Ch. 7— Your Humble Servant

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Only a hairsbreadth stood between his lips and hers, and Erik could feel each ragged breath as she exhaled.

"Sir, p-please. I have the letter in my pocket. If you'll go back a step, I can get to it."

Her frightened tone brought him to his senses as he realized he all but had the girl pinned to the wall where they stood.

He did as she requested, backing up a step, and he heard her draw a tremulous breath as he gave an inward wince. Was this what he had become? The animal he had become—and to her especially? "My apologies, Ms. Daae. I don't quite know what came over me."

Her silence spoke volumes.

At length, he heard the rustle of cloth and then the rasp of paper as the letter was unfolded. She cleared her throat and read:

Erik,

Upon receiving this letter, you have noticed the new fixture I have chosen to establish in 'The Enchanted Cottage'. Ms. Daae is now under my direct employ, and as such, I urge you to treat my new house-keeper with the utmost civility and respect as she goes about her duties in seeing after my investment and tending to the comforts of all its visitors. As a guest of the E.C., I welcome you to take full advantage of all the new amenities and services her presence now provides.

If you have any questions or concerns, please feel free to inform Ms. Daae, and she will see them relayed to me.

Your godfather,

Nadir Khan

How dare the old meddling fool!

Sending Nurse Daae all the way up to Le Havre—Nadir had known why Erik had chosen such a place. HE KNEW! And yet he had sent her—ALONE! Rage towards Nadir supplanted every other thought.

By sending her up here, he had endangered her life.

Erik strove to keep his tone even, his mind trying to think coherently past the alcohol still fogging his brain. "And you… Ms. Daae, you agreed to this proposal of Khan's? You agreed to be his housekeeper and only his housekeeper?"

His tone was still more lethal-sounding than he would have liked, but it was effective for she answered readily. "Well…yes, sir. I did agree to it."

He cocked his head to the side, smiling bitterly. "Ah. So you both are raging lunatics then?"

"I'm sorry, sir. I don't understand," she said mystified.

"Hmm, no you don't. More naïve fool you, Ms. Daae. My godfather sent you here to care for me—"

"That's not true. It clearly states in the letter—"

He held up a forestalling hand. "And I have come to the E.C. to die."

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"W-what?" Christine couldn't believe her ears. "What did you just say?"

"It's simple, mademoiselle. I was not jesting when I told you the coast of Le Havre is a dangerous place. The odds of my surviving the winter here with such enemies and surrounding desolation are minimal. Compound that with my injuries, and well, I think even your naïve and foolish self can get the picture."

"No… I don't see it. I don't see it at all." Christine shook her head emphatically, her anger over his resignation to his own death completely overriding the nervousness she felt. "You're telling me you came up here to die?"

He took a menacing step towards her, again bringing her back flush against the wall as he stated lowly, "I'm telling you I came up here to make it easier for death to find me."

"Ah." Christine said as she suddenly broke away from the wall, quite having her fill of being hemmed in by him. So he'd come up here to die, had he? Well, we would just see about that!

And she couldn't believe the nerve of Dr. Khan!

His cottage housekeeper—she was to be his housekeeper only… at least, that's what the letter had implied to Mr. D'Anton. She understood the need for such a guise, but she was still fuming at the elderly physician. This put her in such a tight spot concerning his treatment and care! She would have to stay on her toes around him always and never let him know that she was his 'nurse'.

She winced. It was a horrible deception.

She looked around at the desolation of the small parlor, taking time to catalogue what his destruction had wrought: everything hung drunkenly from paintings on the wall, to books on the shelf. Pieces of broken furniture were everywhere, kicked and shuffled through. There was not a surface that didn't have a bottle on top of it; some half-filled, others empty and precariously close to rolling off and shattering on the floor. She again looked down at the state of his bare feet and winced.

"Ah, what, mademoiselle?"

"Ah, nothing, Mr. D'Anton," she answered absently, sorting what needed to be done first: a rubbish pile definitely, sweeping up the broken bits of glass and spilled liquor, there were pens and loose sheets of paper all over the place. She'd have to go through and organize them.

Carefully, she picked her way to the kitchen, bracing herself for what she would find. Still, she was taken aback by the mess—even though, by the state of the parlor, she knew she shouldn't be. Dirty and broken dishes were scattered everywhere. The smell was god-awful, but thankfully, it was too cold and too late in the season for flies or mold to thrive.

The cottage itself was an icebox, the small woodstove near the oven cold, and the wood box was bare of even kindling. She heard mumbled cursing behind her and realized Mr. D'Anton had ,through shuffling over broken pieces of furniture, followed her into the kitchen. "You will explain to me the nature of your last comment, Ms. Daae, and you will do so now."

"It's nothing, Mr. D'Anton…It's just…" she straightened her shoulders and turned back to face him, determination filling her voice as she said, "I never pictured you for a coward."

He drew a shocked breath, her words having apparently hit their mark quite effectively. She watched his jaw harden, and she continued, undeterred, "It takes courage. Courage to live with the face and disabilities you've been handed, Mr. D'Anton. It takes courage, compassion, and a thick skin to be able to live as you are now. To come up here to 'make it easier for death to find you' is nothing but shear cowardice on your part."

While she spoke, he walked towards the sound of her voice, until he stood right before her. His sightless golden eyes stared blankly down towards the floor, but she couldn't mistake the anger in them or the hurt her words had caused.

He ground out lowly through clenched teeth, "Get out."

Quivering, but standing firm in her resolve, Christine stepped forward and slowly reaching, gently took his clenched fists in both her hands. He gasped, pulling away, but she wouldn't let him and firmly held his hands in hers. Insistently, she led him over to the dining room table, and setting one of the chairs to rights, urged him to sit down.

She spoke very calmly as if to a wounded animal, "I cannot go anywhere tonight. Dusk is already upon us, and the last train bound for Paris left hours ago. Another is not scheduled to arrive for a few more days yet. Your feet are bleeding and bruised. Will you please allow me to tend them, sir? If you still want me to leave in a few days' time, I shall, but until then, I would like to do the job I'm being paid to do."

"As my nursemaid," he grit.

"Cottage housekeeper," she countered, her chin going up. "And as such, I'm responsible for any and all under this roof to see to their comfort and care. Now, please stay here sir, I'll be only a moment."

Unlocking the front door, she carried her small amount of luggage and the supplies Dr. Khan had urged her to take into the parlor, making sure to close and lock the window and door once more. Searching for a clean sponge, wash basin and stool, Christine gathered the other items she needed from her medical kit including: liniment, tweezers, and bandages.

And spying one of his shoes kicked haphazard in the corner, she looked for its mate and found it shoved under the couch. To her, it was obvious what had happened, at least with the shoes. He had misplaced them and couldn't find them again, and so, had been traipsing barefoot through the glass and splinter-encrusted mine-field the cottage had become.

Returning to the table, she cleared a spot free of broken, filthy crockery and unloaded her supplies. Christine then took the basin and went to the sink, praying it had a modicum of clean water that she could heat on the gas-powered stove.

She was pleasantly surprised when the water began heating up under the faucet, and she smiled. Warm water! The cottage had a hot water heater and electricity. She looked around, noticing for the first time that the cottage was, indeed, outfitted with electricity which meant it might have a radiator for heating the place!

She sat the basin of warm water at his feet, and finding a low stool, she brought it before him and sat, once more having to maneuver her skirt so that she could do so comfortably, hiking it to her thighs to maintain a modicum of maneuverability. Christine vowed then and there that she would never wear this skirt again!

"How much is he paying you? I'll double it if you promise to leave tomorrow morning and never come back here again."

Christine quoted the sum that Dr. Khan had given her and watched as his eyebrows rose. "Apparently, the cottage means very much to him," she said vaguely as reaching down, she gently took his cut, bloodied and bruised foot in hand, settling it gently in the warm water. She heard his small intake of surprise as she did so and saw his posture stiffen.

With careful attention, she began to wash his feet.

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How long had it been since someone had focused their sole attention for his comfort and care?

Had anyone ever done so?

Before the war, Erik would have liked to say 'yes'. He and Carlotta had cared for one another, looked after one another, but he knew this for the delusion it was. Their relationship had never involved much caring… on either end if he was honest. Erik had taken pleasure from her, certainly, and made sure he gave her pleasure in return.

But… Nurse Daae's touch was different, even different from the hands of the other nurses, doctors, and orderlies he'd encountered.

He could actually feel the care that was going into each and every stroke of her hands upon his battered flesh. He could feel the reverence—and it wasn't for him as a man, no, but as a fellow man—her fellow man—and she was seeing to his comfort, his health, serving him just as Christ had done to each of his disciples before that ill-fated supper.

Her touch was everything reassuring and expert, and going against his better judgment, Erik felt himself begin to relax under her gentle ministrations.

All too soon, she was patting his foot dry, and he realized she was using a bit of cloth other than a towel to do so.

"Ms. Daae, what are you using to dry my foot?"

She cleared her throat, and he could detect a hint of embarrassment in her tone when she answered, "My jacket. I couldn't find a towel, not in all the mess, and I don't want your perfectly clean and soon-to-be-medicated feet to touch this filthy floor." She carefully finished bundling his foot in her jacket and propped it at the heel.

She had just ruined her jacket… for him.

His throat working, Erik gulped, swallowing down the emotion he felt.

He felt the air displace as she got up, and he heard the water being emptied and changed. And then she was back, giving his other foot the same treatment, and Erik groaned softly as he felt her work her thumbs into his arch and sole. This foot—his good one—wasn't nearly as bruised or battered as the other, and she treated it less delicately but with just as much attention and care. In fact, she was giving it even more consideration for she was actually giving him a massage.

Unbidden, thoughts of an entirely different type of massage came to mind, and Erik felt himself quirk a small smile as he imagined his little nurse and her competent hands tending to him in that manner as well.

It was the first true smile he'd had in months.

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A/N: So-o…what are your thoughts concerning the progression of our dynamic duo? Erik and his depression? Christine and her deception? The footbath? ;D

More soon, dear readers,

PFP