Christine leaned down and kissed him lightly. "I don't want you to let me go," she said simply.
He pulled her down and held her close, her cheek resting on his bony chest. He kissed the top of her head, and rubbed her back in gentle and languid strokes, eliciting a sigh from her.
"Mmm, you have magic hands. I could stay here all night." She stretched like a contented house cat from her master's touch. If I lay here any longer, I think I will allow those lovely fingers roaming rights. I definitely want to explore that part of our relationship, but not yet. Not when he's hurt and still weak. I want him completely recovered. Oh, yes.
"Why don't you?" he replied warmly- hopefully.
She colored up, realizing what she'd just said. Reluctantly, she pulled out of his arms and stood up. He had been enjoying her warmth-the feel of her in his arms and felt cheated when she left them. But he could tell she was tired- because of him.
"You have done more than enough for today, ma petite. I am fine. Rest now."
Christine nodded, taking the tray to the kitchen. After cleaning up she was by this time exhausted, and after checking on Erik one more time, she kissed him good night, heading for her room and some much needed rest. The room was nice, with a handsome cherry wood dresser and delicate spindle bed, which to her tired eyes looked very inviting. She wondered if she was the first guest to ever sleep in it.
Dr. Bonnet would be back in the morning. He had changed the dressing on Erik's leg late that afternoon, and was pleased with the appearance of the wound. She yawned as she made her way to the bathroom and readied herself for the night. His big bed had looked welcoming to her, but when he invited her to stay, she balked. She'd never been in bed with a man before. Not that she hadn't considered it, especially after some of the warm thoughts about him she was having.
His hands on her back had felt heavenly, his strong fingers kneading muscles that had become tense and strained from lack of sleep. Music wasn't the only thing those hands were capable of, her mind whispered insidiously. They were also the skilled hands of a killer. Hands that touched her with love, took lives indiscriminately...
Those hands had killed Asad Behzadi.
She blanched at the thought, because once acknowledged, it wouldn't leave. Was a killer, she amended. Christine knew she couldn't turn back time and undo all the harm Erik had done, and she didn't know how she could continue loving a man with a murderous bent. But it was a moot point. She had already wrestled with this knowledge. And nothing had changed for her.
High road or low, it really didn't matter anymore. Her pathway had been chosen the night Erik stumbled into her arms onstage. Or perhaps, long before then, on the night they met for the first time. He had turned her world upside down and she shivered.
How to reconcile her gentle upbringing with wanting the arms of an assassin around her? What would her father have thought of him? But he had protected her; kept her safe as he said he would. If not for Erik's and Philippe's brutal instincts for survival, they would be the ones dead that night. She shuddered and shook off her gloomy thoughts, knowing her fate with Erik was already sealed.
She got into a pair of white cotton pajamas and walked over to the door, listening for any sounds coming from his room. It was quiet, but she decided to leave her door open, just in case. She slipped into bed and pulled the covers close against the chill of the sheets. She smiled. He was just across the hall; she closed her eyes, happier than she'd been in months, her good mood restored. And he was happier too. Well, as happy as Erik ever gets.
Around four in the morning a sound made her sit up in bed. She had awakened groggy and confused, thinking for a moment she was in her bed at home, and needed to get up and get ready for work. Then she remembered. Rubbing her eyes, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and reached for her robe, shrugging into it, then turned on the bedside lamp. She walked across the hall, nearly bumping into him when his tall form suddenly filled the doorway.
Erik reached out to steady her, then pulled her into his arms. "I didn't mean to wake you. I needed something for the pain. Return to bed, my dear."
"Uh uh, you go back to bed. I'll get your meds."
She ushered him back to bed, then gave him his pills, tucking him in once again. He sighed in resignation as he settled back on the pillows. She was quite the little nurse, his Christine. He wouldn't admit it to her, but it wasn't pain that made him get up. He wanted to look at her, making sure once again, that she was truly in his home. In his life. She was the first to ever sleep in the guest room. He wasn't even sure why he had a room like that. It had been his mother's antique Louis-Philippe bedroom suite, and he had no idea why he even kept it- nothing associated with her held good memories, only bad. The room would have served him better as an art studio or even an office. He was very glad now that he never changed it.
Hours earlier, he dozed off and on, but had awakened and found himself unable to go back to sleep. He listened for sounds of Christine in the other room and heard nothing. The longer he laid there, the more worried he became. He knew he would have to get up and make sure she was in his home. It was his suspicious nature- the shifting perceptions within his own mind. Very carefully he got out of bed and limped across the hall.
He watched her sleeping from the doorway of her room, enchanted by her tousled blonde hair on the pillow and one small hand curled beneath her cheek. He probably could have watched her for the rest of the night, leaning heavily on the door jamb, so charmed by her sleeping form was he, but he inadvertently ruined it for himself. His bad leg cramped, and adjusting his position, he hit the door slightly and awakened her. How different his perspective, now that she was here. His mind was free of the morbid thoughts he'd been having when he was so sick, and he wanted nothing more than what he saw directly in front of him. This young woman who had so quickly worked her way into his once dead heart... that very particular organ, wishing to beat only for her.
He was quite hopelessly in love with her, and at times it disturbed him, that one human being had that much power over him, where none ever had before. Not since his mother. She leaned down and placed a kiss on his neck. "You smell Dazzling," he whispered.
She chuckled. "Why, yes I do, sir. I brought that large bottle from home with me. I guess I never thanked you properly for it, now did I?"
He shook his head, unable to look away from her blue eyes. Christine bent close again and kissed him softly on the mouth. "Thank you." She kissed him again. "Thank you." And one last time, only this kiss was a little longer and a little more heated. "Thank you." When she at last straightened up, they were both breathing faster. "See you later this morning," she said and turned to leave the room.
"Christine? Do not leave."
She turned back, and he gestured to the bed. "Stay, please? Nothing will happen, I promise you," he said quietly. "I will rest better with you beside me."
She hesitated briefly. Not because she didn't want to, and not because she didn't trust him. She did- implicitly. It was unknown territory for her. As much as she loved him, she was shy about sleeping with him. But she hadn't come all this way to insist on the proprieties.
She smiled nervously and approached the bed. "Okay, but on one condition."
He waited, but what she asked him to do, was not what he expected to hear.
"Take off your mask and I'll stay."
Erik opened his mouth to argue and Christine pushed ahead. "Look...you wouldn't normally sleep with it on, would you? And before you say anything else, I took it off of you yesterday morning so you could breathe better, and I was just fine with it." Uh uh. No way. Someday, but not yet. But how am I to get used to his face, if he keeps it covered all the time. I want to love all of him, not just everything from the neck down.
She paused, seeing anger and fear in his eyes, but that faded to be replaced with a nervous inevitability. He was discomfited by her request, he'd become used to their relationship the way it had always been. Himself, Christine, and- the mask. She had seen his monstrous face and he could not fathom why she wished to be exposed to it again.
I have no wish to frighten you, Christine. I want your love...not horror and pity. He felt diminished without it. Weaker and exposed, but more to the point; how long before she realized just how truly horrible his death's head was? But by not granting her wish, it would surely in the end, do just as much damage to their relationship. Perhaps for now, she would look at him, be properly frightened, and encourage him to cover his face once more.
But he was hesitant just the same. "Be very careful what you ask for, my dear." he muttered.
With that in mind, and aware of the fact that he found it difficult to say no to her, he reached for the ties with shaking hands. He watched her face closely, bracing himself for the look of revulsion he knew was coming, and proceeded to untie his mask. Christine kept her eyes on his the whole time, knowing one sign of fear or disgust on her part would ruin everything.
He slipped off the mask slowly, the look on her face never changing, making him weak with relief. She got into bed, switched off the lamp and laid down. She felt awkward and shy, and couldn't help trembling a little. He won't bite you, silly, she thought, and felt a nervous giggle trying to escape, when she pictured Erik lunging across the bed at her like the Big Bad Wolf. Even handicapped, he would be faster than me, but I don't think I'd mind very much if I got caught.
He carefully turned toward her and tucked the covers around her. Christine realized she had to break some ice. She had been invited to stay, but Erik sans his shield from the world, was at his most vulnerable, so she scooted closer to him and put her head tentatively on his shoulder.
"Mm, this is much nicer, I have to admit. Is...is this what you had in mind, babe?"
Erik said nothing for a full minute; he couldn't, even if he tried. In his long and violent life, no one had ever been this close to him willingly. To be wanted like this had always been outside the realm of possibility for one such as him. To share the remainder of his life with another; lie in bed beside her- a woman who set his nerve endings aflame by a simple touch, was all he would ever require from life. She was the center of his world, and that would never change. She came to him with love- had cared for him, and now Christine was offering him something else.
Acceptance. Maybe to become an integral part of the world again. Erik took her carefully into his arms, and tilted her face to his.
"I could not possibly wish for anything more than this. Yes, exactly what I had in mind, my love," he said hoarsely, giving her a sweet and gentle kiss. He nuzzled her throat. "I have longed for this- for three months...five days and... seven hours."
She chuckled, feeling calmer. "What? No minutes? Or seconds?"
He tilted his head contemplating her question. "Down to the minutes and seconds, eh?"
She was getting very comfortable in his arms and snuggled a little closer to him. "I was teasing you. Sometimes it's hard to grasp the intricacies of your mind."
"Ah, but life is much more interesting with a little mystery, yes?"
"Yes," she whispered, and placed a light and delicate kiss to one deformed cheek.
His death's head was alive and very sensitive to the feel of her lips against skin which had never felt the touch of another. His eyes slid shut and he settled into a comfort and warmth he'd never known before. Many firsts with his Christine. Perhaps revealing his face wasn't such a bad idea after all.
She sighed in contentment and tightened her hold on him. Kissing him was much nicer without the mask. His skin felt cool once more beneath her lips, and the texture was different- it was smooth, but felt papery thin. The underlying bone structure was sharp and jutting, and unbidden, the image of his ghastly face leapt to the forefront of her mind. She shoved the vision away; she would get used to it.
He finally pulled away, not certain if his nervous system could take much more happiness- he was torn between the urge to laugh like a loon or cry tears of joy, neither of which would instill confidence in Christine that she wasn't lying beside a psycho. What do the Americans call it? Ah yes- bonkers. She would think him bonkers. She settled her head once again on his shoulder and rested one hand lightly on his chest.
"Christine?"
"Yes?"
"Forty-five minutes, seventeen seconds and... counting."
"Erik, is that an educated guess, or are you showing off?"
She could hear the amusement in his voice when he replied,"Bonne nuit, ma belle."
He shifted his weight slightly, easing his bad leg and at last they both quieted, drifting off to sleep in each other's arms.