No More Gifts
"The Good-bye"
(Part IV)

"Have you been writing all evening?"

The doctor was back – and he was standing in her doorway, in all his irritating glory, positioned just right as if he was trying to block all the light from the hall.

"Perhaps," Christine bit back, and shut her journal with a decided snap. "Do you have an issue with that, doctor?"

Gradus shrugged. "That depends. Are you writing about me?"

"I wouldn't waste ink on you."

His lips twitched. "Catty girl."

Christine resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Do you need something?"

"Yes, actually," he said. "You. Me. Supper for two. What do you say?"

It took a moment to register. It had been a long time since she'd been asked to dinner. Erik had always just prepared the meal and served her, at the table where she was already sitting and waiting for him. It was hard not to be flattered by the offer…

Still, Christine threw an incredulous look at the doctor, gesturing plainly to the cot and the comatose patient snoring gutterly beside her. "Doctor Gradus, you see I'm already in bed –"

"I told you my name is Tristan," he reminded her.

"Tristan," Christine conceded with aggravation, "I have no desire to go out with you tonight."

"It's a good thing that I brought supper home, then," he beamed. "A patient's family cooked a feast for me, and I'd be hard pressed to finish it alone. No dessert, sadly – the poor thing died, and her mother was so upset she ended up burning the tart."

"That's horrible!"

"Right? And I was so excited for it, too." Gradus sighed. "Oh well. At least the stew made it out alright. What do you say?"

"Thank you very much for the offer, but I'm not quite hungry at the moment." Christine bit her tongue to stop herself from adding, and even if I was, I have no desire to eat with you!

Just then, though, her traitorous stomach chose that very moment to revolt, loud and clear, with a fantastic and rolling rumble.

Gradus tilted his head to her indulgingly as she slapped her hands over her gut in embarrassment. "Not hungry, are you? Tell me - have you eaten at all today?"

"Oh – fine!" Christine huffed, pushing back a wave of nostalgia. Hadn't this scene happened before, in a way, with Raoul on the train? In a form, at least? "I might do for a small serving. But if we are to eat together, Tristan, I have one stipulation…!"

"I can't help but think there might be a more efficient way to eat this meal."

"If you turn around, I'm going back to bed," Christine warned. "I'm serious, doctor."

Gradus sighed and returned to his plate, careful not to topple the fragile porcelain thing which was balanced precariously in his lap as he sawed at a piece of dry asparagus. Despite his initial claim, the stew had not actually come out fine; thus they were forced to split a series of simultaneously undercooked and overcooked side dishes between them. Christine had snagged the best looking pieces for the patient's lunch, despite Gradus's complaints that he won't even wake up to eat any of it and that it was all going to go to waste, for crying out loud, please just put it back in the pot. She would hear none of it, though, and he only quieted down when she offered to just save her own plate for the patient and see herself off to bed.

Per Christine's request, Gradus's chair was turned around completely so he was forced to face away from the table, staring out the dark glassy window to the Parisian street below. A delicate plate sat on his lap, with a tough, American-sized sausage lying in the center of it, leaking beads of oil from one tip but remaining completely dry on the other; conversely, his water glass remained on the table, beside a vase of fresh roses, and he had to ask permission before he could turn around to reach for it.

With frustration, then, he sulked: "You're a bit of an odd duck, you know that?"

Christine stabbed at her own meal. "I've been called worse."

"I'm sure you have," he said under his breath, before clinking around his silverware some more.

Was that… hurt she was hearing? Had she truly managed to wound the insufferable man? Perhaps it was from spending too much time with Erik in the past months, but Christine felt her aggravation melt a little and a morsel of pity take its place. There was just something about moody, lovelorn men that tugged at her heartstrings, apparently. Softer, then, she said, "Thank you for sharing your food with me, Tristan. It was very kind of you."

"Much obliged," he said. "Although, honestly, I intended it to be a touch more romantic than what you've allowed."

Oh, and there it was again. Why did she even bother? Her eyes tracked back to the blooming roses sitting in the vase before her, and studied their sanded stems with exasperation. "I told you I'm not available."

"Right," Gradus said, intensifying his sawing. "The husband. Tell me, Chrissy – did he do that to your face?"

All the color in her face washed out just at the mention of those three small cuts on her cheek, which were nearly healed and little more than a series of white scars at this point. She was thankful for his turned-around position as she rose her cold, quivering fingers up to touch at them numbly. Memories of Erik's hellish outburst following their kiss flickered before her eyes… as did memories of her own actions, from after she had returned to her room.

Memories of going insane from Erik's sobbing wails, which echoed through the whole house – of collapsing against her nightstand in a fit of hysterical laughter – of barking out her madness, loud enough to compete with his deafening tears – of clutching her face in her hands, unable to stop her own tears as the pain of it all drew a noose around her neck – of clawing at her eyes, her cheeks, her bones, anything she could touch – of breaking skin with the jagged edge of a broken nail, not once, not twice, but three times –

"No," she said, because it was the truth. "He thought he did, though."

"So he did hit you?" Gradus probed. At her persisted silence, he pressed further. "Did he hurt you a lot?"

"It is not – what you think," Christine swallowed. She forced herself to look away from the back of his head, and found herself staring at the vase of dethorned roses once more. How she hated roses… "I am in no mood to discuss this matter with someone I barely know."

"I would be happy to know you more," Gradus said smoothly.

"You would not," she promised.

He chuckled, short and cocky. "I'm not afraid of you, Christine Daaé. I'm a grown man. I think I can handle whatever it is you're hiding."

"I am not the one you should be afraid of."

"So that's it, then? Your husband's the big bad wolf?" Gradus chewed his asparagus with clear amusement, his shoulders shaking up and down. "If your husband was so fearsome, why on earth did you stay with him?"

"Doctor, I am quite literally already in the process of leaving him. As you know."

"Ah, but these processes take time." He turned slightly to reach for his water glass, and caught her eye with a wink briefly as he did. Before she could sputter out her indignation that he hadn't asked for permission, he turned back and sat properly, looking away from her again, and asked in his most romantic way, "I don't suppose you'll be remaining faithful to him for the entire period, as is customary for women like you – will you?"

"And what exactly do you intend by asking me something like that?"

"I think I've been rather clear about my intentions, Christine Daaé. "

"We have known each other for all of three days. People cannot fall in love so fast, and if you have, then you must be sorely –"

"Who said a thing about love?" Gradus said lightly. "You are no doubt a wonderful little lady, with a charming personality and a head full of novelous quotes to boot. But you're right – people don't fall in love so fast. They fall into it slowly, after many years of learning their way around their better half. Marriage doesn't require love, Chrissy, it requires dedication. Are you dedicated?"

"I am dedicated to my husband."

"Who you are leaving."

"Who I love," Christine corrected.

"Who has apparently hurt you enough times to think any wound upon your body was made by his hand," Gradus countered. "Is that an unfair assessment of your husband, Christine Daaé?"

"The situation is more complicated than that," Christine said, because it truly was. But while she could have defended Erik up and down and left and right – could have explained that Erik cried over every ache and pain she had, that he even cried over her menses when it ailed her each month – she did not utter a word. Erik had hit her, but even that was entirely separate from the real problem.

A single slap she could deal with. They talked it out. She stood her ground and warned him never to do it again. He apologized… or, rather, he asked her to forgive him. Which really wasn't the same thing, but it was a step forward for Erik. And they moved past it. A single slap was nothing.

The entire situation of their relationship, on the other hand, was far less palatable.

How was she supposed to explain to this doctor, who knew nothing of her life, that she loved a man who had deceived her for months, had spied on her, and had ultimately kidnapped her? Who had trapped her then-fiancé in his actual, real torture chamber which he built in his actual, real house? Who had proudly confessed to the murder of at least a hundred innocent people? It was insanity, even for her to think about. But she loved Erik, regardless of all of that. She really did.

…Did she?

"I'm sure you think so," Gradus was saying, light as ever, ignoring her sudden internal crisis. "Marriages are often complicated. They involve women, after all, and you women are so very, very complicated." Before Christine could interrupt, he asked, "Are you done with your meal yet?"

Christine stared blankly at her plate, still heaping with food. "Yes."

Without waiting another second, Gradus spun his seat back around and plunked his plate on the table, before pressing his elbows against the edge and leaning in. "I would very much like to complicate things further with you, Christine Daae."

"I'd like things to be simpler," Christine said, hardly hearing herself and feeling very much far away from it all. "I want to be married to the man I love."

"And I want to be married to the woman I love," Gradus declared. "Sometimes we can't always get what we want. We have to take what we are given." A ruby red petal fell from a rose, and he took it up and played with it in his hands as he urged her further. "What is your plan from here, if you have it your way? You have nowhere to go. Life on the street is the furthest thing from simple. Your money is gone, all paid out to me for treatment and lodging. Where do you intend to go? How do you intend to live? Even if I give you a loan, because you know I am a good man and would do that for you, what would you do with it? It is lonely to be by yourself in the world. I know this well… I left my ghosts behind in Boston, and now since I've lived here the nights have become much quieter than I'd prefer. I'm sure you feel the same about your old Sweden, wherever in it you're from. The quiet is a type of ache I can't seem to treat. It'll never be the same, even if you go back. The people you left there are not there anymore. The world changes completely the moment you look away. But I am here, Christine Daaé. I am here, and I am wealthy. Don't laugh. At the very least, I promise I can provide for you. I can stay with you. I am a scholar, and as you can see a bit of a talker. You might be able to find me interesting. I am forward but I am not violent. I am not perfect, but of course neither are you. We don't have to be a pair of Shakespearean lovers. Things never work out for them anyway. So I am not asking for passion. I am asking for something much simpler. Marry me."

"I – I –" Christine floundered for a response, before giving up and jumping up from her chair hastily. "I think I should be retiring to bed just about now. Thank you for supper, Doctor Gradus, and for this pleasantly entertaining, um, conversation. It has given me much to think about…"

"Good night to you, then," Gradus said, sounding quite put-out. He followed her across the room, as if to escort her to her – his – bedroom like a proper gentleman might. "But do keep my offer in mind. Personally, I think we would both find ourselves in better straits if you just accepted."

"I have my husband to think about," Christine said, as if that was any excuse at all.

"Certainly. But I do think I have already won in that regard," Gradus said, and held open the door to the bedroom. A shaft of dim, yellow light fell across the small room and illuminated the two musty cots placed side by side within it. Upon one, the comatose patient slumbered on in his deathly way, grasping the knitted blanket she had laid across his gaunt form in his white-knuckled grip. Beside him remained empty, awaiting her return to his moldering side. "Consider it, Christine."