Long, long, looooooooong day, and I nearly forgot about updating, but here we go! And... still on time, according to my coast! So I'm taking this as a win.

And since my brain is fried, I'll hush and simply say, onward!

xviii

"Erik!" Christine chastised, struggling to keep from laughing. "I told you I would unpack all my things, and that is not what I had in mind!"

Erik had listened when she had told him thusly, but he was determined that this would be a home to her. At least for a time. There was always the lingering possibility that they would have to flee again in the near future—some troubling conversations with the Daroga had left him feeling wary and perhaps a bit too vigilant as he spent much of his nights staring out of windows and circling the property.

If Christine noticed anything was wrong, she did not say so. They had stayed at the hotel for another three days, time enough for him to secure a house. This one was not a part of a neighborhood, but instead was rather secluded, tucked away as it was on a beach. Christine had brightened immediately when she had seen it, for which he was glad, but he had partially selected it for his ability to defend it. Unless they came by boat—unlikely given the rocky overhangs to one side that would make navigation difficult—he only had the road to watch for signs of intrusion.

Staying with her in the hotel, sequestered with the memory of her kisses haunting his every thought, had been a difficult thing. Especially when he had given into temptation, and that first night, with her sleeping so sweetly against his shoulder, he had justified that it was simply too far to move her to her bed, and had tucked her into his own.

He had pressed no advantage, did nothing untoward. Had not even dared to get beneath the covers with her, instead staying on his side and simply watching, listening. It was a strange thing, having a presence with him. She must trust him quite a lot to have fallen asleep against his person, and he had hoped she would not be angry when she awoke.

And it was only when he was certain she was sleeping soundly, only then did he allow his tears to fall for all that she had given him.

Her blush had been a fearsome thing when she recognized where she was. He was dressed already, having gone down to the front desk and informing the manager of his intention to remain for another few days. He sat at the desk, absently searching through listings, while also waiting for word from Nadir as to whether or not the Shah was interested in his whereabouts.

The dratted man was moving slowly, or so Erik thought.

It had been nearly afternoon before Christine began to move. He would not tell her so, but so still had she been during the night, he had felt it necessary to press his fingers to her pulse, simply to ensure she had not perished in the night.

Her brow furrowed, evidently noting that the bed was not positioned on the same wall, and she sat up hastily, her cheeks pink and her eyes wide as she regarded him. "I'm in your bed," she stated unnecessarily. Well, he had already known she required tea in the mornings before their conversations improved.

"Obviously," Erik responded drolly, before he lifted the telephone—carefully cleaned upon his first arrival at this hotel—and ordering food for them both.

She had been awkward and uncertain for a while, and he began to regret his choice. It was purely selfish on his part, and perhaps it crossed some boundary that which he had been unaware. He'd had no expectations. Her kiss quite enough to secure his heart demanding the need for more. At least, not while she was unconscious and unable to participate.

Christine had calmed after a while, when she was clothed and the bed was made, and she'd hovered in his doorway again. She'd wanted to watch a movie, and he could see that she did not relish the thought of remaining in her own room, so she waited for him to offer his own to her.

As if he would ever refuse her.

They had passed the day pleasantly enough. She with her films, and he with his searching, both for a home and for news on their note-giver. He had incurred a few enemies throughout the years, but most seemed to now be incarcerated—perhaps the Daroga proved capable of something in his role as policeman—while a few more were now deceased. Erik read through their obituaries, flowery, useless things that did little to supply the actual nature of their deaths. Murder or the unfortunate plight of nature? The only thing he knew for certain is that none had been at his hand.

When it came time for them to sleep once more, Christine far more than he, she had kissed his cheek lightly and bade him goodnight, slipping into her own room and shutting the door as much as she could without fully latching it.

And he tried to assure himself that she was not angry with him, even as he stared at his now empty bed, hating the sight of it.

When at last he had located a suitable property and found a landlord willing to let it on short notice, he was glad to be free of the hotel entirely. He missed the simple domesticity they had found in their previous house. He enjoyed watching Christine cook and fuss and putter about, though this time he would ensure it was more to her liking.

Which was why he had been researching images that appeared homey, and a common theme seemed to be a pair of shoes from each of the occupants, lined up neatly beside the front door. Erik thought it slightly absurd, but he wanted Christine to be happy, and he hoped this would at least be a start to her feeling like this could be a home.

But so far it had only caused her to laugh at him, when she'd left the kitchen to find out what he'd been up to.

"I did not unpack for you," he told her rather defensively. "You left your rain boots in our vehicle and I thought I would place them in a practical location."

Which did not explain his own pair of shoes next to hers, nor why it warmed him to see them there together, despite their absurdity.

He had also taken her coat and placed it on the rack in the hall. It would have been neater to install all of their outerwear in their designated closet, but as she seemed to really look at his efforts, a small smile beginning to play about her lips, he thought he had done rightly to place them just so.

"Thank you for bringing them in," she told him, her smile growing as she moved a little closer to him. "Now, are you going to come help me with dinner or am I going to have to do everything by myself?"

His skills had not improved, at least according to Christine. She would give him small tasks—usually things that involved knife work as she deemed him more than adequate with a blade. He did not feel the need to enlighten her as to how he had acquired such a skill set.

He had not intended for her to take on the responsibility of feeding them. He would learn—was learning—and they could always frequent a restaurant and bring things home. But Christine had insisted they venture to the grocery store. He had wanted to send her in alone. If they had not received that note, he likely would have done so. But he could not allow her to go anywhere unprotected, and although she had told him that it was not necessary, he had donned his mask of normalcy and accompanied her. She had frowned at him all the while, no doubt fretting about his skin. "It is only for an hour," he reminded her, not for the first time. She would nod and place a few more things in the cart, only to look at him with concern not a moment later.

Christine had insisted he remove it almost as soon as they were through the doorway.

It should have annoyed him, for someone to make demands of him that most assuredly only dealt with his own person. But instead he found her worry for him to add to her charms, and he knew with certainty that he had chosen well, this woman he loved.

He had not told her yet. In truth, he had not the faintest idea how to do so, or if it even required a verbal acknowledgment. It seemed obvious to him when he would sit and read with her in the evenings, or when she would suggest they watch a movie together and she would shyly inch a bit closer until, one evening when she must have been feeling emboldened, she had even reached for his arm and placed it about her shoulder.

All of it still amazed him.

And made him feel all the more wretched for the things he had yet to tell her.

As he suspected, Christine handed him a knife, telling him to chop a few cloves of garlic while she fiddled with a bubbling pot on the stove. Evidently they were having pasta. He tried to remember if he liked pasta.

It was not as if he starved while in seclusion. He ate things. But he did not venture to restaurants—his mask that would make him like any other had not yet been completed, and it seemed too much a hassle to be worth the effort. What food he did select was delivered to an apartment near the theatre, a quick jaunt providing him with all that he needed, without the inconvenience of contact with another living soul.

His meals were simple ones, the single glass of wine he allowed himself of more interest than whatever food he prepared.

"Have you given any more thought to me getting a job?"

Erik grimaced, but kept to his chopping, hoping the small pieces of garlic were cut to her satisfaction.

He hated disappointing her, but he hated this conversation more. And only reminded him further that he would need to enlighten her as to the true nature of their... acquaintance. But to do so would hurt her. Frighten her. Especially now that they were growing closer. She was more affectionate, more generous in her touches and occasional kisses. There was nothing improper in their actions, and he did not delude himself into thinking there would be in the future. But he would enjoy her simple gestures, the warmth that spread through him at her impulsive hugs, even if he had yet to draw enough courage to instigate something of his own.

"Christine," he murmured, sighing softly.

She nodded, stirring a pot of noodles. "It's not safe for me to go out like that, right?"

That was true enough. "It would be... best that I remain with you while in public. I believe we are safe for the moment, but as much as I should wish to, I can make no guarantee." Not until he heard from the damnable Daroga again. His own enquiries had not proved fruitful, and he knew of none other that would have the resources to make such a threat from across an entire nation. Possibly further if the man was still in Europe.

Christine bit her lip. "So we might have to move again."

Erik looked at her sharply. "Would you like to? I was under the impression that you approved this place."

Christine leaned closer to him and stood on tiptoe so she could bestow a kiss on his covered cheek—one of his plain, leather options, per her earlier insistence. He hated that he could not feel her lips against his skin, but he was also grateful for the barrier. It could not be pleasant for her to kiss him, and she was a good, sweet girl for doing so...

"It's beautiful," she assured him, returning to her pot of sauce and motioning for him to add the garlic to the pinkish contents. He had been under the impression that marinara sauce should be red, but Christine had dosed it liberally with heavy cream. "It tastes better," she promised him, shortly before he had excused himself to finish unloading the car, leaving her to concoct in peace.

Erik stood watching her as she stirred and tasted, contemplating. "It must be... difficult for you, to know that we are here for an indeterminate amount of time. You cannot make the friends you had requested."

Christine smiled, a sad sort of thing that made his heart ache. "I worry, that's all. I know I shouldn't. And I guess you're right. I was looking forward to setting down roots, and until we know more..." she shrugged. She began to lift the heavy pot of boiling water, evidently finding the pasta cooked to her satisfaction, but he intervened, lifting it and dumping the contents carefully into the waiting strainer already stationed in the sink.

He was not completely ignorant of culinary practices.

He was not expecting her to come to him when his hands were no longer full, wrapping her arms about him as was becoming her wont. "But I did want to thank you."

Erik cleared his throat. Each time it took a little less effort to relax, and he was a little quicker to respond with a pat or to hold her close. "You have already done so."

She shook her head before peering up at him. "No, I mean... I wanted to say thank you for being with me. It makes a lot of difference when you spend time with me and... I like it. Really like it. Us being here together. I don't want for that to change."

How did she have the power to affect him so keenly? Her desires were so simple, and so similar to his own. He questioned his worthiness. She was so lovely, so kind and gentle that any man would be most fortunate to secure her affections, but she claimed to have chosen him. He had yet to believe it fully, though every time she was near, every time she bestowed a touch or a brush of her lips against his own, he knew that she felt some measure of care for him. She was not the type to offer herself easily, or merely upon impulse.

"There is nothing I would be unwilling to do if it meant keeping you with me," he told her solemnly. And it was true. He doubted she understood the full implication of his words, but she smiled and held him a little closer, and that was enough for now.

Being in a relationship was not quite what she expected. Ones at the theatre tended to begin quickly, with dates or drinks after work when interest was shown on either side. Some fizzled quickly, while others proved more successful. She didn't know of anybody who had actually married a coworker, but Sorelli and her boyfriend had been serious for about a year.

But with Erik...

Things were easier than she anticipated. She thought that she would feel guilty, would have lingering doubts over the ethics of everything, but instead she felt more relaxed than she had since this entire business began. He was sweet and attentive, and made no effort to push her for more than she felt ready to give. For that she was especially grateful. There would be no avoiding him, no home to return to if things didn't work out, but everything so far had shown him to be a gentleman—and one that seemed to care for her a great deal.

And she could ask for little more than that.

She was sorry to release him, was becoming far too used to the feel of his arms about her, but the pasta was ready and needed to be mixed with the sauce, and she didn't want it to get cold.

It probably didn't count as a date. Not really. But she'd made a little effort with the table, lighting candles and using the nicer of the two sets of dishes their rental provided. It was all still rather confusing. She had always thought that she would clearly see a future whenever she became a couple with someone, but now...

They were still on the run. She was still a witness to a murder, and he was her marshal. But as he helped her carry the food to the table and pulled out her chair so she could sit, it was easy to pretend. She still wore his ring on her finger. He'd even given her a new ID card, a false last name replacing her own. She didn't recognize the address listed—most certainly had never lived there, but he'd said it didn't matter. It was enough to show anyone who asked, and would hold under scrutiny. She wouldn't even pretend to know about such things, so she simply accepted it and tucked it into her wallet, feeling a little better for having it.

Especially since it showed that her last name matched his. She may have peeked into his own wallet to check, abandoned as it was on his desk at the hotel. He'd slipped out for a moment to make a call, and though she felt perhaps a little guilty for looking, she wasn't really doing anything wrong.

At least, that is what she told herself. She didn't inspect his credit cards, or the rather significant amount of cash tucked into the pocket of the slim, black leather wallet, instead simply looking at his ID before returning it precisely to where he'd left it.

And she felt better for the knowing. They hadn't truly discussed cover stories, so infrequent was their conversations with other people, but made it even easier to slip into this new sense of normalcy. That the comfortable camaraderie she felt with him as they lounged and ate and talked was something real—something worth pursuing. She had no illusions that it would be simple. His job for one would be difficult should ever the Phantom be caught and he was forced to take another assignment. But she was his first, and perhaps that meant he was not overly attached to the profession yet, and would consider a transfer to a more steady department. She wanted a home life with him. A real one. Not one where he disappeared for months, possibly with other frightened young women who would notice how efficient a protector he would be.

"You are awfully quiet," Erik remarked, placing a small helping of spaghetti on his plate. She didn't take the portion personally. His frame was so slight that he clearly preferred small meals.

"Sorry. Just thinking, I guess."

Erik abandoned the pretence of eating and replaced his fork upon the table, the better to study her, she supposed. "About?"

She smiled, somewhat grimly. "Us."

He stiffened at that, although she could readily see he was trying to remain nonchalant. "Oh? Would you care to share any particulars?"

She twirled a long noodle around her fork. "Everyone would think it's odd. We've done everything backwards… almost like we're starting our relationship in the middle."

Erik sat back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of him. "I fear I do not understand your meaning."

Christine sighed. "We live together. I wear your ring," and almost wish it was real, she thought but did not add. "But we don't really know each other yet. And I guess… people do it differently for a reason, right? They date for a long time, then marry."

"People frequently divorce," he reminded her. That was certainly true, though the thought made her rather sad.

"I don't want to mess things up by moving too fast."

Erik was quiet for a long while, simply watching her carefully until she sought the distraction of eating her dinner. It was good, despite the store they'd found not carrying her usual preferences, and she'd feel better if Erik was eating too.

"We have limited options, Christine. It is not safe for you to live on your own. But if you would prefer, we may… no longer consider ourselves romantically involved until such a time when I may court you properly."

She'd considered it. How to broach the subject without hurting him or making him think she'd regretted anything that had been between them. But to hear him voice it… to actually suggest that they carry on as if their feelings were not real, didn't matter…

"Is that what you want?" She prayed he'd say no, feeling stupid for even bringing up the subject to begin with.

Erik shook his head. "You do not wish to hear my true preference."

This time, she was the one to study him for any clue as to his thoughts. "Why?"

His lips thinned, and he regarded her carefully. She tried to show interest instead of trepidation, and it must have worked for he answered her.

"For if I had my wish, we would already be wed."

Sooo... major uh oh... that was a little bit blunt, Erik! Ask a girl on a date first, otherwise she's prone to bolting!

How do you think Christine will react? Any bets?