Here is another chapter! This was supposed to be the end of chapter 4 but I split it in half, so here it is!

The song for this chapter: "Crimson and Clover" - Tommy James (1968)

Chapter Five

A tentative touch crept over the surface of Erik's mask, pausing at the curves of his cheekbone and brow and delicately mapping them. Each time her fingertips made a languid sweep to the edge, his body tensed and he waited for the night air to make contact with his bare skin, though the sensation never came. He detested the admission, but he wanted her to continue touching his mask if only to have the reassurance that at least one person wasn't afraid of it…of him. But, just as the thought came to mind, she retracted her hand and he was devastated.

Erik slotted his eyes open, tears welling on his waterline, threatening to spill over at any moment, and found her gazing up at him with such reverence that he thought he might collapse. Her hand hovered over his mask, as if uncertain of what to do next, so he returned it to the leather, holding it there, and making lulling circles atop it with his thumb.

Perfection…she was utter perfection and God help him, but he loved her, trusted her even. Never once had anyone willingly touched his mask, let alone twice, and not recoiled. There was no doubt in his mind, however presumptuous it may be, that she was heaven-sent to walk this earth in his presence, a gift for all the misery he had endured up until that point. He had finally been awarded acceptance, apart from Phil, and bestowed the one person who saw something other than a monster…but…

She still hasn't seen my face.

Erik maintained his smile, despite the fact that his chest tightened and uneasiness settled over him. While it was wonderful that she accepted him with his mask, there was no telling if that courtesy would be extended in its absence. Well, if it was ever absent; he only had to ensure that he was never put in a situation where he had to remove it in her presence. When they marry, all he had to do was sleep in his mask, even shower with it in case she ever entered the bathroom during one. It couldn't be too hard to only remove it when he was absolutely certain she wasn't nearby; it was the only way.

"Maybe one day you can show me," Christine whispered, drawing him from his trance. It was then that he noticed that her other hand was resting on his chest, her index finger tracing the top most button on his shirt. It was intimate, very intimate. "What do you say we continue our walk?"

"I would like that very much," he said as he reluctantly released her from his hold, and once again offered his arm, this time a subtle tremor invading his body. Christine graciously accepted, even more so than before, and allowed him to lead her further into the park.

The grounds were quite lovely, though smaller than the ones he frequented in San Francisco. Several white oaks were planted strategically with one massive weeping willow presiding over them all, its expansive branches just barely brushing the grass below it. Apart from the occasional bench and plot of coneflowers and azaleas, the only other thing of note was a mid-sized pond surrounded by cattails and reeds. With the surface of the water being covered with duckweed and the occasional cluster of water lilies, it looked like a normal patch of greenery at first glance. Someone could walk right into it if they weren't paying attention.

"I do believe you were going to tell me about yourself," Erik said, breaking the comfortable silence that had fallen over them.

Christine giggled, a sound that Erik could only describe as Heavenly. "I suppose I was. Is it bad that I hoped you'd forget?"

"I'd never forget."

With a sarcastic roll of her eyes, she asked, "What do you want to know?"

"Everything." He chuckled. "To be honest, I am highly curious how you sing so well. Have you had any training?"

"None at all, my father sings–well, sang in New York. He taught me everything I know, but there was also–" She stopped and blanched, casting her eyes to the sidewalk.

"Also what?" he pressed.

Christine brought them to a stop once they reached the edge of the pond, her face flushing a deep scarlet. "You will laugh at me."

"Never," he assured her. "I'd never laugh at you."

"Promise?" she asked, peeking at him through her lashes.

Erik nodded quickly. "I promise."

"Okay, but I warned you. It's stupid," she said solemnly before continuing with a deep breath, "When I was little, my father used to tell me the story of the Angel of Music. Have you heard of him?"

"No, I can't say I have."

Angel of Music? What in the world was she speaking of? He had half the mind to believe she was mad. There were many angels, biblical angels that is, but Erik couldn't recall reading about one that specialized in musical theory. It must be a simple night-time tale to calm a child enough to get them to sleep.

"See, I told you, it's silly," she muttered as she removed herself from the crook of his arm. The loss of her warmth upset him more than it should have so he promptly stepped forward and reclaimed her hand.

"It's not silly," he insisted while clenching his jaw to force himself to not smile, but not at her…never at her. It was the fact that she made no effort to stop him from touching her, not even a twitch or grimace, that made him want to smile. "Please, tell me about this angel. Don't make me beg."

Christine shifted her hand, very carefully, as if testing the limits of her touch, and entwined her fingers with his. Her action made his heart skip a beat and every thought of angels vanished, his mind instead focusing on the pricking tingles that shot from his hand to his throat, making it difficult to draw in a full breath. He was holding her hand! Christine's hand!

"Fine, but I'm watching you," she warned, a playful airiness to her threat. "If you laugh, even once, you are going straight in the pond."

"I won't even protest," Erik said without realizing it. He was far too entranced by their joined hands; he didn't even notice how her face flushed and she tucked a stray curl behind her ear.

Christine tugged him along and he followed obediently, wanting nothing more than to please the woman who already had him wrapped around her finger. She went on to explain, "My father told me the Angel of Music visits children in their sleep and teaches them music. I–I am embarrassed to admit it, but I've had dreams like that before. Heaven, I sound like a lunatic." She paused and glimpsed at him, her face twisting with humiliation. "Stop it! You promised!"

"Stop what?" Erik asked innocently, eyes widening when he realized that he had been gawking at her with a huge grin on his face. "No, that was not a laugh. That was a smile."

She narrowed her eyes for a moment and the corners of her mouth turned up only slightly before she said, "I'll give you the benefit of the doubt this time, but don't do it again."

"You have my word. Please continue, you were telling me about your dream."

"Oh yes, my dreams." She grimaced. "Well, my angel taught me to sing, but they come for many things. My father learned how to play the violin and he was rather good. Though he stopped playing once we started moving."

"Moving?"

She sighed dejectedly. "Yes. We moved a lot due to his line of work. I don't think we stayed anywhere longer than three months, apart from Leesville."

"How long have you been here?" he asked, worried that at any moment, her father could drag her away from him.

"Since I was fourteen, so just about five years now," she said, tightening her hold on his hand. "How about yourself? I think I would have noticed you before."

Erik glanced down at their hands and stuttered, "I–I just moved into town today…w–with Phil. I live with Phil."

"Oh, his grandfather's house?" she said excitedly. "Always loved that old place."

"That's the one," he confirmed, heart thumping wildly as his mind reeled. Christ, his palms were emitting enough moisture to drown a horse, his only hope was that she was far too engrossed in conversation to notice. If she had noticed, at least she was being kind not to mention it. "Phil and Meg said your father works at Fort Polk. What does he do out there?"

"He's a CSM." Her brows furrowed and she glanced over at him. "How do you know Phil?"

"I met him in Vietnam. We were in the same platoon."

"The military?" she asked shakily, her smile fading, in its place astonishment.

Erik nodded carefully, worried that he had said something to offend her. "Yes, we met when we were stationed together."

Suddenly, Christine's step wavered and she tripped over her own feet, tumbling straight towards the sidewalk. Thankfully, Erik was quick enough and caught her in his arms, both hands splayed across her back as he struggled to keep both of them upright. His right knee collided with the concrete, a shooting pain jabbing right up to his hip, but it was well worth the pain as an angel had fallen into his arms.

"Are you–are you alright?" he asked, scanning her for scrapes and bruises and lingering a little too long on her rucked up skirt before his eyes snapped back to her face. Fuck…the things he would do for permission to trail his fingertips up the inside of her thigh, to touch every part of her…

"Yes, I'm sorry. I–"

Just then, her eyes, glittering with moonlight, captured his and he was lost, all sense abandoned for something else had taken its place. By the way her lips moved soundlessly, forming the words that she had meant to speak, she was equally as enraptured. Heaven, why did she have to look at him like that? The little–and sadly fragile–self control he had established was dangerously teetering on the edge, and he very much wanted to smooth that pesky curl behind her ear and…no he couldn't think of it. He wouldn't dare kiss her, at least not yet. From what little he had read about the standards of dating, it was a very bad practice to kiss on the first date and he didn't want her to assume he was promiscuous.

But, God, he needed to, if only to experience yet another gift from them other than the music they had produced earlier in the evening. He desired the privilege to know each and every one of their secrets, to prove to her that despite the lyrics she sang, there was a star for her. A very lucky one indeed, though he was unsure of why she thought otherwise.

"Did you–did you mean it when you said there isn't a star for you?" he asked, genuinely curious and hoping his question wasn't stupid.

Her head cocked slightly and she softly said, "A star?"

"In your song," he confirmed, inching closer to her and savoring the mingling of their breaths. "You said there wasn't a star for you."

Christine giggled breathlessly. "It was just a song, but I–I don't know if there is. Would it hurt to hope?"

Erik shook his head gently, lips parting as he bowed his head and came only an inch from her. It wasn't proper, but he couldn't find it in himself to care anymore. He was a weak man, a very weak man, and she was far too tempting; it was futile to try to stick to whatever the hell that article was going on about. It felt so right to have her in his arms, as if she were made to fill them…Devil take him, he would willingly sell his soul to be allowed to hold her every single day for the rest of his life.

A heated breath blew across his exposed cheek and down his neck, sending a shiver up his spine and he slowly dipped lower, his masked nose brushing hers as her eyes fluttered closed. But before their lips connected, she lightly pressed him away and she stared up at him apologetically.

"I–I should get home," she whispered. "My father worries if I am out for too long."

"Yes, of course," he agreed, recuperating quickly and bringing her to her feet. "Can I see you again?"

Christine hesitated for a moment then murmured, "I'm off at the same time tomorrow if you want to meet me."

"It's a date," Erik said with a smile that would have frightened anyone but her.

With that, he led her back to the diner, realizing that they hardly made any progress on their walk. Perhaps the next day, he would see if she wanted to go deeper into the park or even do some other activity, though he hadn't a clue what to do in Leesville so he made a mental note to ask Phil.

"Here we are," he said when they arrived in the parking lot. "Do you have a car? If not, I can give you a ride home."

There were several more cars than when they had left and he wondered if any of them happened to belong to her. Having paid no attention to anything other than the back door of the diner while waiting for her, he didn't even take the time to look at the cars that were there, which was very uncharacteristic of him. He supposed that if she didn't have a car, it would be quite the experience to have her as his first ever passenger.

"I have the Fury." She gestured over her shoulder at the bright red Plymouth that was parked a few spaces away from his Shelby. It was a surprise that he hadn't noticed it earlier as it was one of the cars that was often featured in his magazines.

"It's beautiful."

"Thank you. My father found it in someone's yard about a year ago just wasting away. He fixed it up for me, but I don't think he did it right. Either that, or it has a mind of its own."

Oh no, he couldn't have that. The thought of Christine driving around in a car that didn't work properly terrified him. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if she was hurt and he was more than capable to fix it.

"Why don't I look at her for you?" he suggested. "I may not seem like it, but I know a thing or two about cars."

"You would do that for me?" she asked, her eyes lighting up as if he had offered her the universe.

"Of course, I'll have you swing by Phil's this week and I'll take a day to find out what's wrong with her. Likely something minor, but it's better safe than sorry."

Christine smiled up at him while shuffling on her feet. "Thank you, it means a lot to me."

"Don't mention it. I only want to see you safe."

"I–I'd better get going," she said, a reluctance in her tone. Did she want to stay with him longer?

"Go on home then," he murmured, offering his hand to her. She accepted and he stooped his head, pressing his lips to her knuckles, this time lingering on purpose. "Until tomorrow, Christine." He released her and her arm limply fell on her skirt.

"Until then, Erik," she breathed as her fingertips traced the outline of his kiss.

Erik leaned against the hood of his car as Christine returned to her own, closely watching her tuck her skirt beneath herself as she settled into the driver's seat. The remembrance of her thighs flooded his mind and he crossed his legs, hoping to ease the sudden tightness in his slacks.

Control yourself!

He received a little wave as she pulled away and he replied wholeheartedly. The wait to see her again was going to be agonizing, torturous, but it wouldn't be their first date anymore. There would be no loose rules around kissing and he was determined to share at least one with her, his first ever kiss with the only woman he would ever love.

He loved her.

And not once did he drop his gaze, eyes still on the empty road long after Christine had turned down a street far in the distance.

/

A/N: Christine's car is a 1958 Plymouth Fury, cherry red of course *winky face*

CSM: Command Sergeant Major - AKA super importante