Christine straightened up and yawned. She had fallen asleep, slipping down sideways in the chair and her body was protesting the fact. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, then looked over at Erik who was still sleeping. He needed the time to recover; his body was worn out, and lots of rest was what he required. She intended to see that he got it.
She went into the adjoining bathroom and washed the sleep from her eyes; later she would put her clothes away in the extra bedroom where she would be staying. But first she began chicken soup for his dinner. Dr. Bonnet wanted him to have light meals three or four times a day, plus as many liquids as she could get him to drink. She had fruit juices and bottled mineral water in the fridge, plus milk, tea and coffee.
After getting the chicken stock going, she started working on the vegetables, chopping them up and adding them to the pot. She seasoned it carefully, keeping the broth on the bland side, so his stomach wouldn't rebel against it. Once that was done, she called Mamma Valerius, filling her in on what had transpired. She was vague about her return to the States; she had no intention of leaving him anytime soon.
Afterwards, she went to his music room searching for a book to while away the time while she waited for him to wake up. She chuckled, viewing all the titles, realizing that Erik was not a man prone to lightweight novels. Instead, he had books on science, medicine, and the arts, plus quite a few of the classics. She finally chose a large tome about the history of the world. It was in English, one of only a handful that were, and thought it would keep her occupied for a while.
On the way out, she spotted a small table holding a sketch book. On the very top was a pencil drawing of herself. It was a very good likeness, done with skill, but in her opinion, over-exaggerated. He gave her much more credit as a dewy eyed beauty than she actually possessed. It was flattering, but also a little disconcerting. It imbued her with a perfection she didn't have- no one did. The sketch was of her sitting on the rock that day at Little Round Top when they were just getting to know one another. Her hair was much nicer the way he drew it, her chin softer, her legs longer. Was this what time and distance did? Dimmed the memory until the essence of the person was revealed, minus any flaws...any imperfections? She glanced over the drawing again; it was the day they had truly begun their relationship, and she started the journey to where she was right now. He was good. Underneath that drawing were many others in varying poses. The sketch book was the same. She was the only subject of literally hundreds of drawings.
"Oh, Erik," she whispered.
She returned to his bedside and watched him for a while. Her hands itched to remove the mask, knowing he could only breathe better without it. She sighed and began reading.
"You are really here. I thought you were a beautiful dream, and I would wake to find you gone again."
Christine looked up to find him quietly watching her. "I'm not a dream, babe," she said softly.
His lips quirked as he gestured at the large unwieldy book. "You were obviously planning on remaining in that chair for quite a while, yes?"
She smiled back and put the book down, reaching over to feel his neck. It turned into a caress, and he closed his eyes at her touch.
"How do you feel?" She had always considered it beyond silly to ask a person flat on their back and sicker than a dog, how they were doing, but found the words slipping from her mouth anyway.
"Very well," he said, the tiredness in his voice belying the fact. "I will not lie here much longer."
"Oh, but you aren't going anywhere, my man," she said with a glint in her eye. "You're sick. Doctor's orders."
She removed her hand from his neck and sat back in her chair, unable to stay silent any longer. "Why weren't you taking better care of yourself? It's obvious you haven't been eating very much." Christine gave him a half playful, half serious glance. "Drinking, yes, lots of that. And you're way too thin, well, thinner than you were. And the abscess- you could have died. Why, Erik?" Love your bedside manner, Christine. So gentle and soothing. Why don't you just kick him in his bad leg while you're at it?
He searched her eyes, seeing the concern, and felt ashamed. "Because I found it difficult to care anymore," he whispered, then turned his head away.
She leaned forward and gently grasped his chin, turning his head back toward her. His yellow eyes were bloodshot and suspiciously bright.
"Well I do. I love you." She stroked his chin. "I care, and I want you better again." Oops...that slipped out, didn't it? But it's true. I do love him, so why should I wait for him to say the words?
He was staring at her, his eyes wide and stunned. "You love me?"
"Yes." She said it softly and watched his face.
"No, that's not possible. No one can love me. No one ever has. My own mother couldn't. Why should you be any different?"
She had expected some kind of reaction from him, but not this. "I don't know what went on between you and your mother, but you'll just have to believe me. I wouldn't say it, Erik, if I didn't mean it."
He tried to sort through all the emotions he was feeling. Surprisingly, some of them hurt. He had wanted her love all along, but he still felt unworthy of it. "I never thought I would see you again. It was...it was very difficult for me to get past that fact," he said quietly, the pain still evident in his voice. "But you are here now, and I'm...I'm very relieved that you are, but I don't deserve it. I don't know why I ever thought I did..."
"That's not true. And if your mother couldn't love you, then she was an idiot." Her eyes were steady on his. "I love you, and I'll say it as many times as it takes to get you to believe me." She folded her arms across her chest. "And you won't be able to shut me up."
He held tightly to her hands wanting so badly to believe her. He could almost hear his mother's voice echoing down through the years, screaming out her anger and frustration as she whipped him. How many times had she told him he was meant to be alone? No one wanted a freak. No one could love a freak.
Why do you love me?" He couldn't leave this alone, his mind nagging at him to forget what Christine was telling him. His mother had known better.
She shrugged, feeling like she was getting in over her head. "Well, because I do, that's why. You'll just have to accept it, because it's not changing anytime soon."
Erik cupped the back of her head, pulling her mouth to his. There was no fire in the kiss, just a sweet melding of their lips, promising more. "You love me." It was said flatly with no inflection. He stared hard at her, looking for the lie. Maybe his ears had invented those words, wishing to hear them so badly. Suspicious, he tried to read her expression. "Say it again," he commanded.
"I love you."
His eyes filled with tears and he put a hand to his face. She took hold of it and pulled it away, cradling it in hers. "Hey. I didn't mean to cause all this. You're supposed to be resting, not getting worked up."
He shook his head wearily, and kissed her fingers. "Forgive me. I'm acting very foolish, but I-I can't trust my ears yet." Erik looked up at her soberly.
If she didn't know better, she would swear those three little words had never been spoken by her. It was a let down. Happy, is he? Um- not so much. "Take as long as you like. I'm not going anywhere." I wonder if his mother is still alive? If she is, I'd like to meet her. Maybe hold her head underwater for a substantial amount of time.
He kissed her, his lips lingering on hers. "May I tell you a secret?" He threaded his fingers through her curls. "I have loved you as well, Christine. Almost from our first meeting, I think."
She huffed a laugh. "I'm glad you finally admitted it. Everyone else has been trying to convince me of it for months."
His hand running through her hair felt good. "When I returned here, I couldn't just pick up and continue as if I'd never met you. And now you are here caring for me. You are the first to ever do so. I am at a loss to...to understand why, but knowing you do is everything to me."
"You did the same for me in Gettysburg, so it's my turn to take care of you." Yeah. Just how many times did he ride to the rescue? No gal ever had a better knight in armor. Or do I mean the cavalry?
"You owe me nothing. I am only sorry that I put you in danger- it was never my intent."
"Hush, I know that. I want to be here with you."
His eyes were intent on hers, alive with emotion. "I love you, Christine."
She smiled sweetly at him. "See? I believe you when you say you love me."
He squeezed her hand gently, and brought it to his lips, then closed his eyes. She stood up and straightened his blankets, getting him a glass of water and the medications left by Dr. Bonnet. She glanced at him one more time, then left to get his supper.
Erik settled back against the pillows, chafing impatiently at his predicament, the dull steady throb from his leg reminding him of his foolish disregard for his health. His great joy and relief at having Christine by his side, was tempered by the fact that he was weak and hurting. He should be showing her Paris-taking her above for an evening of opera, having a candlelight dinner, or quietly loving her.
Instead he was flat on his back, nearly helpless and his angel had to nurse his ugly carcass. He sighed wearily, disgusted with himself, but unable to feel too bad, for wasn't Christine in his kitchen? Making herself comfortable in his home?
All that really mattered to him now, was the fact that she loved him. Now if I can only believe it. Her coming to him had literally saved his life, and he would work hard to get well for her. It still felt as if he was wrapped in a beautiful, but impossible fantasy, and wondered if he would always feel that way. After all, when does the troll ever get the happy ending in the fairy tale?
Christine put two bowls of soup on the tray table, then carried it down the hallway and into Erik's room. Maybe if he doesn't like my cooking, he'll call the whole thing off. Nah, that will never happen. We're talking about my masked man here and he ain't exactly a gourmand, that's for sure. She tried to balance the tray without dropping it, and helped him sit up to eat, settling the tray over his lap. There was soup, some crackers and a glass of tomato juice for him to dine on, and she intended to see that he ate all of it. She took one of the bowls of soup and sat in the chair near the bed.
"I'm not the best cook in the world, but Mamma said I make passable chicken soup." She waggled her spoon at his bowl. "I expect you to eat all of that."
He took a few bites and looked at her. "It is superb. Best I've ever eaten, ma belle. You would put the best chefs in all of Paris to shame with this delightful meal."
She was in the act of swallowing some soup, and hurriedly slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from spraying him with it. She gulped it down with difficulty and looked at him, still fighting the urge to giggle. The mystified look in his eyes finally sent her off into peals of laughter, and leaning over, she kissed him hard on the mouth. "Oh, How I love you! I could burn the roast and ruin the veggies, and I'd bet any amount of money, you'd still say it was the best meal you ever ate."
He continued to regard her, his head cocked as if she was speaking pure gibberish. "Well, of course I would, Christine," he said, his feathers ruffled a bit. "You made it for me. That's what makes it delicious."
She wiped her eyes and sobered a bit. He was dead serious. She could do no wrong it seemed. Wow. I hope that changes soon. I don't need to be on a pedestal. The fall may kill me.
"I'm sorry, Erik. I wasn't laughing at you. It's a good thing you do like it. I'm afraid you'll be eating it for a while."
Dr. Bonnet stressed to her, not to overload his stomach; several light meals a day would suffice. She didn't think Erik's stomach would ever be overloaded. Whether he was just normally a very light eater, or his lack of a nose cut down on hunger stimulation, she wasn't sure.
They talked while they ate, Christine telling him about the opera, Capriccio from the evening before, and her first impressions of Paris. Erik was well informed on the various musical skills of the cast, particularly the soprano, Carlotta, citing her lack of range and sloppy tone.
"You could be much better than her and without much effort."
She grinned and shook her head. "I think you're a little prejudiced." A lot prejudiced.
He tilted his chin up and looked at her stubbornly. "I heard your voice the night before, and I thought you...I uh... I th-thought..." His voice caught on a sob and he put his hands over his eyes.
She got up from her chair and sat down beside him on the bed, putting the tray aside. She pulled him into her arms, holding him close. He clung to her tightly and sighed, nuzzling his masked face into her neck. My God, he's so fragile. He's going to need a lot of TLC. You up for this, Christine? You have to help your man get his mojo back.
They sat that way in a contented silence, each realizing how much they'd missed the other. Finally she drew back, kissed his masked cheek and stood up. She took the tray and placed it by the door. She had managed to get him to down most of the soup and all of the juice. She was satisfied.
She approached the bed again, straightening the blankets over him. "Can I get you anything else?"
Erik took her hand and held it tightly, running his thumb in circles over the back. "I will be forever thankful that you didn't do as I said and forget me."
He looked down at her small hand swallowed in his larger one and turned it over, threading their fingers together.
She sat down on the edge of the bed again, and looked at him steadily. "You left, Erik," she said finally. "You just disappeared that night. It was bad, not knowing how you were, where you were. I was upset with you for a long time." Pissed off was more like it.
She continued in a low voice. "I didn't think you would ever come back. I... I knew my only choice was to come to you. Why did you leave like that?"
He felt a twinge of guilt. She had suffered as well, and it was too much for him to contemplate at the moment. "Why?" he whispered. He paused, choosing his words. "Because you are a bright and lovely woman. I have not been a kind man. Ever. Quite the opposite actually. You said it once and you were right. You don't know me very well. I only meant to protect you from- from me."
He dropped his eyes, momentarily reliving the agony of leaving her behind that awful night.
Christine opened her mouth to protest, but Erik forestalled her and raised a hand. "No. At least admit to yourself what I am. A killer. For money. You found out what I am capable of..." he stuttered a little but continued, "and last, but not the least of it, my handsome face- a veritable gargoyle, is it not? Your expression when you first viewed it, was very telling.
"But to answer your question. I left because I love you."
She leaned toward him, placing her hand alongside his jaw and kissed him. She laughed as her eyes filled with tears. "Promise me, Erik. Promise you'll talk to me before you decide to take off again, so I can talk you out of it."
He raised her hands to his lips and kissed them over and over. "Yes. I promise," he agreed. "But that mindset has changed forever. I ached for you every minute of the day when I returned here. You are mine now, and I refuse to ever let you go." His eyes bored into hers. "Mine."