Susan Kay's 'Phantom.' Erik and Christine have been married for ten years, and his heart troubles are getting worse. A moment at midnight when he wakes her in pain. AU. One-Shot.
Christine slept peacefully most nights. Her dreams were pleasantly dark and shining, like a mirror or a pool of limpid water. In her dreams, she was prone to imagining herself lost in a verdant forest, moonlight streaming through the leaves in gleaming glory. It was a beautiful place and a beautiful dream.
But on this particular night, she found herself pulled from her dreams by the sound of her name whimpering in the darkness.
"Christine…"
A cold, bony hand pressed on her shoulder, its grasp weak and yearning.
"What is it…?" She mumbled groggily, turning over on her pillow toward the thread of warmth that summoned her from the other side of the mattress.
"I fear, my dear…that I am…having…another attack."
Her eyes shot open, her heart beating faster as his words registered, and she sat up with a jerk before crawling from the bed toward the little chest of drawers that served as their nightstand. From it, she pulled a box of white tablets; her fingers, still weak with slumber, fumbled to draw out a single pill, which she pressed to her husband's hand.
"I will fetch some water." She murmured hastily, drawing her nightdress tighter around her shoulders as she stumbled from the bedroom toward the kitchen and the chilling carafe in the ice box. Christine returned in mere moments, her hurried footsteps scraping loudly in the silence of midnight.
"Here, my love," she said softly, pressing the water glass to his hand. As he downed the tablet, she felt around in the dark for their box of matches and quickly lit the oil lamp. Its flickering light cast strange shadows in the room, her eyes aching at the sudden light that filled the gloom.
"Thank you…" Her husband rasped, setting aside the glass as he curled into himself, his long pale fingers clutching like white spiders at his breastbone.
These moments had happened more and more over the preceding months. These were moments that both exhausted and terrified Christine. As she regarded him in the flickering shadows, she saw the sweat breaking across his brow, a brow that was crinkled in agony.
"Christine…" he groaned. "…forgive me. To be my nursemaid should not be your fate."
"Nonsense." She scolded, bending to press a kiss to his brow.
Gathering the folds of her nightdress into her hands, she crawled into the bed alongside him, bringing with her a small volume of English sonnets that had been left on the bookshelf across the room. As he drew slow, labored breaths, she cupped his frail body against the curve of her chest, pulling him gently to rest his head up on her breastbone.
"You are my treasure, Erik." She assured quietly. "I am only sorry that you are in pain." She sighed, running her fingers through his graying hair. This was the price of loving him, knowing that she would soon have to say goodbye. She had made peace with it. But it broke her heart all the same.
"Some treasure…" He remarked dryly. She elected to ignore him. This was a practiced rhythm. A sequence that had become all too painfully routine as she would fuss over him, and he would gripe and grumble, knowing full well that, ten years into their marriage, her love was as true as the prayer of a saint.
In the glow of the lamplight, with Erik's pained breathing whining in the gloom, Christine settled back in the bed. She thumbed open the volume and began to read to him from the love sonnets, her voice quiet and tense as she sought to distract him. They would be like this till morning or until the spasms relented. It was the easiest way to pass the hours.
A small, sad smile tugged the corner of her mouth as she selected a sonnet.
"'And for a woman wert though first created," she began to pronounce, her voice soft and steady. "'Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting, And by addition me of thee defeated.'"
Christine paused to regard her husband, her fingers absently petting his shoulder as he tensed against another pang.
"There is no power this side of heaven that could defeat my love for you." She murmured. "Do you know that, my love? I am yours. In health and in sickness." Erik only hummed softly in defeat, his head pressing harder against her collarbone as she resumed her reading, her eyes following the punctuation of the page with the punctuation of her husband's groans.
They stayed that way until the sun rose over the horizon, and her voice had grown hoarse with recitation. As the sun's light began to stream through the windows, Erik fell at last into a healing slumber, and Christine breathed an uneasy sigh of relief, her fingers playing with strands of graying hair. It seemed that today was not the day they would be parted, and for that, she thanked God's grace.
She would sit up with him for as many nights as fate would let her have, she would hold him, read to him, whisper sweet nothings in his ear, until whatever day their Maker deemed that Erik should breathe his last. And whenever that day came, Christine wondered if she might seethe with blasphemy to have her angel taken from this earth.
Even so, that moment had yet to come, and for today, she would think instead of eggs and toast and the breakfast she'd have prepared for whenever her husband might next wake up.
Sonnet 20 is used herein simply because I like that particular sonnet and it is one of the only ones that can be easily transposed to a man. Erik's face is not a big deal here because I figure that, ten years into marriage, they've got bigger problems. Please review, guest reviews require no registration!