fall in love once, you know."

His head cocked to the side and she hurried to continue. "My parents did. They'd met in school and just... knew. Papa said maybe there was simply some magic back in Sweden that made that happen because he certainly didn't like many of the American boys I went to school with, but I... I remembered how happy they looked in pictures together. They'd been each other's firsts in everything, and the only heartbreak they'd suffered was when she... when she'd died."

Still staring at her so intently, Erik reached out a long finger and gently stroked her arm in comfort. She hadn't realized that a tear had escaped. Her longings for a mother had long since cooled, her pain more for her father who had lost his love rather than a mother she could barely remember.

"We have not... done so very much," Erik assured her. "If you wish to still find a young, handsome boy to kiss and love and marry. He could still be your firsts."

The way he said it made her fully believe that if she asked it of him, he would allow her to do so. He would pretend that he had forgotten what they had shared, that she had confessed her love and kissed him—if perhaps she had not been brave enough to place her lips upon his.

But how she hated the very thought.

For she knew from his posture, from the way his eyes glistened as he offered her what was the closest thing to freedom he had yet to express, he would not truly forget. He would remain here, saddened and alone, imagining her with her new lover, everything that he could not hope to be.

Yet she didn't want it. It would be simpler. It would be conventional. People would likely not think her mad for remaining with him. But in this moment, she didn't care. Not when the man she loved was offering to let her go and share the sweetest gestures with another, just because he thought she might wish it.

"Erik," she began again, this time kneeling and not wanting to tower, not wanting to do anything but impress upon him just how very much he meant to her. "I don't think you understand. I only wanted those to be because I loved someone. And I'm afraid that you're stuck with me now because I... I love you very much, and I don't want to run off with someone handsome. I just want to be with you." She glanced at their abandoned breakfasts sheepishly. "Even if we can't seem to get through a conversation without me bringing up something horrid."

Erik tugged at her, clearly displeased with her position on the floor, but she refused to rise completely, not liking their imbalance any longer. So she in turn began to push at him and he watched bemusedly as he finally relented and pushed his chair back enough that she might perch upon his knee, draping her arms about his shoulders.

"I am hardly more comfortable than the floor," he protested weakly, although already she felt his fingers sliding to her waist to hold her steady, tentative though they were.

"Maybe," she agreed, his legs bony and lanky. "But this way I still get to be close."

Erik shook his head. "How can you want to?" he finally asked, his voice almost pleading with her for understanding. "You question my actions with Buquet one moment, and the next you're sitting in my lap. You're everything that is good and compassionate, and yet you want to be with me, regardless what I've done. How?"

Christine sighed and smoothed a lock of his hair. "You haven't known love, Erik. And I'm not foolish enough to think that you'll know what it means or how to express it. I mean..." she hastened to correct herself. "If you should ever feel that way. Not that you do right now, or that you will, just..."

His head tilted slightly to the side, his brow furrowing. "You think I do not feel love?"

"Not that I don't think you're capable!" she clarified. "Just that... I wouldn't want to presume..."

One of his hands left her waist, a lone finger coming to skim the apple of her cheek. "You question my love for you?"

"I…"

"You think that I would go to all this trouble? That I would have hated the very thought of you with your Officer Ryan so very much if I did not love you? Did not want a chance for you to choose to be with me?"

Christine blushed. "You never said."

Erik smiled grimly. "And how should you have liked to hear of my love in those early days? To hear that I dreamed of a time when it might be reciprocated, when I could shower you with gifts and sweet nothings simply to see you smile? It would only have frightened you more, and I'd had quite enough of your tears."

She smiled at him, sorely tempted to simply lean forward and give him a kiss, but also not feeling quite so bold as to actually do it. "And you say that you aren't sorry about things."

Erik sighed, shaking his head. "If I was less of a coward I would have let you be."

Christine shrugged. It was true, and yet, she wasn't going to chastise him for it. Not when she loved him, and not when he made her breakfast, and most certainly not when he possibly, perhaps, loved her as well...

"So... you love me then?"

Erik scoffed and gave her one of his most withering glares, although his eyes were warm and soft as they regarded her. "I suppose I do."

Christine pulled away. "You only suppose?" she repeated, certain he was poking fun at her. And while it amused her, while her heart fluttered that he did in fact seem to love her, she didn't like that he wouldn't simply say it.

But Erik was suddenly grasping her more firmly so that she could not fully free herself. "I love you, my dear Christine. I should not, of that I am certain, but since I first saw you I knew that I could love none but you. And I shall speak the words daily if it should make you happy."

It was no mystery to her why he thought himself so unworthy. None had chosen him, none had thought him a worthwhile companion, instead choosing to spurn and hurt him whenever they could.

But she had.

In that moment she knew that he would have released her. He would have shown her the way out of his underground home and allowed her to live whatever life she so chose. Erik would mourn the loss of her for the rest of his days, but she would be free.

Except that freedom came at too terrible of a price, and she wanted no part of it.

Not when his unhappiness so affected her own.

"I don't know about every day," she murmured, fiddling with one of his pearly buttons on his crisp shirt. "Just most days. Since... since I hope to have a great many here with you."

Erik grew very still, his eyes—those eyes so very nearly hidden by the deep set of his sockets—searched her carefully for any sign of deception.

Any sign that it was foolish to hope that she could be truthful.

"I would let you go," he breathed so quietly that she almost missed it. "Simply ask it and I will do it, though I am sure I would die of despair."

What kind of offer that was she had no idea, and she had to bite back her incredulous response that even at her lowest point, when her fear was cloying and she had quite despised him for having brought her here, she would not have willingly allowed him to die.

But instead she brushed her thumb against his cheek, smiling as he oh so uncertainly turned and placed a kiss upon her palm, and she knew that she could never leave him.

Not when he made her heart feel so very full.

"I belong with you, Erik. Whether that's down here in your home or in the castle you promised me that first day."

His hands clutched at her sweater and she vaguely worried about the wrinkles they surely would have created, but she could not manage any words of chastisement—not when he was looking at her so very intently.

"May I... that is to say... I should very much like to..."

She smiled again at his stuttered response. "What is it you'd like?"

Erik was quiet for a moment before he took a deep breath, his shoulders tense as if already warding off her rejection.

"You do not have to, Christine, and I shall not be cross if you refuse."

She placed her pointer finger over his lips briefly to stem his foolishness.

"Ask me," a part of her, a very great part, hoping that he desired what she very much wished she had the courage to do.

And then suddenly, he did.

"May I kiss you, Christine?"

Sooo... someone mustered up a bit of courage there! What do you think, will she say yes? And will it actually make it to their lips this time?! And what about Christine's resolve to stay with him? Yay or nay?

Until... hopefully Saturday! But just know, reviews shall spur me to finish up my other story faster so I can give this one the priority it so deserves.