Erik slowly regained his strength and with the doctor's skill and Christine's loving care, his leg healed nicely. She was happy caring for him, and except for his irritability at being inactive, he was content to let her. It was another new experience for him. He had only ever had himself to depend on. Having someone fussing over his welfare was pleasant to a certain extent, but she had a tendency to hover over him, and for a man not used to that, he would occasionally have to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at her.

His very nature made him an impatient patient, and with anyone else, he would have been too intractable, but because it was Christine, he willingly submitted to her care. One month blurred into another and before long November was nearly done. She was happier than she'd been in months; Erik, for the first time ever. At home Mamma hired some temporary help with the apartments. They kept in touch over the phone once a week, and although she would have moments of guilt from her absence, she wouldn't have done it any other way.

Lillian had replaced Christine at Timeless Treasures. She didn't blame her. Two weeks had turned into two months very quickly. Soon it would be time to leave here; she couldn't stay away from home much longer. Erik was nearly well again, steadily regaining the weight he had lost. She hadn't expected to be gone this long, but there had been no help for it. She would never have left him to fend for himself. Her relationship with him continued to grow as they learned about each other.

They spent hours talking about anything and everything. She watched the animation on his face and wondered now, how she could ever have feared it. She had gradually become used to his face, but it didn't happen overnight. They had been in the music room one evening, not long after he finally felt well enough to spend some time at the piano. Christine had been reading, while Erik worked on a new musical piece; this one would be for both the piano and violin.

He was scribbling left handed on a sheet of composition paper, and the pen was literally flying across the page, only stopping every so often to play it on the grand. She happened to glance up at him and caught the frown while he worked on the time signature. She watched the emotional display evident now, the wrinkling of his forehead and the look of concentration which put fine lines at the corners of his eyes. The by-play of facial muscles, all hidden from her before.

She no longer had to try and guess from eyes or the set of his mouth. To her, his face was no longer disturbing. Erik had not been so easy to convince. The morning after she first slept with him, she awakened to the mask once again. He was only comfortable for so long without it, but stubbornly she coaxed him into leaving it off, and at first he resisted.

He would remove it at her insistence, but it would eventually end up back in place. How to convince him she wanted to see his face? When she asked him to eat his meals without it, he refused. Christine said nothing to that, but continued eating her breakfast quietly, saying very little. Erik was a smart man. He realized she was merely thinking of his comfort, but a few hours of his beastly face was one thing- to have it in front of her while she ate was something entirely different.

So he reached across the table and took her small hand in his. "Do not be upset with me. I only mean to spare you."

She squeezed his hand, then took a sip of her coffee. "I understand. I shouldn't have expected you to feel comfortable with me, Erik. It was my mistake. Just forget about it, okay?"

He looked at her in puzzlement. "But I do feel comfortable with you. How can you think otherwise?"

She smiled at him and rose to clear the table. "Apparently not."

He narrowed his eyes at that, dumbfounded that she wanted to see his face.

He sat there feeling oddly defensive, but not wishing to start a full-blown argument, he too got up to help with the breakfast dishes. She shooed him out of the kitchen and cleaned up by herself, and after the kitchen was tidied up, she looked around. "Okay. That didn't take long. What now?" she muttered to the empty air. Fresh air and sunshine, she thought, and decided to take a walk. She went looking for Erik, and found the music room door closed. She tapped on it, waiting patiently, and finally he opened it, looking down at her silently, amber eyes glittering.

"I'm...I'm going for a walk. Want to come with me?" She was taken aback at his stiff posture in the doorway and his next words confirmed his present mood.

"Would you insist that I accompany you minus my mask? Perhaps frighten a few children along the way?" he sneered.

His words and icy tone bothered her, but she stood her ground. "Nope. Just wanted to know if you would like to come along." She looked at him with disappointment, and a tiny bit of shame for pushing him when it was obvious he was uncomfortable. But doggedly, she couldn't seem to stop. "I'm not asking you to scare any kids, Erik. I only wanted you to take a walk with me, but," she eyed him a little nervously, and turned to leave, "I'll take that as a no." Not exactly in a good mood today, is he? Come on, Christine. Did you really think with his temper, this wouldn't eventually happen? He's nearly lost it with you a few times already. And your're not exactly helping the situation, are you?

She turned her back on him and prepared to leave.

"Christine? Wait!"

She heard the strange note in his voice and stopped, mentally kicking herself for upsetting him. But she couldn't spend the rest of her life skirting nervously around his constantly shifting moods and temper, could she?

"It is just for a walk, yes? You are coming back, aren't you?"

His state of mind had swung very quickly from anger to pathos- it was dizzying. But her eyes softened and she said quietly," Of course I'm coming back. Who would be here to make sure you eat? You can come too, you know. With your mask. Um, you do understand that I wasn't trying to hurt you, right? I just wanted you to be comfortable around me in your own home."

He shook his head and sighed. "I know you mean well. Try to understand..." he pleaded, "it has been a part of me since I was old enough to walk. It's hard for me to bare my face to another- most especially you."

Erik stood in front of her, head down and refusing to meet her eyes.

She walked over to him and took his hand, swinging it lightly. "Hey. It's okay. Really. If you don't want to remove it, then don't."

She felt sad for him, and wasn't sure how to fix the situation, except to try and be patient. Which for her wasn't always easy to do, but she had badgered him into this mood, and it was up to her not to make it any worse.

He still wouldn't look at her. She reached up on her toes and kissed the cheek of his mask. "I'm fine with it. We're fine. I'll be back in a little while, okay?"

He watched her leave as he stood in the doorway with no idea of what he wanted to do now. So he sat down at the piano and started to work. Thirty minutes later, he was surrounded by balled up sheets of paper littering the floor, and his thoughts scattered and dismal. He stood up and began pacing, wanting to go after her, but indecision stopped him.

He ran his hand through his hair and sighed in frustration. She had requested something very straightforward. Simply remove the mask and all would be well. He snorted. If it was only that easy. His face had been covered since the time he was a small child. His Christine meant well, he was sure, but covering his deformity had also been his protection. Sometimes there had been those who took offense at his ugliness, and wanted nothing more than to thrash him for it, as if it was something he was responsible for.

Even his own mother. How many times had she taken a switch to my backside for the smallest of offenses. She whipped me, sometimes savagely for the flimsiest of excuses...if I talked too loudly or too often...tracked dirt across the kitchen floor, or asked for something as simple as a hug. The real reason was always hidden beneath harsh discipline she claimed I needed. Just like a dirty secret. The truth was, because I existed...no more and no less.

Beatings from anyone however, were a thing of the past, but habit had become ingrained and the mask was in effect, his shield. The big question for Erik. How long before Christine decided he was too monstrous even for her and left him? And what if he refused to uncover his face? Would she accuse him of no faith in her? He continued his pacing, miserably unsure of his next move. Finally he went over to the piano and sat down.

When Christine returned, she could hear the music from beyond the closed door, and if the solemn sound of it was any indication, he was still troubled. He heard her returning and let out a heartfelt sigh of relief.

She was in the kitchen for a good part of the afternoon, planning their dinner and preparing it. Fixing meals together had been for the both of them, some of the most pleasant moments they ever had. He was eating more now. His appetite would never amount to much, but compared to what he had been eating, he was a veritable foodie.

Usually he would spend equal amounts of time with her and the piano, but that afternoon he remained in the music room. Hopefully while he sulked, he would come to the conclusion that if she loved him, she would also at some point have to love his face. And so for the rest of the day, he had played every sad and melancholy piece of music in his extensive repertoire- fortissimo. At times, she only wanted to yell for him to stop, but she counted to one hundred instead.

For lunch, she fixed him a ham and cheese sandwich, taking it to the music room. She turned the knob and was perplexed to find it locked. She tapped on the door, to the sounds of a very loud Beethoven piece, and she doubted if he could even hear her puny knocking. "Erik?" she shouted over the beautiful racket. My God! I'm in the loony bin with a musical genius. "I've brought you lunch! Please eat something, okay?"

She left it outside his door and when she came back later, it was still there untouched. "Erik?" She tapped on the door again. It was quiet. Almost too quiet- the piano was at last silent, and although the heavy chords and impassioned music had depressed her, she wished to hear more of it instead of the noisy silence which had descended upon them. During the clamorous afternoon, she decided that if Erik had been into rock bands, it would be the power chords of the heavy metal variety. She nearly cracked a smile picturing her man onstage doing a guitar riff with Metallica. "Hey, babe?"

"I'm fine, Christine. I'm not hungry." His voice was flat and emotionless.

She put her hand on the door, very tempted to ask him to let her in, then thought better of it. "All right," she sighed. "I'll be in the kitchen."

She was relieved to speak with him, but she would rather he hadn't barricaded himself behind a locked door. She had for the most part left him to his own company knowing it was his way of thinking something through, but the bleakness of the music, although gorgeously executed, left her anxious, and his attitude was beginning to irritate her. Big time.

At six, she called him to the evening meal holding her breath that he would actually join her. When he finally sat down at the table, she looked up- at his unmasked face. She watched him as he quirked an eyebrow at her, and rising, she went to him and sat down in his lap. She took his face in her hands, her thumbs lightly caressing each side of his mouth. He regarded her warily, but when she gently touched his face, his eyes closed and he sighed deeply. She put her mouth on his, her tongue darting out and sliding along the seam of his closed lips.

His arms wrapped tightly around her, his tongue meeting hers. "I love you so much," he moaned.

She nuzzled his ear and whispered softly into it making him shiver," I love you too."

Dinner that night was outstanding.

As his health returned to normal, his thoughts of Christine became those which any healthy man in love would have. Sleeping in the same bed now was out of the question, for actual sleep was not the activity he had in mind. Christine though, was in his bedroom to stay, therefore his nightly torture continued until he began making excuses to stay away until she fell asleep. Much later he would creep into the room Phantom-style and lay awake until nearly dawn, thinking his lascivious thoughts and watching her sleep.

They were often in the music room, Erik teaching her some fundamentals of singing, making her voice into a stronger, truer instrument. He also enjoyed playing for her. She would come up behind him while he sat at the piano, and looping her arms around his neck, she would lean her head on his while he played. Often he began singing and she would invariably join in. Singing together was pure pleasure for both of them.

She brought his violin with her to Paris, and she spent afternoons and evenings charmed by the magic he produced from its strings. One evening she sat in the music room watching and listening to him as he played Bach's Air on the G String, enchanted as always at the beauty he coaxed from the instrument. The slight sway of his thin body to the flowing melody, the fluidity of bow to string in his very capable hands warmed her blood.

The piece over, Erik lowered the instrument to his side.

"Come here," she said softly, and held her hand out to him.

He laid the violin slowly in its case, and moving as if in a dream, he went and knelt in front of her. Christine took his hands in hers and slowly kissed the tip of each one of his fingers, then put her arms around his neck and pulled him close.

"That was so beautiful," she whispered. Her mouth sought his, and with a moan, she moved her lips over his greedily, sliding her hands up to his face.

He kissed her back with fast rising excitement, answering her passion with his own, fueled by his love for her.

His arms were tight around her, hands moving up and down her back, his mouth finally breaking from hers to plant kisses on her throat, followed by his tongue. His left hand started a pathway down the column of her throat and hovered indecisively near her breasts, finally alighting on one with a shy and delicate touch. They both gasped at the same time; Christine leaned into his hand and pulled his head back to hers. He gently felt the softness in his hold, his heart beginning to gallop in his chest. Erik's eager lips locked onto hers and his tongue explored the warm, moist interior of her sweet mouth.

Her hand was working its way down his back, stroking and feeling its way, stopping at his belt. Her thumb hooked inside the waistband of his pants and his breath hitched. Her hand dipped down to the small of his back, kneading the tight muscles there, feeling the raised knobs of his spine, then as she gained confidence, her fingers started moving around to the front again, caressing his flat belly and continuing downwards.

They were both trembling by now, a mantle of lust enveloping them in its warm folds.

The ringing of the phone gradually broke through the haze of desire surrounding them. Christine knew it was a call from Mamma; she'd been expecting it, and after placing a last kiss on his mouth, she reluctantly started to leave his embrace.

"Let it go," he said hoarsely, trying to pull her back into his arms.

She shook her head regretfully, still aroused from his touch. "I...I can't. It's Mamma." Her legs were unsteady as she walked over to the desk and picked up the phone.

"Putain de merde!" he said, disgusted at the damned woman's timing. He slumped down against the chair feeling slightly sick from the build-up of pleasure and the cold letdown.

She was killing him by slow degrees.

Other evenings would find them sitting together on the couch in the living room watching a movie together. She quizzed him on his television preferences, eying the flat screen TV near the fireplace. "I have none," he told her. "Unless you count the cable news services. That's what I have one for- to keep myself current on international political developments." He looked at her quickly and away. "Or did," he amended.

"Well, I can understand wanting to know what's going on around the world, but a steady diet of it is too much for anyone. Why, it's always bombings and assass..." She fell quickly silent, too late remembering his prior line of work.

He looked at her with a grim acceptance and nodded. "Yes. Exactly. That's the reason I needed one. It was all in the nature of the work I used to do. But no more. I have much better things to occupy myself with," and he'd pulled her close for a kiss. "But to answer your question- I never watched anything other than news. My time was better spent elsewhere than viewing the rubbish they feed people."

She hid a smile at his sneer. Well, my snobbish darling, you're in for an education in rubbish. Every evening she lined them up with movies that were her personal favorites. She steered clear of anything smacking of silliness, except for a movie she loved, called What's Up Doc, a screwball comedy from years ago that was fast and funny. They curled up on the couch together to watch it, and she leaned against him, his arms holding her close.

She observed him from the corner of her eye, and felt triumphant when she caught a crinkling of the skin at the corner of his eyes, and the slight lifting of his lips. A smile. Several of them in fact. And when one of the characters proclaimed himself a doctor of music, Erik snorted. "Doctor of music, indeed. Why, that's just as bad as if I were to declare myself the Angel of Music, Christine. How ridiculous!" But when she asked him if he enjoyed it, his response was grudging. "I suppose there are worse ways of spending an evening. Wow! That was a huge admission. For Erik, that's high praise...close to gushing.

"It's not a complete waste of time, ma belle. But it's still much better to pick up a book and educate yourself than watch this tripe." Oh really, Erik? You didn't look all that bored. If anything, I should have been. It wasn't easy trying to keep up with the rapid-fire French.

She laughed. "Tripe, huh? Well, in some ways you remind me of Ryan O'Neal's character, Howard. You both take life much too seriously in that adorably stuffy and clueless way you sometimes have. It makes me want to give you a big hug," and after saying it, she put her arms around him and squeezed tight.

Erik was indignant at being called clueless and stuffy, but the label of adorable applied to him was bewildering. "Adorable? Me? That word and my name have never been used in the same sentence before." He quirked an eyebrow. "Are you by any chance being facetious, Christine?"

She kissed him several times on the lips in quick succession. "No, no, and no. I think you're adorable and that's that. But anyone that could watch that movie and not laugh is a little stuffy." She grinned. "Adorably so."

He looked at her in irritation. "Why do you persist in making me watch all these insipid movies? We could be spending our time in the music room instead."

Well, we can add cranky to that list too. "Well, you certainly looked engrossed in the movie," she threw up a hand to stop his protest, "so, okay, comedy isn't your thing, huh? I don't suppose you've ever been to Disney World then, am I right? Way too light for your intellect."

He snorted in disgust. "A place that is centered around a large, absurd looking mouse? With the premise that there is a place where only fun is allowed?" He looked at her as though she had sprouted horns, and his expression was so comical she had to laugh. But she sobered quickly when he glared at her. "The world is dangerous and ugly, Christine. Teaching children to leave their cares behind and grin all the time like petit lunatics is not preparing them for it!"

She put her arm around him and kissed his sunken cheek, calming her volatile Frenchman. A simple gesture of affection was usually all it took. He was starved for it, and could never get enough. "What cares should a child have except for brushing his teeth or eating his veggies? There's nothing wrong in letting children have some fun every now and then, and it's also good for the big kids too, my darling," and he was captivated when she winked at him. "And I'm going to show you how."

The next movie she introduced him to was Casablanca, the old 40's movie about love and intrigue in French Morocco. It ended with a friendly argument and some heavy petting after Christine asserted that Rick, the nightclub owner had to do the right thing and let Ilsa, his former lover go. But she nevertheless was dabbing at her eyes with a tissue by the end. Erik watched her a moment as she blew her nose. "But it's not real, Christine. You are wasting tears on actors portraying a role." He snorted. "Besides, if I were this Rick, I would never have let her go. They loved each other and that's all that mattered."

She stopped wiping her eyes, and stared at him in surprise, a grin splitting her face. "Why, you fraud! You're a romantic, aren't you?," and she slid her arms around his neck and yanked him down on top of her. She put her wet cheek to his tightly. "That's why I love you so much. You're such a sucker for romance." She kissed him hard on the mouth and his arms curled round her, his thin lips answering hers with enthusiasm.

She adjusted to his weight and wrapped her legs around him knowing she was playing with fire. His desire was obvious. But it felt very nice, and the delicious heat was pooling in her lower belly. She had no intention of moving any time soon. That's not a gun he's got in his pocket, Chris. He's just awfully glad to see you. Heh. Although with Erik, it could be. He's been known to carry one in his line of work. Former line of work. Mm, nope. That's not a gun. He is happy to see me.

"If it was you standing there, I wouldn't leave either," she whispered in his ear, and was gratified when his mouth swooped down on hers again. His hands had a will of their own as they slid under her shirt and wandered across her bare back. Christine did likewise and pulled Erik's shirt out of his pants, slipping her hand inside and caressing his bare skin. Her fingers stilled for a few seconds when she felt the long scars on his back. Oh dear Lord! What happened to him? Beaten maybe, but by who? His loopy mother? Whoever it was, intended to inflict serious damage. They sure as hell succeeded too. Damage inside and out.

She reflexively pulled him closer, years too late to protect him from the hurt, but needing to make sure he understood her touch would never harm him. She would ask about the scars one of these days, but she would have to move cautiously. He wasn't always willing to share his past with her. He could get very defensive about it; pushing too hard could cause a back-lash that might hurt both of them. So she decided to keep quiet for a while. Erik didn't notice her slight hesitation. He was too involved in the pleasurable sensations, and his breath caught at how wonderful it felt. He groaned when she pressed even closer to him. It was torture, but the sweetest and most delightful pain he'd ever known.

The nights had grown chilly, the fire felt good and he was finding it harder to stop at just kisses. He wanted her so much- was frightened by his hunger for her, but he was green when it came to sexual matters and his inexperience made him hesitate. Finally, with a curse he pulled out of her arms and stood up on weak legs. Her hair was tousled and her lips tinged red from kissing. He sighed. She looked adorable and very desirable.

Christine felt the let-down. She was more than ready to push this further, but she kept hitting a road block named Erik. Maybe if she backed off a little and gave him some breathing room. He reached down and helped her up and she straightened her rumpled shirt. "I ah, I'm going to take a hot bath. Make that a bubble bath! But I won't be long, so don't go away," she purred in her best silky voice.

He blew out a breath after she left the room. He knew she was inviting him to make love to her and he wanted nothing more than that. Mon Dieu! Nearly forty and to be so gauche, when he should be taking the lead. He wouldn't want to run roughshod over her feelings and harm her when his raw passion overruled his head. And it could very well happen. He was uncomfortably aware of how volatile he could be. His frustration was mounting and he was at a loss to figure out how to proceed without hurting her.

With the way he looked, it was monstrous to even think of coupling with her. That night, he retreated to his music room, and when Christine came in search of him looking beautiful and smelling like a rose, he bit the inside of his cheek hard and pleaded work to be done. The smile left her face and woodenly she gave him a quick kiss good night. He'd hurt her feelings and he was sorry for it, but better that, than to physically harm her in his clumsy eagerness. You're afraid of more than that. Admit it. You don't want to disappoint her and make a fool of yourself.

And so it continued.

But what amazed and delighted Erik were Christine's responses to him. They would both end up breathless and aroused from their bodies pressed tightly against one another, her mouth tender and bruised from his kisses, his body aching from unfulfillment. When he started having thoughts of simply taking what he wanted, he would gently disengage from her and send her to bed.

He would do nothing to frighten her. He loved her so. But soon, kisses would not be enough.