A/N: Ok, so, I feel really good about this chapter, but let me know in a review when you finish. I'm curious to see how this goes for you all. As always, I hope you enjoy!
A little crack of faint light. Too much, too much! Maybe now will be a bit better. No, still too much. Perhaps now? Nope. Well, it was not going to get any better by just waiting and hoping. A faint glimmer turned to bleary shapes and colours. Gentle greens and soft pinks pervaded along with pure white. Blackness a few more times started to clear it out, washing away the haze.
Everything felt stiff. Nothing wanted to move, but just like the light, which now proved to be coming from a domed glass lamp nearby, doing nothing would solve just as much. The neck was easiest, but the shoulders proved to be a little fussy. So many muscles not wishing to cooperate. Dragging the arms up to press against the softness which had been such a calming and comforting cloud upon which to lay proved to be a good experience. Working out all of the kinks which had decided to nest in the joins and all of the knots which had formed in the muscles, still tired from their long sleep.
Looking around showed a room with pearl white wallpaper, dotted with light pink roses and green ribbons dancing about in their painted design. The same green, now lined with white lace, hung its satiny ripples in curtains over the window to the left. A dark wood caught the attention as it stretched out in a sea upon the floor, claiming also the wardrobe in the left corner of the room beside a door and the bed, intricately carved with snaking vines and roses. The bed spread was the same pearl white with pink roses, while the sheets were the sage green. To the right of the bed stood a chair of matching dark wood and rose upholstery. Beyond this on the wall was a door. This door seemed to hold more importance than the other. It beckoned with hidden meaning and purpose.
Casting off the thick and admittedly heavy covers, a long trail of ivory was revealed to stretch down to the thin shins of nearly ghostly white. Casting these veritable sticks over the edge of the bed, they met a pair of soft slippers. Pulling these on carefully, the legs were tested. Found arguably stable, though relying on the rose bloom finial at the footboard, a long, ivory dressing gown was found to be laid out. White lace cascaded down from the elbow-length sleeves and fluffed the V-neck collar down to the floor length train that swept out behind in elegant pools of soft velveteen.
Half stumbling, half gliding, the angel in ivory, dark curls rushing down her back, made it to the door of promise and turned the shining gold handle. A rush of fresher air hit her pert nose as she closed her grey-green eyes to it. Her milky white skin prickled with goose flesh and her delicate fingers rubbed her arms.
Looking out into what appeared to be a hall, she saw another purposeful door in front of her, this one of the same dark wood an antique rug in front of it tried to disguise. The walls were a gentle peach with panelling cutting across the bottom half. To her right was a small table with some dried flowers and a gilt gold framed mirror. She ignored her reflection, trying not to notice how sallow her skin was, how hollow her cheeks were, or how messy her hair looked. The left showed another door followed by another facing more towards her.
Setting her sights upon the one in front of her with its mysterious purpose calling her name, she reached tentatively out to the round knob and twisted. It gave way easily, showing her a dark room.
At the end of the room stood a grand fire, burning and making what could be seen of the deep red walls look even darker. Both walls were lined with bookshelves, stocked and filled with the many promises of joyful and tragic stories alike. On the right were two wingback chairs with a round tea table set between them and a red chaise lounge in the corner beside the fireplace. But it was in the centre of the room that an object of great importance claimed her attentions. A large ebony black organ, shining and gleaming in the dancing light of the fireplace, sat in all of its majesty. In its red velvet seat was the most wonderful thing she had yet seen.
Hunched over the keys, not daring to press them, sat a man of impeccably tall stature and impossibly lean figure. His hair, as dark as the instrument he undoubtedly held mastery over, was slicked back and creased with two black ribbons, tied to hold in place the white leather which dared peek around the edges of his forehead. His back shook, however, heightening the sadness his crumpled yet ever glorious figure presented.
'God, please, I know you hate me, but please. I cannot live like this. I know keeping her from you was wrong, I see that now. Please, I beg of you, either take her or bring her back to me, but please don't keep her trapped in the middle like this. I-I won't stop you if you claim her now. Please, just tell me what to do.' He begged, his silky voice breaking in his sobs.
'Try turning around.' Came the airy-light voice behind him.
Leaping from his seat, he whirled round to plaster his back to the organ, eyes wide, and mouth slightly agape. The force of his own motions made him stumble slightly as he leaned against the instrument behind him for support.
'Christine?' He stared at her, looking her slight form up and down in shocked awe. She looked like an angel in her long flowing dressing gown. Her eyes shimmered at the sound of her name as they filled with tears.
'Am I dead?' She asked, her voice cracking at the word as the air caught in her throat.
He could not speak; the vision of her had stolen all words from his mouth. He shook his head, still staring at her with the same dumb-founded look. He wondered if he was dreaming, but decided that if he were then he would never wish to wake up.
Finally, her tears got the best of her and she could barely see. Her vision blurred as she refused to blink them away, fearing that taking her eyes off him would make it all disappear.
'Erik,' she wept more than said as she opened her arms to him.
Instantly he was there, holding her to him as they both cried. He could hardly breathe for the sobs that were threatening to escape and also the way she clung to him like a lifeline. Her fingers, though still weaker than they should be, clawed at his black jacket, willing him ever closer to her. He had held her so many times, but now she held him back. She wanted to have him near her like this. She had wrapped her arms around his torso and was actively pulling her face to his chest. He held her just an ounce tighter than he normally did, assuring himself that she was real and with him. He buried his face in her hair, pulling her shoulder blades and lower back into him. He felt as if his arms were great black wings, shielding her from the rest of the world. The Angel of Death and the Angel of Light.
He lost count of how many times he murmured her name, worshipping the sound of it as if he were saying it for the first time all over again. He held her until her sobs turned to the occasional hiccup and then until she could breathe normally. Reluctantly, he relaxed his hold and let her lean back into his arms. Even with her eyes and nose red and puffy from tears, he had never seen anything more beautiful in all his life. She looked up at him, sniffling a bit. He reached up to thumb away a tear or two, but stopped. He instead offered her a handkerchief and turned away to right the bench which had fallen in his earlier haste to stand. He glanced back to see her looking about the room distractedly.
'Christine,' he muttered, not really knowing he had said it until she turned. Her eyes were shining so wonderfully in this light he wanted to gaze into them forever. 'How do you feel?' He asked, realising he needed to say something.
She nodded distantly. 'A little weak and somewhat confused, but I'm alright.' She gave a slight smile, which felt like Heaven to him. 'How long was I asleep?'
Erik could not hide the wince at her question. He worried mostly for her reaction to it. 'Three weeks.' He told her pitifully.
Christine looked at him in shock. Had it really been that long? She tried to pull up a memory from that time, but there was nothing. 'I remember closing my eyes in Persia and then opening them in there.' She gestured behind her, still straining to think of something that might have happened.
Erik took a step towards her, almost going to hold her arms for fear she may overtax herself. He had assumed that if she woke up she would not remember, but it still stung a bit knowing she had not heard all he had said to her. Certainly there were things he wished he had never said over that time, but others that he longed for her to know. He feared he would not have the strength to say them again.
'Where are we anyways?' She asked, her eyes lighting a bit at the thought of being somewhere new.
Erik's whole face beamed with pride and barely constrained joy. 'We are in Paris.' He told her, watching as her eyes grew wide and her eyebrows arch to the ceiling.
'Paris?' She brokenly whispered, not believing her ears.
He nodded eagerly. 'I told you once that I would steal you away to Paris, and I have. You don't mind, do you?' He asked, looking at her concernedly.
'Mind? Oh Erik!' She jumped up, wrapping her arms around his neck as she embraced him, laughing giddily. 'I've never been so happy. Thank you!'
Erik closed his eyes to the bliss of her being so close. He had longed for this for so long, far longer than three weeks. Ever since she had first hugged him this way, he had wanted nothing more than to freeze time and hold her forever.
'Anything for you, Christine.' He told her, putting so much of his heart into those words.
She leaned back, still smiling radiantly, as she set her feet down. This, however, was not something her legs had in mind. She buckled a little, as Erik changed his grip in an instant to support her.
'I'm sorry, my legs are still a little stiff.' She said, looking down from embarrassment.
'That's alright.' He said, effortlessly scooping up her legs to hold her. She held onto his neck, blushing from the surprise of his unexpected assistance. 'Here, why don't I draw you up a hot bath, and we can talk over dinner?' He looked at her softly, revelling in the way she clung to him rather than rested limply against him as she had so many times before. He liked how peaceful she looked while sleeping, but this felt hundreds of times better.
She nodded meekly as they left the room, she opening the door for him with a laugh. He had planned on kicking it, but she had reached out her help before he could. Her bedroom door was still slightly ajar, so he bumped it open easily. Going to the door she had seen from her bed and noted was of little immediate importance, she once again helped him in opening it. This revealed a pristinely white washroom with a sink at one end and a long, claw footed tub at the other with a toilet next to it. Across from her door stood another, which Erik explained led to his room.
Setting her down gently, he began drawing the bath, pulling out a large towel for her, and explaining that the cabinet to the right of the sink was hers. He stood there for a moment, staring at the filling tub as his fists clenched and unclenched awkwardly at his sides.
'I shall, um, go get dinner started. Just call for me if you need anything.' He told her, not really daring to look at her. Somehow all of his resolve had faded. 'I'll lay out a dress for you on your bed.' He told her, exiting the room. He sounded more like he was talking to himself than to her at this point.
'Erik,' she said his name so faintly, yet he turned as if she had yelled it. 'Thank you.' She smiled crookedly at him as he relaxed.
'You're welcome, Christine.' He smiled before closing the door softly.
Turning to her bath, she let her thin fingers toy at the warm water as she sat on the edge of the tub. She smiled inwardly, remembering all of the silly things she had wanted as a child and hearing her own naïve voice "Papa, when I grow up, I want to have a claw footed tub." She shook her head at her admittedly odd childish fantasies. She had wanted so many things when she was younger, though it was all just silly dreams she never believed even then would come true. She thought of how she had cast them all away when her father had grown ill, and forgotten them completely when he died. Nothing had any meaning back then, but she moved on just the same. That year of moving from place to place, always wondering what would become of her was filled with greys as she lived in a daze. That daze had been broken, those dreams shattered when she was found in Persia. Though not all of it was bad. For a time she had had a father in Nadir, and a somewhat brother in Reza. And of course there was Erik. Her dear Erik who had kept the word he made in jest and stolen her away to Paris.
Three weeks. That name of time seemed to swirl around her in a dark cloud of mystery as she slipped into the perfectly warm water and breathed in the scent of the rose soap Erik had given her. What had he done for her in that time? What had he sacrificed to save her? How had he saved her? And what of now?
She shook her head. She could not think of now, not until the then was accounted for. Still, she hoped they could continue like they had before. This was silly, she knew. Nothing could be the way it was before. They were living in the same house, for God's sake. He had taken care of her for three whole weeks while she lay in a coma.
Tears pricked her eyes at this thought, knowing nothing could be the same. Things would have to change, and potentially not for the better. She berated herself for being so childish, but at what she now calculated to be eighteen, could she not still play that card? No. she had cast off the pure innocence of childhood long ago. Like Little Lotte finding the bird dead in its cage, she could never go back to the rose tinted world she used to call home. That colour had left long ago along with her father. It was time to grow up and to face the challenges that brought.
Finishing up with her bath, she cuddled into the plush of the towel as she ventured into her room. Erik had indeed laid out a dress for her, and it almost made her gasp. Sapphire blue shone in the light as its satiny finish rippled over a long skirt and modestly dipped bodice. Ivory and gold embroidery curled in their spiral patterns along the bodice panels. Christine was almost afraid to touch it for its overwhelming beauty. Yet, it held within it a simplicity that put her at ease the longer she beheld it. Its colour may be elegant and regal, but as she put it on, she felt perfectly at home.
In the far corner of the room between the bedroom and washroom doors, she found a floor-length mirror obscured by a white sheet. Pulling the curious fabric away and tried not to cringe at her own appearance. Lost in Erik's eyes, she had forgotten how painfully thin she was. Her illness had devoured most of her, and the coma did not help any either. She almost laughed as she thought what a pair she and Erik made. Two walking skeletons. She bit her tongue, knowing that would only sadden him. He had taken her care so personally back in Persia that she knew such a jest would be in poor taste.
Doing what she could with her still slightly damp curls, she took a breath and left the bedroom, bracing for the truth. Nadir's absence in the home had not gone unnoticed by her, but she kept up hope that perhaps the Daroga was living elsewhere, or simply living.
A/N: I really love how Erik can be a perfect gentleman, but I also kind of adore it when he's being an explosive jerk, because throughout it all he's secretly a smartass. That kind of personality really appeals to me in a way this is probably very unhealthy.
Thank you LadyLunaTwilight and stolen with the night for favouriting this story!