Look! I'm posting at a somewhat reasonable time! I know, I know, hold the applause...

Last update of the year! Here's to many more in the new one :)

Onward!

x

Living in a house was unfamiliar to Christine. She had always lived in apartments, even with her parents, and the concept of yards—of neighbors a full property line away—was an odd one.

She might have liked it more if between Erik and herself they had more things to make it feel homey. The house he'd found for them to rent was of a modest size and even came with basic furnishings, yet aside from the few pictures and keepsakes she'd stashed in her suitcase, it all felt rather sterile.

Erik didn't seem to mind in the least. "There is less to move in order to dust," he had reminded her on more than one occasion, and each time she had struggled to keep from rolling her eyes. There was nothing untrue about it, but she did not see any problem spending a few extra seconds moving an item aside for the sake of a more pleasing atmosphere.

Yet she was currently without the means to actually purchase such things, the cash in her purse sparse and Erik still being difficult in regard to her employment.

"It is not necessary. I have told you this and would appreciate if you would cease your attempts to persuade me otherwise."

Christine took a deep breath and pushed her fork through the potato salad she'd made. Since their arrival here a few days ago, she had come to discover that Erik was a truly terrible cook. He claimed that all of the knowledge was hidden away in the recesses of his mind, but when it came to application... The eggs he had scrambled the first morning were tough and rubbery things, his determination to see them thoroughly cooked—so as not to poison her with salmonella as he had gravely explained—ruining any semblance of a desirable texture. Christine had thanked him, and been quite genuine about it. His thoughtfulness was appreciated, but there was no possibility that she would manage to choke down his breakfast offerings.

She had taken to cooking since then.

It was amazing to her how different it was to once more cook for two. She and Papa had cooked together when her mother died, and it was usually a joyful experience, with teasing and laughing and singing as they maneuvered their tiny kitchen.

Here it was a more solemn affair, though Erik had taken to sitting at one of the bar stools and staring at her.

If he kept it up much longer she most certainly would be putting him to work. He made her nervous, and that was not a feeling she appreciated when handling sharp objects.

But now she sat across from him at their little kitchen table, trying to finish her own lunch while once again having, not only to convince him that she should begin her job hunt today, but also failing to urge him to eat something of his own.

"Erik," she responded reasonably—or at least, she hoped it sounded so. "We're starting a life here. And part of that means finding work."

He stared at her stonily from across the table, and she tried again.

"It's not even about the money," she insisted, and it was true. It was mostly about wanting to have her own money, but she also wanted people. Friends. Others to care about her, and who she could care for in return. Erik had begun keeping a careful distance between them ever since they'd moved here. He retired to his room fairly early each evening, leaving her in the living room to try to find something to watch on TV or read from her sparse collection of books.

It was lonely.

And she was trying very hard not to come to resent it.

She understood, truly she did. It was his responsibility to remain professional and aloof, not to be her friend. He was only there with her to keep her safe, and to pretend otherwise—no matter what they told the neighbors—would be unfair to both of them. For all she knew, he had a wife and children waiting for him at home, wherever that might be.

She took a drink of water as she pushed away the thought, not wanting to dwell on it. It made everything too strange and uncomfortable to think that she might be living with another woman's husband.

"If it is not about money," Erik's tone clearly showed his distaste for the very concept of it, let alone their continued conversation regarding its importance. She already felt like a nag. "Then what is your motivation?"

She sighed, pushing away her unfinished plate, suddenly not feeling very hungry. "Don't you ever feel isolated here? If we're going to be staying here for a while, I need... well... friends." Guilt still ate at her frequently when she realized how she had dismissed the kind people at the theatre who had offered her friendship so freely. It was true that she had been in rather a daze since her papa's passing, too sad and morose to consider forming any kind of deep relationships. But she recognized now that she had been rude in the process, keeping everyone at a careful distance so as to protect her own feelings.

And now she missed them, and could do nothing to apologize for her coldness.

Erik had stiffened at her question, his eyes narrowing as he looked at her. "You are unhappy here? If you require a different house, or more items to collect dust, then I shall rectify these things immediately."

Christine smiled sadly, finding his desire to please very sweet, but also feeling worse as she very nearly took him up on his offer. "I'm taking advantage of you, Erik, and someday you'll see that. And I... I really don't want to do that. You can't be everything to me here, it's won't be fair to you when you go back home, and it... it won't do me any favors when you leave." She didn't bring up his family, remembering how poorly he had taken it before, but still she wondered about it.

Erik was silent for a long moment, and Christine was very nearly ready to take her dishes into the kitchen to clean up when at last he spoke. "You seem to be under some misapprehension. I shall not be leaving you, not for a long while, so you need not fret about abandonment. I had not… realized that you felt lonely in my company." His head tilted slightly to the side. "What must I do to rectify such a sensation?"

Christine stared at him, not at all certain how to respond. He was always so quick to please, yet she floundered in how to react to him all the same. "Erik, I don't want to pressure you. You deserve some time to yourself. You don't need to babysit me."

He seemed displeased by her assessment. "I thought you would value privacy since you were afforded so little on our journey. Was I mistaken?"

She couldn't deny that it was nice to have her own room, with a door and a lock that this time he allowed her to use. He had insisted she take the master bedroom, so her bathroom was her own as well, without a chance of Erik mistakenly intruding or seeing glimpses of her nightgown.

"You've been a perfect gentleman, Erik. I just… I know I'm used to living alone and maybe I'm being ridiculous, but now that there's someone here I just…" She sighed, not feeling she was adequately putting her feelings into words at all. Perhaps she should attempt a different approach. "What do you like to do for fun?"

"Fun," Erik muttered, the word seemingly foreign to him. "For personal enjoyment?"

Christine shrugged. "Sure. A hobby. Something not to do with work but just… for yourself."

Erik evidently held a great deal of distaste for the word hobby, but he answered her all the same. "Music. I am... was... a composer and musician."

Christine blinked at him, not at all expecting that. "Really? What did you play?"

Erik shrugged. "Most anything. The violin was my first acquisition, and I suppose you could call it a favorite. It seems wrong to do so, however."

He watched her carefully, and belatedly she realized that her fingers had strayed to her papa's ring settled on its chain about her neck. She forced her hand down and willed herself not to get overly emotional. Lots of people played the violin—she worked with some nearly every day. There was no need for dramatics. "Bit like choosing a favorite child?"

Erik gave her a thin smile. "I suppose. Though I have no experience with children."

Christine reached out and rubbed her finger against the edge of her plate. No experience with children wasn't exactly the same thing as not having them, was it? Perhaps his wife had their baby while he was on assignment and he hadn't even had time yet to meet his little one properly. That had happened to Meg's cousin once. He'd been on deployment when his wife had given birth to their first son, and the baby was months old by the time he had finally gotten to meet him.

A terrible thing, to be sure, and Christine had felt very sorry for the mother, raising an infant without the help and support of her husband.

Was Erik's situation similar?

She should simply ask him for more particulars about his personal life. They were no longer trapped in the confines of the car, and she was slightly less dependent upon him for entertainment and necessities, so maybe it was worth his potential upset for her own peace of mind. She hesitated, returning to their current subject of conversation. "Why did you stop if you enjoyed it?"

Erik looked at her rather pointedly. "A certain relocation made it impossible for me to continue."

That sinking, horrible feeling returned that she had most definitely ruined this man's life. She tried to reason with herself that it was not her fault—that she had not asked to witness the Phantom's crime, nor even asked to be taken into protection. Yet here she was, and this man had to abandon his music for her sake.

"You could... you could always play here. I hate the thought of you wasting your musical talent just to take care of me."

Erik sighed and shook his head. "You take too much blame upon yourself."

She nodded, this argument nearly as old as their time together. Maybe at some point she would come to accept that, but for now—with him sitting across from her and months of potential loneliness before them both—she knew it would not be today.

"May I ask you something? Without you... without you getting mad at me for prying?"

Erik straightened, eyeing her carefully for a long moment before inclining his head ever so slightly. She took that as permission to continue. "Do you have a wife at home? A child, maybe?" Even saying the words aloud made her stomach clench unpleasantly. She felt horrible for feeling so uncomfortable at the thought. If she was more gracious, more generous, she would be glad that he had someone to love him when at last she was safe and the Phantom caught, that he would have a happy home to return to when she went back to her solitary apartment and tried to scrape together some semblance of a life once more.

What kind of a selfish being was she that she could begrudge him that?

"Why?"

Christine startled at his question, not expecting it at all. "Why, what?"

She could not properly gauge his expression. He did not look mad, not exactly, but he was not wholly pleased by her enquiry either. "Why would you ask me such a thing?"

Christine fidgeted slightly from the intensity of his gaze, and she wished she had not asked. It was better just to presume that he had, and act accordingly. Careful distance, respect for his person as he might be someone else's husband. But instead she had tried to soothe her own disgruntled feelings, and now he was clearly unhappy with her.

"We're living together," she defended lamely. "You're going to start introducing yourself to people as my husband and I just..." she gave a helpless little shrug. "I wanted to know if I was robbing another woman of that right. If I would be hurting her to allow you to do that."

She expected a verbal answer—a mere confirmation or denial of her question so she could at least potentially absolve her growing guilt of this one item. But instead Erik reached into his pocket, and slid a black velvet box in her direction.

And with trembling fingers, she accepted it.

This was not how Erik had intended to present her with it.

Any more romantic gestures seemed to mock him, a reminder of how contrary their relationship truly was to anything that would warrant such a display. He had finally decided that he would place it on her bedside table while she slept, a simple note explaining that he had found a suitable ring should she wish to claim him as her husband in public as they had previously discussed.

Yet now he was offering it to her when he could actually see her reaction, and already he regretted it.

Christine lifted the lid, and her fingers drifted over the smooth gold band, and he wondered if she was disappointed. He could have provided something extravagant— the jeweler had been most determined as he led him through every manner of showy, diamond encrusted articles.

But he was insistent, and he watched with growing unease as Christine lifted the ring from its box, and she slid the ring onto her appropriate finger.

And he tried to ignore the feeling that it instilled in him.

That it almost seemed real.

She smiled at him, and he looked for any signs of hidden displeasure, but it seemed genuine enough. "It's lovely, Erik." Her delicate hand drifted to her father's ring for a brief moment, before she instead began fiddling with the one on her own. "They look alike."

He was not unaware of that fact, though hers was far more feminine and suited her hand much better. "While wearing that ring, you may rest assured that there is no other woman in this world who would call me husband, or even father. Do you understand?" He gave her a rather morose smile. "No woman would wish to, yet still you seem to find it necessary to ask."

Christine looked back at him in surprise. "Why wouldn't they? You're kind, and caring, and far too generous." She looked back down at her ring, and he was pleased to see that it fit her properly. "It's very comfortable."

He very nearly frowned at that. Comfort was important, yes, but he had chosen this style for a reason. "You should have a diamond, some day. Something lovely enough that it is worthy of your own—" he halted abruptly, not wishing to make her uncomfortable as he complimented her loveliness. As if a ring could possibly compare to her beauty. "You shall have a proposal someday, as the man you love asks you to be his bride." His heart clenched painfully at the thought, not liking it at all. He comforted himself with the knowledge that this could not actually occur unless he allowed it. And at the moment he most certainly had no intention of doing so.

Erik remembered that boy she had clung to when she had first run from him, and his lip nearly curled. He had heard everything, had watched as she'd told of their encounter to the Daroga and his men, all the while that young man hovering nearby. At the time he had been focused on Christine, considering and plotting what to do with her.

Disposing of her would have been the simple thing to do—would silence her without any more fuss on his part.

But a feeling of dread filled his belly whenever he lingered too long on the thought, and as he had stood, watching her terrified face as she recounted what he had done, he knew that he could never fulfill such a charge. Not when she was an innocent.

Erik took a calming breath, pushing away any thoughts of Raoul de Chagny that suddenly seemed so abhorrent to him, before he continued. "I hoped that by providing you something simple..." He stopped, noting the way her eyes glimmered. His own narrowed as he regarded her. "Why are you crying?"

Christine brushed away the small amount of wetness that her eyes produced, shaking her head. "I'm not. Really. I feel as if all I do is cry." She gave him a shaky smile, and Erik felt another tug of guilt at his heart. He doubted she'd had any reason to cry before she had the misfortune of crossing his path. She was probably happy, and he had ruined everything. "It's just so thoughtful for you to want me to get to experience things like that still."

He startled when suddenly she reached forward and laid her hand upon his arm. "Thank you."

Erik merely nodded, wondering if this was simply the way of Christine when she received a ring.

She had cried when he had presented her with her father's ring, and apparently felt the need to do so now. The former had been much more difficult to procure, but he had felt a token of good will would go far to smoothing the way toward her accepting him. A badge might not have been sufficient. It seemed to have been successful, for her trust in him was fairly absolute, and it made it worth the hours he had poured over the theatre in search of it. He had spoken truly—it had managed to find its way within the relative vicinity of the crime scene, Christine's presence there a wise one, if not equally unfortunate for her.

The only reason he had known it was not a prop was the engraving on the inside. Unless a prop had been selected from an antique shop, or a donated relic from a family history, the words to my dearest love etched painstakingly on the inside of the band would not have been present.

But they had been, and Erik had felt quite accomplished when he found the box of prop rings and saw it sitting patiently at the top until he could once more return it to its rightful place. Paul, the prop master, might not have been the kindliest of men, but Erik had always admired his efficiency.

"You will wear it then?" Erik confirmed, unsettled by how much he liked to see his ring upon her finger. None of this was his intention. He was saving her from a trial that could never be, a life plagued by nightmares as a detective filled her head with the many dangers that would never reach her.

He had not intended to feel things for her—to ache in ways he had never known. For smiles and comfort and feelings of home. To lie in bed and question if she was well, to briefly wonder what it would be like to instead lie beside her. Those thoughts he entertained only for a moment before he shoved them most firmly aside. To dwell on them would only be a torment, a tease of what any other man might be able to secure, but not him. Not when she was loveliness itself and he was...

Monstrous. A murderer. A corpse.

She thought he had no interest in spending his evenings with her, but retreating to his room had become an infuriating necessity. The mask he wore was relatively untested before he had begun using it on a daily basis. She had never questioned it, never stared overly long at the seams—at least, not to his knowledge, and he watched her carefully to circumvent any questions she might have. Christine accepted him for someone normal, and he dearly wished that he could continue to be so, at least in her eyes.

Yet the delicate skin of his face was beginning to react poorly with the adhesive. Red, inflamed skin had to be given respite, and he could not solely keep to the times when she slept. He needed ample time to reapply it before she woke, and he was now having to research other potential elements that might prove more effective without compromising the natural state of his face.

If he had thought it had been grotesque before, it was certainly not benefited by broken capillaries and heated flesh.

Which Christine would never, ever see. Not when he could help it.

But she would have to be told something so she did not continue to foolishly press to find employment. He would not keep her prisoner, but it felt... wrong for her to have to pay for her accommodations, for her own care. Not when both were required because of him. Yet he could not tell her the truth of that, so he would have to be very careful in his explanations, without also inciting her displeasure.

And with Christine, he was finding that could be incredibly difficult to accomplish—though things were remarkably improved now that he assumed her... womanly times... had come to an end.

Her hand suddenly left his arm, and he was pleased to see her smoothing the pad of her forefinger over the gold of her ring once more. "Of course I'll wear it." She nibbled at her lip briefly, doubt suddenly flickering across her features. "But I don't have one for you."

She glanced down briefly at her father's ring, not yet tucked back under her shirt, but Erik held up his hand to cease her obvious intention. "You needn't sacrifice such a thing for me, Christine. Plenty of men do not wear a wedding band." He did not know if it was true, or whether he had simply seen a bared hand due to infidelity, but he had little intention of going outside in any case.

And for some reason he did not care to dwell upon, if a ring ever graced his finger, he needed it to be truthful. Christine had consented to wear one with the promise of another in her future, but he knew that no such symbol was forthcoming in his own.

And suddenly that hurt far more than it did before.

Sooo... looks like Christine has a ring! And Erik's starting to be sorry that it isn't real...

Come as a surprising to anyone? I think not...

Have a happy (and safe!) New Year's! Mine will involve lots of Star Trek and Rune Factory and FP33 chapters... Yes, you may all be jealous. :P