I think Christine could use some comfort right about now, don't you? *whispers* Erik, that's your cue!

Onward!

xxviii

Christine sat numbly in Erik's arms, trying to forget.

He was whispering to her, smoothing his fingers through her hair, even as he begged her to speak to him—to tell him that she was well. But how could she?

She tugged at her ruined wedding dress, trying to pull the bodice closed, wincing as her fingers scraped past a cut along the delicate tissue. Samuel had used a knife to open it, the Shah's voice still ringing in her ears as he'd ordered each new indignity, every cut of the knife whether it be fabric or skin. She had been so frightened when at first they had been cutting away her clothes, certain that the man next to her would soon be ordered to assault her far more intimately, but that particular order had yet to come.

But at the Shah's chuckle, the way he practically purred through the loudspeaker as he reminded her that there would always be tomorrow. "Can't use you up all at once, now can we?"

Christine shuddered just to think of it, of the way she'd sobbed until she was certain she would pass out. Her position made it difficult to fill her lungs, and her prolonged tears made her face feel hot and swollen.

She looked down at her bruised and mangled wrists, tears again pooling in her eyes.

When at last she had been brought down from her restraints and the door opened to the Shah's study, and Erik's waiting arms, she could not bring herself to move. She wanted to fling herself at her husband, to bury her face in his chest until the world simply disappeared, but that would also bring her all the closer to the Shah and his demented mind.

It did not seem to matter, however, because despite Samuel's apparent benevolence at allowing her legs to support her during her ordeal, they now seemed to forget their primary function for she collapsed upon the ground, body sore and bleeding.

Erik moved quickly and she half expected the Shah to chastise him for it. It took some maneuvering, but eventually he got his bound wrists situated about her so he could assist her, his glare at Samuel a terrible thing to behold. "I am so sorry, my love," he whispered to her, and she couldn't even bring herself to nod.

They were permitted to return to the basement with the promise of more fun in the morning. Eventually the tortures had ceased; not for her sake, nor for Erik's, but because the Shah followed a strict schedule and wished to eat dinner before retiring for the evening.

The thought of food made Christine feel slightly ill.

Erik had been secured once more to his chain, but before Samuel had departed the room, Erik's voice quickly cut through the silence of the room. "Undo her bindings. You may leave mine if you wish, but she has proven nothing but cooperative. Even through your deplorable treatment of her."

Samuel turned, eyeing her dispassionately, and Christine shivered. She didn't want him looking at her. Not when she knew that stare so well now as he looked her over, determining where next she should be cut, where next she should be bruised. It didn't matter that he seemed to derive no great pleasure in the act, he was ordered and he followed it indiscriminately.

It surprised her, then, when he stepped forward, knife in hand.

She whimpered, pressing back into the circle of Erik's arms, turning away from him. "Please, no more..."

Erik kissed her forehead, and vaguely she was aware of the tears in his own eyes, even as he grasped her wrists and pushed them forward.

Toward him.

She opened her mouth to beg him, to beg him not to betray her in this way. She simply could not endure any more today.

Yet this time there was no blade pressing into flesh, no blood that was summoned forth to coat the unforgiving metal.

There was a tug as the tie nipped painfully into her already abraded skin, the bruising there a dark and terrible thing. But with a flick of the knife, suddenly she was free.

He would get no thanks from her.

Samuel released Erik as well, stepping away just as quickly before leaving the room entirely.

And at his departure, as the horror replaced the terror that had filled her during her time in that dreadful little room, Christine could only sit on the floor with her Erik, trying to make sense of it all.

Except she couldn't.

How did such cruelty exist?

She had known in the abstract. One could not listen to Erik's history and not have some semblance of understanding that people could be such monsters. But to experience it, to suddenly know what it felt like to be strung up and maimed, simply because someone wished to hurt, to frighten, to tease...

"Christine?" Erik tried again, his voice slightly broken. "Say something, please."

Christine swallowed, her mouth opening before she even had an answer to give, when again footsteps were heard.

She eyed it warily, only to see Samuel appear in the doorway, a first aid kit in his hands. "You going to do it, or should I?"

Christine shoved herself backward, not wanting that man anywhere near her again. Erik glanced at her calmly. "You may leave it here. I will tend to her."

The man nodded, placing it on the ground and sliding it in Erik's direction, obviously not going to risk coming so close to Erik's unbound hands. A measure of resentment grew within her. No one feared her. No one looked at her as any sort of threat. She was simply a girl who could be manhandled without recourse.

Erik reached over and grabbed the kit, his fingers tentative as he pushed away a bit of her hair so he could see her properly. "We need to see to your... injuries, little wife." He seemed to struggle even to form the words, and she turned then to look at him—to truly do so for the first time since they had been brought here.

His shoulders were hunched, his eyes were wide and tearful. He looked as broken as she felt on the inside.

"I was so scared," she whimpered, collapsing against him as her tears fell, this time not for the amusement of another, not as a man coldly extracted another bout of pain and degradation from her unwilling body, but for her husband to see and to offer her comfort.

And as he clutched her to him, as he whispered his apologies against her hair even as he brought her wrists to his lips and placed gentle kisses upon them, she loved him. Through it all, that remained unchanged.

"You should never have had to suffer this, sweet Christine. Never."

She sniffled, nestling closer, not caring that her tears were wetting his shirt, that at any other time he would likely push her away to fetch her a handkerchief or a tissue. These weren't normal circumstances, and she would simply relish at last being within her Erik's embrace. "I can't even imagine what he was saying to you through it all." When he stiffened, his eyes clouding even as he looked pointedly away from her, she amended her statement. "Or maybe I can."

Erik grimaced and offered her a rueful smile. "It does not matter."

"He said it was your fault, didn't he? He wanted you to blame yourself."

He ran a soothing hand through her hair. "I did not require his assistance to feel thusly, I can assure you."

Christine sighed, feeling too drained and sore to argue with him properly. Erik felt himself her protector, had told her so on many occasions. And she supposed that any husband in his situation would feel much the same when his wife was forced to endure such things.

Eventually, when she'd calmed somewhat and her sobs were not quite so violent, Erik gently eased her away so he could turn his attention to the first aid kit. He glanced over at the pallet in the far side of the room, before eyeing her dubiously. His hesitation was obvious. The chain was too short for him to fetch it himself, but clearly he did not want to ask her to see to its retrieval. Christine wanted to tell him to forget it, that she was finally feeling a little better now that she'd had her cry and was sure again that her husband loved her—his words were too tender, his hands too gentle to think anything else—but she supposed a night on the bare floor would only serve to bring about more aches come morning.

She shuddered even considering what the next day might bring.

Christine moved slowly, her cuts protesting even the slightest pull as her flesh worked hurriedly to knit itself together once more. Erik watched her with sad eyes, and she nearly gave up the venture entirely, simply too exhausted. But at last she neared it and tugged it closer, and as soon as Erik's chain would allow, he was there to pull it to their little corner, returning just as quickly to pick her up and place her upon it.

It really was better, even if the pallet itself was old and dusty.

Her bodice had fallen open again, and not for the first time she regretted not having taken the time to don a bra before coming here. Though, she noted with some bitterness, that likely would merely have been cut through as well.

"Christine? I shall begin if you are ready."

She nodded, not sure what he would manage to do with such a small kit.

She watched him work with curious detachment. The wounds themselves were not so very bad... Samuel had obviously taken deliberate care to ensure they were shallow. None would even be aided by stitches, most soothing fairly well with antiseptic and ointment, Erik peppering her with bandages regardless of their necessity. She hated the ones on her thighs the most. They might not have hurt quite as badly as others, but the fear had been acute. He had pulled up her skirt, the Shah's voice teasing over the loudspeaker that perhaps next he would cut even higher, that they would all enjoy listening to how loudly she would scream when next her most delicate places were subjected to the knife's sting.

She had sobbed then, whispering over and over to Samuel that he please, please not do it, and now she hated herself a little for begging. Erik would not have begged. He would have remained cold and aloof, not giving them the satisfaction of hearing just how terrified he truly was.

Erik opened her bodice, his fingers hesitant and unsure as he checked her breasts for any damage. Her breath caught to have him studying them, saddened that their explorations of one another had been so truncated by all of this dreadfulness. There were no cuts there, though Samuel had traced his knife over her pale flesh, the possibility ever present. "You would scar the most here," he had told her, his voice so calm and unaffected by all that he had done. "You should be glad he doesn't want them marked yet."

Her papa's ring still dangling on its chain had proved too great a distraction.

Christine had wanted to kick him when he'd pulled it from her, tucking her most cherished memento into his pocket, not at all disturbed by her glare and angered demand that he return it to her. And now, as her fingers ached to hold it again, she wished she had fought, yelled, spat. She wished she had done anything at all. Because now she felt weak and useless, and she hated it.

"I should have done more," she whispered angrily to herself, not expecting Erik to answer her.

The firm grip on her chin was unexpected as he made her look at him, his eyes fully expressing his insistence. "You performed most admirably, Christine. If you had reacted any differently, any differently at all, he would have hurt you more. You saved the both of us that, and I thank you for it. Even if I shall hear your screams in my mind for the rest of my life." He stopped his doctoring for a moment so he could pull her once more into his embrace, and she was glad of it. "If you refuse to allow me to shoulder the blame, you equally are disallowed from taking it upon yourself for whatever is to come. There is satisfaction in the fight, it is true. I have felt it. But the consequences are typically not worth it."

She hated that he had such knowledge, could answer so certainly that a captor could obliterate the temporary thrill at open rebellion. But she would have to trust him, would have to shove away the thoughts that somehow she should have acted differently. He was right; she knew he was. It would have been worse.

The worst of her wounds was her upper arm where Samuel had coaxed her blood forth. In addition to the angry red edges, there was some bruising which made her wince as Erik eventually pulled back from her so he could clean the cut and wrap a bandage about her arm.

"I will not bother asking if you feel any better," Erik told her miserably when at last he seem satisfied that he had staved off any potential infection.

Christine nodded, wanting nothing more than to lie down for a while and sleep. Maybe then she would wake up and all of this would be over.

She was about to do so when she noted Erik's fingers drifting over a pair of small, flimsy scissors that had been nestled in the kit. They were likely there to cut through some of the gauzes, and appeared far too dull and insignificant to prove useful as any sort of weapon. "Are you going to be my champion with those? I believe a sword would function better."

Erik glanced at her sharply, his eyes searching hers for... something. Did he look to see if she was mocking him? She teased maybe, but that was all. Every bit of her own torture was reflected in his sad eyes, and while she felt the deepest hatred for the Shah, for Samuel, there was no room for it when it came to her Erik. Not when he looked at her so, as if his very heart was breaking for her.

"I would do anything for you."

Sooo... You're going to have to actually ACT on that this time, Erik! Methinks people are getting anxious for it at this point... not the least of which is Christine! But it's nice to have some actually Erik and Christine interaction again, right?