I'm still feeling poorly... and it's getting very tiresome. But I shall continue to plod on because... well... it's very depressing just lying there feeling poorly.

So... this segment may seem short, but my deviousness wanted it even shorter so... I'll just hush up and let you read.

Onward!

xxii

Making tea proved a much needed distraction. Waiting patiently as the water boiled. Placing just the right amount of sugar into the festive mugs, evidently leftover from the previous Christmas. It was a ritual Christine knew well, and it was a comfort while her emotions were still so strange.

She did not know what to think about much of anything. The fear that she expected at Erik's revelation did not come, and she briefly wondered if there was something terribly wrong with her for that. But... she knew him now. And when he told her that he wished her no harm, even in that moment when she was so certain that the masked man was approaching her with the full intention of killing her...

She believed him.

He said he loved her.

Yet he'd lied to her.

She felt silly and stupid and foolish now for having believed he was a marshal. A flash of a badge had been enough to convince her. But Erik had never been cruel. Never had he threatened or cajoled.

But he had not needed to. Not when she had believed his every word.

She poured the boiling water over the tea bags, her favorite brand so recently purchased from the store, Erik in tow. She liked shopping with him. He didn't hover overly much, nor did he sigh impatiently when she considered what she wanted. He even made a few contributions of his own. Nothing seemed to be for himself, but simply things he thought she would enjoy or had seen her select during their travels together.

Did his revelations have to negate all of their sweeter moments? She didn't want it to. Not when she had come to treasure them so very much, had come to hope that perhaps there might actually be something more between them.

She wished her papa was here to speak to.

But he wasn't, and it was only her. Her with her thoughts all a jumble, with her reactions all askew. And the knowledge that she just wanted to go back to pretending with him, at playing house with their lives so simple, their tender feelings beginning to take hold.

Was that so very wrong? Truly?

She poured a dash of cream in her mug and stopped herself from doing the same to his. He liked it black, and likely only consented to the small addition of brown sugar because she'd been so aghast that he liked it so bitter and unaltered.

She went back to the kitchen table, the remnants of their dinner long since cleared away, and handed him his mug. He held it between his hands, evidently intent on watching her more than drinking.

Christine took a long sip, hoping that the familiarity would offer some hidden clarity that she so desperately needed.

It didn't.

"What are you thinking?" Erik asked presently, his voice somewhat small and hesitant.

It didn't seem right to talk things through with him. At least, not until she had a better handle on things. But there was no one else. And in reality... didn't it affect him the most?

"I'm thinking..." she began, hoping the words would flow easily even as her thoughts stuttered and stumbled from one to the next. She sighed. "I guess I'm wondering how things will be different now. If I... if I want them to be different."

Erik nodded, looking down at the dark depths of his cup. "That is your right."

It was nice to have it acknowledged. She waited to feel angry, or perhaps even indignant at his deception. Instead she mostly felt foolish. "What would you want for us to do?"

He smiled, a rueful, sad sort of smile. "That would suggest there is still an us."

Christine bit her lip, tracing her forefinger over the warm lip of her mug. She didn't want to lose him. Even through it all, that was what remained. She didn't want to hurt him, and she couldn't bear the thought of saying goodbye. Perhaps that made her unwise, or possibly even a bit lacking in good sense, but that did not make it any less true.

"I'd like there to be," she confirmed, her voice steadier than she felt. "I can't... I can't say that I understand everything. Or that it was okay. But... I don't think the answer to everything is for me to punish you by lying and saying I don't still have feelings for you. That suddenly I don't love you."

He glanced up sharply at that, his eyes wide. She blushed as she realized what she'd said.

"Does that mean... would I be right in ascertaining that you... do?"

Was there any point in denying it? It had come so naturally, so unexpectedly, that she had hardly recognized it had happened. But now... as she thought of her poor Erik, of his sorrow, of his choices...

"Yes," she murmured softly, wondering if it was a mistake. Hoping that it wasn't.

She did not expect his choked gasp, his facade of calm disappearing before his very eyes. His shoulders hunched, his hands grasping the mug to steady himself even as she stared at him in alarm.

"Erik?"

He shook his head, his body shuddering, and she abandoned her seat to go to him. "Are you okay?"

She knelt beside him, her hand on his arm coaxing him to turn and look at her.

And finally, he did so.

His eyes were bright with tears, and he was sobbing—great, heaving sobs that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. All because she loved him?

"Is that so very terrible?"

She meant to tease, to offer some measure of lightness so he would calm, but instead his eyes widened all the more, and he too abandoned his chair in favor of the floor, pulling her into his arms and clutching so fiercely that there was no possibility of denying him. Not that she ever would.

"You have given me the most precious of gifts, Christine," he whispered when at last he seemed to be able to draw enough breath for words. "I do not deserve it." His voice was a wretched thing, terrible and painful for the hearing of it. And she felt her own tears well in sympathy for all that he so falsely believed.

Christine smoothed her hands over his back, trying to soothe, trying to comfort. "Silly Erik," she hummed softly, trying to infuse all her most tender feelings for him into her tone. "It's about the giving. And you've shown me so much love through all of this, how can I not help but reciprocate?"

"I did not mean to make you," he choked out apologetically, and this time she struggled free enough that she could look at him properly.

"That's not what I meant," she told him firmly.

"I am broken."

That was true enough. If anything, that is what his story had shown her.

"I think I'm a little broken too." And because further words failed her, because every explanation of her feelings seemed so wholly inadequate, she kissed him.

And this time there was no mistaking Erik's enthusiasm as he held her to him, his lips fervent even as his long arms held her close, and she knew that she was completely lost to him.

There was no ignoring his history. He had... he had killed a man in front of her. Even now, the memory was enough to send a tingle of fear through her.

But before, the elusive Phantom was more of a nightmarish figure than a man. A figment of Death come to enact his terrible will over her.

Her Erik was not like that.

He did not frighten her. She could not say in reality that he'd kidnapped her. Deceived her, yes. Made her believe things that were most decidedly untrue. And in that moment, she knew with absolute certainty, if she asked it of him, he would let her go. Go back home, to her little apartment, and her theatre, and her papa's grave, and all the things that had once meant so very much to her.

And still did.

She pulled away slightly, needing to breathe, needing to think, needing to... tell him.

Because she was sure, and it made her heart beat all the faster when faced with the speaking of it.

"I don't need a diamond."

He needed to stop this. Stop kissing her. Stop clutching at her like a brute. His face was still wet with tears, even as her own mingled with his, and he should retrieve a handkerchief for each of them. Or at the very least a disposable tissue.

But his limbs did not seem to want to cooperate, until at last Christine pushed slightly at him, and he withdrew. Her breath was short, but her smile was genuine.

She said something, but her words held little meaning.

"What?"

Her smile faltered a little, and he hated it.

"For my proposal. I don't need a diamond. I just need the man I love to ask me to marry him."

Belatedly he realized their position on the hard tile floor. His knees seemed to know of it most readily, but he could not bring himself to move. Not if moving meant she might redact her statement, might suddenly change her mind.

Or was this some cruel trick?

"Do you mean that? You mean... me?" He had to clarify. Had to know. That she picked him—picked him—was too incredible to believe. He had been so certain that after he had disclosed his past, she would spurn him, would politely tell him that while she did not hate him, there was no possibility of them continuing as a couple.

Yet now she spoke of proposals.

Her hand came and stroked his cheek, and masked though it was, it seemed like he could feel every caress most acutely. "Of course I mean you, Erik. I love you."

"How?" He should not have asked it. Not when she could so easily talk herself out of it. But the words came anyway, and he seemed helpless to stop them. "After all I have done to you? If I had simply allowed you to aid the police, to be their witness, you would not now be in danger. You could have the life you wanted."

He expected her eyes to harden, to withdraw from him as he reminded her of stark reality. But instead she still looked at him softly, tenderly, and it was all he could do to keep his tears from making another appearance. For no one had ever looked at him that way. Not ever.

"That's what I'm asking for. Don't you remember? I wanted a happy home with the man I love. I want the simple things. And you... I think you need those too. Want them. With me?"

Foolish Christine. As if that was even a question.

"Always with you," he managed. He wanted to hold her again, to assure himself that she was there and real, but he refrained.

Instead he helped her to her feet, but stopped her when she made to do the same for him, holding her hands in his.

He had not the least idea of what he was doing—had never once imagined himself in such a position. Christine deserved it all—the diamond she claimed not to require, the romance and fantasy that surely came with girlhood dreams of a proper entreaty from a man worthy of her favor.

Yet she would receive none of it.

Only all the love he could possibly give her. The promise to do his upmost to make her happy.

It seemed a small, insignificant thing, but it was all he had.

He brought her hands forward and kissed them, trying futilely to find some eloquent words that would do this moment justice.

But instead he could only supply what came to him. "I am forever yours, Christine. From that very first moment. Will you… will you be my wife?"

Never did he think anyone would agree to be his. But then, he had never known his Christine before now. And she was crying and she was grinning, and she was tugging at him so she could pull him close, all the while murmuring, "Yes."

It was strange, but glorious, this business of being wanted.

Sooo... we have a kiss and a proposal and a yes! Too soon? I dare you to say that to Erik... Actually, no, I don't wish that inevitable harm that would follow upon any one of you sooo... Congrats, Erik! Everyone is thrilled for you! *tremulous smile*