Thank you to those of you who reviewed- it really meant a lot. I hope you all enjoy this one. It's more lighthearted, I promise!

Chapter 9

Christine and Erik quickly fell back into their routine. They shared the household chores and the cooking. Erik would spend much of the day with Aunt Alice when Christine was at work, reading to her and talking. Christine marveled at the relationship the two of them were building. Alice was probably one of the first motherly figures Erik had ever had in his life.

Some days, though, Erik would be in a difficult mood. Christine came home from rehearsal one evening a few days after she found him in the lair and found Erik quietly sitting on the couch, staring at the wall in front of him intently.

"Good evening," she greeted him.

Erik continued to stare at the wall.

"Erik?"

His cold eyes turned to her. "Yes?"

"I was just saying 'good evening.' How was your day?"

"Fine."

Christine furrowed her eyebrows, taken aback by his sharp response. "Did you prepare any food for supper?" she asked.

"No."

"Oh. Alright. Are you okay, Erik?" she asked softly.

"I'm fine," he said, training his eyes on the ground.

Christine nodded and shuffled into the kitchen, unsure what to make of Erik's mood. When she brought a tray to Alice, she asked her about Erik's mood. Alice said that she hadn't seen much of Erik that day.

Christine returned to the kitchen and prepared the table for her and Erik.

"Erik," she said, popping her head into the living room. "Supper is ready."

"I'm not hungry."

Christine sighed. "Come on, Erik. Will you please eat? I prepared enough food for both of us."

Erik scowled at her. "Leave. Me. Alone."

"Erik…" she whispered. "I don't understand."

"You don't have to!" he cried, jumping to his feet. "Just go eat your food, you silly little girl and leave me be!"

Silly little girl. Without saying a word, she turned and strode from the room. When she reached the kitchen, she leaned over the counter and quietly cried. He shouldn't have the power to hurt her like this, and yet here she was, crying over Erik's harsh words.

Christine ate in silence and left a plate for Erik on the counter. Hopefully he would eat later. Since he had come to stay with her, there was a noticeable color and healthy fullness to his cheeks that she had never seen before.

After bathing and changing into her nightgown, Christine curled up in her bed. Just as she was drifting off to sleep, she heard a light knock at her door.

Confused, Christine crawled out of bed and opened the door. Erik stood on the other side in a simple white cotton shirt and black slacks. When she and Erik had left the lair together, Erik had gathered a bag of clothing and other belongings to take with him, yet his wardrobe was still black and white.

"Christine, I'm sorry."

Christine blinked. "Oh. It's alright."

"I'm just not used to having people around when I get like this," he said.

"Like what?"

"Just… when I feel dark and empty. When I get angry at the world. When I can't stop reliving some of my worst memories."

Christine nodded. She placed a hand on his shoulder. "I understand, Erik. I wish I could help you fight the demons in your mind. I'm here for you, even when you feel alone. You don't have to push me away."

"I shouldn't have called you a little girl," he said. "You've proven to me again and again that you are an amazing and strong woman."

A warm smile spread across Christine's face. She looked up into his eyes. She was enveloped by their warmth, fondness, and desire. This was a look he only had for her, and Christine relished it. She imagined reaching up, taking his face in her hands, and bringing her lips to his.

Color rose to Christine's cheeks as she realized where her mind had gone. Quickly she said, "Good night, Erik," and shut her door. In the darkness of her bedroom, she giggled quietly, marveling at this strange turn of events.

Christine left the theater on Friday evening feeling exhausted. It was another performance weekend, but Monsieur Reyer had them rehearsing as much as possible before the Friday evening performance. Christine trudged home after the performance, pleased with how she sang but lamenting her tired bones.

The apartment was quiet and dark when she entered. Aunt Alice was fast asleep, and Christine wondered whether Erik had gone to bed early as well. As she walked around the corner, though, she saw the glow of candlelight coming from the kitchen. Inside, she found Erik wearing his tailed suit, wig, and mask, placing two plates of food on the table which was covered in a white tablecloth and had a rose in a vase in the center. He looked up as she entered.

"Good evening," he said, his voice deep and confident.

"What's all this?" Christine asked, amazed.

Erik shrugged. "I figured you would want a nice meal after your performance."

Christine felt her heart constrict. This gesture showed such empathy and kindness, two traits that Erik tried to repress so often. "Thank you," she said, her voice full of emotion. "This is so sweet of you."

Erik lowered his head and turned away. "Sit," Erik said, busying himself at the sink. Christine sat obediently, amused by Erik's confused understanding of manners. She knew that Erik loved novels and had realized recently that much of his understanding of manners and interpersonal relationships came from the characters in these stories. Erik would never pull out a chair for Christine and often wouldn't wait for her to finish serving the food before starting to eat, yet he understood apologies and kind gestures. Erik was so sensitive, yet often didn't understand the consequences of his words. He was a man of contradictions.

The plate in front of Christine was filled with a beautiful piece of meat in a dark sauce with vegetables. "Did you go to the market to buy this?" Christine asked, realizing she hadn't purchased any of the food on the plate in front of her.

"Yes," Erik said. "I went out early this morning before the streets got too busy."

"You better be careful," Christine said. "You've been pronounced dead, but you don't want to be found by the police."

Erik sat down opposite her as she spoke. "I was careful, don't worry," Erik said curtly. He poured them each a glass of wine. Christine lowered her head in prayer, and Erik watched her, as he usually did. Once she finished, she began to eat. Erik removed his mask and started to eat as well.

The food was delicious. Erik had cooked the meat perfectly, and the sauce was divine. "Erik, this is so wonderful," Christine said. "Where did you learn to cook like this?"

"This is actually one of the few things my mother taught me."

"Really?" Christine said, surprised.

"My mother went through a few phases where she tried to treat me like she treated my siblings. During one of those times she taught me to cook a few dishes. This was one of them," Erik paused, lost in the memory. In a far-away voice, he continued. "Then a neighbor came over unannounced, saw me in the kitchen, and screamed. My mother sent me back to my room in the cellar, but I heard the woman yelling at my mother that I was Satan's spawn. After the neighbor left, I hoped my mother would come to the cellar and tell me to come back upstairs, but she didn't. My father threw a few scraps of food down the cellar stairs for me, but I ran away within a week."

"Oh, Erik, that's horrible."

"It's amazing how you can continue to long for a person's love even when they continue to prove to you that they will never give it to you. I should have known by then that my mother would send me away as she always did. She would come to me every few months and try again before I caused her shame and she would send me away. Every time, I would be just as eager as before. 'Maybe this time will be better,' I would think. What a fool I was."

"You weren't a fool, Erik," Christine said. "You longed for your mother's love. That's natural."

"It wasn't until I left that I learned how to stop caring," Erik said bitterly.

Christine peered at him, considering his words.

"What does that look mean?" Erik asked.

"I just… I don't think you don't care. I think you care too much, almost to a fault."

Erik sighed. "Maybe…" he mused. "Anyways, tell me about the performance. How did it go?"

"The performance went well," Christine said. "Although, we had rehearsals all morning and Carlotta was not pleased. She told Monsieur Reyer that she was perfect and would be more productive resting her voice then left rehearsal. The best part was right after she left, Monsieur Reyer said, 'I actually had a number of notes for her!' Meg and I were laughing so hard."

Erik chuckled. "That woman is ridiculous. To this day, I wish the managers had listened to me and put you in the role of Comtesse and her in the role of the page boy in Il Muto. That would've been so funny."

"You have a bizarre sense of humor sometimes," Christine pointed out.

"When you've been on your own as much as I have, you learn that you need to find ways to make yourself laugh. And with a cast of characters as amusing as the opera crew, there was never a dull moment!"

Christine rolled her eyes. "I'll give you that, but you did take it too far."

Erik nodded soberly. "I did."

A long silence fell between them. The events at the Opera still managed to dampen the most lighthearted of conversations.

Christine cleared her throat to break the silence. "Oh, did I tell you? Our next opera is Rigoletto."

"Verdi's compositions are exquisite," Erik said, his eyes suddenly filling with excitement. The awkward moment forgotten, Erik launched into an analysis of Verdi's music. Christine responded, disagreeing with some of Erik's points. The two of them fell into the discussion easily, both feeding off of each other's excitement about music.

They cleaned up from supper together, continuing to discuss music and various composers. Once the dishes were done, they moved to the sitting room.

"May I play for you?" Erik asked.

Christine tilted her head questioningly. "With what?"

"I took my violin from the Opera last week," Erik said. He pulled the small case out of his large bag of belongings. He lifted the violin like it was made of glass. He looked at it fondly then met Christine's gaze. "May I?"

Christine nodded. Erik raised the violin to his shoulder and played.

Christine recognized the tune immediately and felt herself falling into the same trance as the first time she heard it. She closed her eyes, letting the Music of the Night wash over her. Beautiful. That was the only word she could think of. She opened her eyes and looked at the man playing the violin, his deformed cheek resting on the violin. Beautiful.

Erik played the last note then lowered the violin to his lap. Beautiful. Beautiful. Beautiful. He placed the violin on the coffee table and turned to look at her. His eyes were full of warmth and wonder. Christine moved from the armchair to sit beside him on the sofa. His eyes widened.

A small part of her brain yelled at her, seeming to be saying "what are you doing?!" Christine ignored it. She knew what she was doing, and she knew she wanted to do it.

She reached up, took Erik's face in her hands, and kissed him.

Erik froze for a moment then relaxed into the kiss. Christine wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself closer to him. Erik wrapped his arms tightly around her back, crushing her against him. Christine wanted to be closer. Their lips moved against each other's instinctively. Christine sucked on his big upper lip, and Erik let out a soft groan. He tentatively flicked his tongue into her mouth, and Christine sighed in response.

Christine didn't want the kiss to end but she pulled away when she was gasping for breath. Erik's chest was rising and falling quickly as he caught his breath. He looked stunned.

"What?... Christine?" Erik stuttered.

Christine shrugged and grinned at Erik foolishly.

"Christine!" he cried, his voice full of frustration.

"What?" she asked.

"You just kissed me!"

"Yes, I did!"

"But… Christine I don't understand."

Erik's upset tone calmed her giddiness. "I just…. I wanted to kiss you. So I did," she said.

"Do you love me?" he asked.

"Maybe," she said hesitantly.

Erik threw his hands up in the air in frustration.

"I don't know if I love you, Erik! But I do know that I wanted to kiss you," Christine said. "Was that okay?" she added quietly, looking down at her hands.

Erik lifted Christine's chin with his long index finger. Christine sucked in a breath. "It was more than okay," he said kindly. "I've dreamed of kissing you again every day since our last kiss."

Christine leaned forward and kissed him again. This one was shorter. When their lips parted, she kept her forehead resting on his. From this angle, she could only see his eyes, and they were beautiful.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she whispered. "I've dreamt of kissing you every day since our last kiss, too."

Erik's mouth crushed into hers. Erik kissed her sloppily, but she could feel every ounce of passion he had for her through the kiss. She fell back on the sofa, bringing Erik with her. He continued to kiss her hungrily, his lips encapsulating hers. Suddenly, it all became too much for Christine, and she pushed him away.

"Did I hurt you?" Erik asked, sitting up immediately.

"No, I'm fine," she said, sitting up as well. "I just need to stop there tonight."

Erik's expression did not hide his confusion, but he nodded respectfully.

"I should probably go to sleep," she said. She slid off the sofa and started to make her way to her bedroom when Erik jumped from the couch and grabbed her wrist gently.

Christine turned.

"I love you, Christine," he said gruffly.

Stretching up onto her tiptoes, Christine pecked Erik on the lips. "Goodnight, Erik."

Once she was alone in the darkness of her room, Christine's heart stopped pounding. She had kissed him! Just a week after she had left Raoul! Christine shook her head, astonished by her own decisions.

The intensity of that final kiss made her realize the gravity of the situation. Erik was fragile, and his heart was not to be messed with. He had faced too many years of abuse in his life to be treated so carelessly by the first person who truly cared for him.

"What are you doing, Christine?" she whispered to herself. Deep down, though, she knew exactly what she was doing. And it scared her.