Erik simply stood, sobbing, trembling from head to foot. Christine's little hands around his ankles were heavier than any iron shackles, and they seared him like a red-hot brand. He leaned against the wall and slowly sank down to the floor, to Christine. He was suddenly so tired, so very tired, and so weighed down by guilt and misery that he could not keep himself afloat. He wanted her to hold him, to comfort him, to absolve him of his wickedness, but he knew that she couldn't—couldn't!—soothe this guilt away. Christine, after all, could not fix everything. He was the one who had to make it right this time; he was the one who had to save himself, to save them both. But how? How?

"Let her go."

"No, you fool, she'll never come back! Not now, not after what you've done!"

"Christine will come back. Erik must trust Christine. If he trusts her, she will save him. She will come back if Erik is good for her, good and kind and trusting. He must give his little bird her freedom."

"She won't! She'll leave with that boy; she'll leave you here to rot in this dungeon and she'll never return! Don't trust her, she lies; she LIES!"

"Erik does not deserve her."

"But he can have her. Erik can keep her here, safe, with him; everything he's ever wanted... A real, living bride..."

"A prisoner is not a bride."

"She will learn to love you. She will come to love you, with time. There will be no time if she runs away!"

"She cannot love her jailer! Christine must be free. It isn't right to keep her here. Erik must trust her to return. She will return."

"NO!"

"Christine," he said, not looking at her. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it held none of its former threat.

"Christine, I am sorry. Erik is sorry. He will take you home, Christine. Erik trusts you. Christine will come back, won't she? Of course she will. Erik knows she will. He trusts her. Christine will come back and make everything right, won't she? Yes, yes it must be so. Erik will trust Christine, and she will not hurt him. She will come back, of course she will. She wouldn't run away from poor old Erik, who loves her so, who is just a poor dog at her feet..."

"Trying to win her pity now, are you, Erik? You old coward. That's all you could ever hope to get from her, isn't it? Pity. You want her to pity you enough that she'll do anything you want, and your love-addled brain can make believe she loves you, too, and isn't just playing along to put you out of your misery. And she will, too! Oh, too good, too sweet is the merciful Christine. She would pity this rotting carcass to the ends of the Earth. And what is love, after all, but just a shade of pity? Yes, she will pity her Erik, and do him little favors to relieve his misery... but when he is no longer miserable the pity will dry up, and what will become of us then?"

"Of course not, Erik!" Christine cried, clutching his ankles more tightly and breaking his train of thought, "I will return, Erik, I just need time, and your trust. You must trust me, Erik! You must trust me if I am to love you." She stared into his watering eyes, and recognition pierced him like a bullet.

"Love me?" he gasped, reaching out and clutching her upper arms, "Christine, Christine you will love me?"

He was squeezing so tightly she felt sure her arms would bruise.

"I will try, Erik! I will!" she cried, tears still streaming down her face, "I will love you, Erik, but you must let me go away for a bit, into the sun, to think! You must let me, Erik! Oh, God... You poor man, and I... What is to become of us both if you cannot learn to trust me?"

Before Erik could even consider the question, Christine had flung her arms about him and was sobbing uncontrollably into his chest.

"Poor Erik!" he heard her whisper, over and over and over, "Poor, poor Erik!"

She was too close; much, much too close. In throwing her arms around him, Christine had essentially flung herself upon Erik and was now slumped entirely against him. The scent of her did not help matters, for she smelled of roses and of cinnamon and of life, and Erik had never smelled anything half so lovely in his entire existence. He took in a deep breath through what he had of a nose and exhaled shakily, tears running down his cheeks. He could feel her tears soaking through the starched cotton of his shirt and they were warm, warm, and she was weeping them for him; only for him.

He sighed once more and wrapped one skeletal arm around her, tugging her impossibly, wonderfully closer and reached up his other hand to stroke her hair.

"So soft," he thought. He could feel the little pins that held up the hair, and his fingers twitched excitedly at the thought of pulling them out. But now was not the time.

"Oh, Christine," he said softly, "Dear, dear girl. How could Erik have ever doubted you? Christine... so kind, so faithful... Erik will trust you. How can he help but trust you, when you weep those sweet tears for him? Oh Christine..." He hugged her tighter, tears streaming silently as he rocked her back and forth. She had cried for him, against him, and so beautifully that he had thought it to be a dream. She could not lie to him like this. He would let her go, and she would love him, but now was not the time. Now she was weeping, and she needed his comfort, and comfort her he would.

"There, there, Christine; there there... Erik trusts you, now... He trusts you and he loves you and he loves you all the more because he trusts you... And Erik trusts no one, Christine; no one until you... Dear, dear girl, you can help Erik get better... He knows you can. But Erik must help too, Christine. Erik must help you, and he must help himself. Erik will help, in order that he might be less of a burden upon Christine; might not bother her quite so much. Perhaps he will even be useful to her, a little. Erik has always taken care of himself before, but the thought of you tending to his needs was just too good, and he simply had to bring you here, to try and win your love. And Christine, you care! Oh, Erik was so very afraid you would hate him, but he knew he had to take the chance, and look now! You have shown Erik such goodness, such care that he has let himself trust you. Oh, Christine..."

Christine's tears gradually slowed, but not before they had soaked through to his chest and run all the way down to his sunken belly. He continued to weep into her hair while she lay there placidly in his arms, eyes closed, clinging onto Erik as if she thought by doing so she could fix everything; could drag them both out of his darkness to the safety of the light.

A/N: Okay, I'm not entirely sure what just happened there? But it has become relatively clear to me that this story is going to consist of baby steps towards normalcy for Erik (as assisted by Christine), relapses into madness, stumbling blocks, detours, character development, and fluffy rest stops along the way. I didn't have a plan when I began this story two-ish years ago. Now I only sort of do. Let's see if it works.