Author's Note: Review responses,

imIiteraIIyspiderman: Ask and you shall receive…

MarilynKC: He's getting there, but the fact he went to Liam's home is a Huge step for him. The internal workings of the Opera back then, and some areas of theatre still today(as I understand it, theatre geeks are welcome to correct me!) are fun areas to explore.

The Toll of a Gift

"Jas," Kian whispered her pet name when they were settled into their carriage.

No longer needing to keep up with appearances, Jasmine Mehri de Marais leaned her head against the dark gray damask of the padded wall, watching the world go by through a small window. She did not answer or regard him until after the cabin lurched forward and the horses were coaxed onward, wheels rumbling over the pavers below them at irregular intervals. "I know you wouldn't, yet at the same time, I couldn't fault you if you did," she murmured in a moment of weakness. "If only to figure out if it was you… or me."

Kian sat across from her with a few soft, errant curls of black hair framing his face while those dark eyes searched hers. "So could you."

"You are the only man I want. The thought of anyone else sickens me." Though she would not meet his gaze, she meant every word. Her husband was the only one who made her stomach flutter and her knees weak. In her world and all those little tea parties that she felt obligated to attend, a few impolite conversations would occur, and Jasmine was often reminded of her great fortune in having a loving husband who could fill her needs.

Kian left his bench seat to sit beside her with his warm hand on her shoulder.

"Besides, most men don't want a woman of questionable fertility. It takes away the thrill," she added.

Kian shook his head. "Didn't one of this country's rulers have a great love for one that could not give him an heir?"

"Oh yes… and he divorced her for one that could. He loved her, yes, but his desire for an heir exceeded that."

His hand came to rest over her abdomen. "We have Danyal, and now the girls. Even if our home were empty of children and we were without any chance of filling it, I only want you," he kissed her temple.

The sweetness of his kiss and thepleasant scratch of his thick stubbled beard made her pull away from the window and burrow into his welcoming arms.

"Besides," Kian went on, with good humor slipping into his accented voice, "Women here seem far too… delicate."

She laughed, nuzzling closer as her arms tightened around his waist. "Delicate…or pampered?"

"…Both, though that does not seem restricted to women…"

"Raoul?" Jasmine asked. When she felt him nod, she sat up with a sigh, "That was not the boy I remembered running through fine gardens; nor the lad that his mother and sisters brought to every outing. The de Chagnys are pretentious at times, but not ones to lord their status over others. They tend to be far more grounded than most noble families. I had little need or interest in getting to know him much at all beyond what his sisters or Philippe would mention. He was around Danyal's age when we met."

"That young?" he asked under a furrowed brow, his fingers dancing to each year he counted in his head.

She nodded and chose a mocking delivery of, "Yes dear."

"Shush," he grunted. "Soon, you will learn how easy it is to have the years blur together."

"Oh darling, that started for me when I had Danyal. Time has been passing far too quickly, and I struggle to keep up."

Kian bowed his head with a little shake.

"Back to the matter at hand; Raoul is out of line and fails to realize the error of his manner. Philippe will not have much tolerance for that blemish under the family name. And Christine? I don't think that poor girl realized the extent of it until you so eloquently turned a light to the problem."

"I did learn from the best in dealing with these…elite types…" Kian sighed. "Not that I'm particularly fond of playing that hand, but I am certain it would not have resonated with the Vicomte or Andre had it come from you."

"And Chantseur?"

"If it would register with him, or if he would listen to a woman?"

"Both," she answered after a brief ponder. "He was harder to read. Granted, I'm not used to trying to gauge someone in a mask."

"I don't think it mattered. I'm still amazed at how easily de Chagny fell into that trap Chantseur laid for him. It was rather obvious."

"The Vicomte doth protest too much," Jasmine paraphrased Hamlet with a smirk, then shrugged her shoulders. "I suppose I should not be surprised. Such characteristics are so prevalent everywhere that I have to remind myself that what we have, and my parents had, is as much a luxury as it is odd."

Kian's fingers intertwined with hers and brought her hand to his lips with a brief kiss that sent a surge of warmth through her, although it lacked intent beyond simple affection, "I must admit, I do believe him in that his intentions were in earnest."

"I do too, which can be just as problematic," she replied as the carriage rolled to a stop. Outside, the small windows revealed they were in one of the most affluent Parisian neighborhoods where Comte de Chagny's primary city residence was located. "Perhaps Philippe can talk sense into him so this does not escalate any further."

~x ~x ~X~ x~ x~

"I don't understand," Christine rasped as they stepped into Erik's home, her refuge beneath the world. Her day at the opera ended early with Andre's curt blessing. After that stomach-churning mess in the office with Raoul, she was not of clear mind. She was the furthest thing from 'sound' at that moment.

Nothing quelled the brewing storm and rampant thoughts in her like Erik's embrace. Those sinewy arms were slow to envelop her at first. The subtle gestures that rippled through him were telling enough to know as he tossed that full-face mask aside. He knew how much she disliked it on him when they were alone; better to see some of him instead of none.

This was a mere passive understanding of his movements, as Christine's mind was still reeling from the office. "I don't understand… I don't understand any of this. Why do I suddenly fear him? Why does his mere presence repulse me now?"

"Christine…"

"He has done nothing to merit it… not to this extent…"

"…Christine…"

"It's not so different from what she felt at times with you, but at least I can understand why," she rambled, snapping her eyes shut as she clutched him tighter.

A heavy sigh escaped Erik, his embrace fading.

"What happened before… between them?"

His arms vanished from her then, leaving her feeling suddenly cold and abandoned as he took a step back, mismatched eyes flicking over her before shaking his head.

"Erik please…"

"Only what you remember," he reminded in a sharpened clip.

His response was gruff, but Christine sensed more in his brusqueness than his voice and features betrayed. While the whole mask was gone, the thin leather half-mask he often wore beneath it remained in place, and he was keeping that tilted toward her.

When her immediate response did not come, Erik backpedaled away before turning towards the hearth where he stared into the glowing embers a long moment before stooping to add a log to bring it new life.

She watched him with a renewed flash of vulnerability coursing through her, which paid no favors to her present state. It threatened to leak out from her eyes as frustrated tears. In her struggle to contain the whirlwind within, Christine steepled her fingers over her mouth and nose, the tips pressing against the inner corners of her eyes and brows. It was enough to stymie the tingling flush of tears, for now.

As she reached for memories that did not want to come forth, in her mind's eye, Christine stood in the middle of a long corridor, lost within a maze. Countless new doorways teased her desire for answers to unspoken questions but held fast to their secrets lurking behind them. They led to new memories of another life – a life that was not hers.

Behind her in this new corridor were passages to what she remembered, with only half of them open and awaiting her reach for them. But those were only half of what existed, and almost all of them involved Erik, with a scant few for Raoul.

Ahead led to the unknown, where all but a few were sealed shut. The ones not cloaked in shadow had slivers of light shining through tiny fissures in the wood, some more webbed than others. She could hear the echo of Raoul's voice in unknown 'rooms' behind her, but she lacked the keys for entry.

Before her though, were two doors that teased her. Behind one, she heard Erik's melodic timbre saying things but she could not make out the words…accompanied by crickets and bullfrogs…

The other door allowed her a sorrowful glimpse of herself standing alone in a white dress, staring out from a cathedral window…

Why could she remember so little of Raoul?

Why could she go no further than this and see what was at the end? There was a light there from a wide-open doorway, but her legs would carry her no further.

Why did so many things have to remain locked from her? They were right there! They held the answers to her questions and yet, she lacked those keys to get through…

"I–she married him…" Christine said at last, but her conviction in this was more an educated guess. Her subconscious wandering lasted for less than a minute, though it felt longer. While it brought her nothing of value beyond that sad glimpse, it fed into what Erik had said before - during their separation, she was with another. A marriage to Raoul would make sense, and she could see how that would have made her happy once…

At the hearth, Erik's head bowed and he would not look at her.

"What happened in that marriage, Erik? Something must have happened for all this to make sense," she pressed, dropping her hands to her sides and approaching him. "Why do thoughts of him leave me feeling ill?"

He shook his head.

She grasped his elbow now, "Erik."

Erik pulled his arm away but remained rooted in place. "I cannot say what transpired in that marriage because she never told me. All that I know with any certainty was that she was unhappy and was as much of a shell of herself as she was when I started teaching her."

"But you have suspicions."

"Suspicions yes, but then Christine, to tell you what I know or suspect would both burden you with 'what-ifs' and taint your perception of everyone around you, excluding me — possibly…"

"Yet you can tell me that there was an unhappy marriage."

"Given the fact of how unhappy he makes you now, there is not much of a difference."

"Then there should be no difference in telling me what you suspect happened."

He gave another little headshake. "I would rather you go through life with your experiences informing your future rather than hers."

"That isn't enough—"

"It is, Christine. You need to trust yourself."

It was her turn to shake her head, and she did so with vigor and anger slipping into her voice, "You have no idea…"

"Tell me," he snapped, "What would you be doing now if you had none of her memories or the knowledge of what I did? What happens when it is just you and I in that office with him making you as uncomfortable as he had for weeks? Would you be standing there begging me for information that I cannot give you, or would you be trying to grasp just what exactly he does that sickens you? How is this any different from when the luncheon upset you, or when he last came to your dressing room?"

"I would be talking to you, and you would help me!"

Erik's face reddened and his hands raised with clawed fingers that trembled before smoothing them over his head. In a blur, his mask and wig went flying across the room in a single, stiff gesture as he strode away from her, putting the sofa between them. When he turned to face her, his hands came to rest upon the wooden frame of the backrest, supporting much of his weight. His fingers flexed and released several times before he spoke with unnerving calm, "That is exactly what I am doing for you now, Christine, whether you are willing to see that or not. You have all the information you need – by your experiences alone."

"What I see is everyone trying to dictate my life with little care for what I feel or think! That I must abide by what someone else says is best for me because I am so incapable of deciding that for myself!"

Erik flinched as though she had slapped his bare, twisted cheek. His eyes went wide and watery moments before his gaze hardened, brows furrowing as a fire burned within. "Is that what you think?" he bit. "Is that what you really think I have been doing this past month, Christine? That I dictate your life and dismiss you?"

"Yes," anger was getting the best of her now. "When you withhold something so vital from me because you think that is what's best, what else am I supposed to believe?"

He stood so still, his eyes smoldering and fists clenched at his sides. "Knowledge is power Christine," he hissed. "But in this— all that you wish to know — it comes at a price. It can be a gift in one instance, then turn into its own special hell in the next."

His voice cracked, eyes shining with unshed tears as his gaze fell away until he took in a shaky breath before looking back at her. "You have no idea what it is like to know things that you cannot act upon because it has not happened yet and may never happen because everything has changed. All you can do is hope you do not somehow fuck it up because that may be the catalyst to what you wanted to avoid."

Christine stood in silence, trying to comprehend his every word and hating herself as they began to sink in with the cold bite of icy needles.

"I have joy in the fact that I was given the chance to try again, and had that fleeting moment of your love, however, the scars that have come with knowing the results of everything I did wrong and how that shaped reality will never go away. It casts a shadow over everything, and I am not going to put that burden on you." He looked down with his hand brushing over his deformed cheek, and a brief, twisted smile flashed across his lips with a snorted chuckle. "As ironic as it sounds — if you think — if you believe that I have had anything less than the best of intentions for you and your welfare, then there is nothing more that I can do. Go and live your life, Christine," his voice became distant as he spoke, and his eyes avoided her now.

Had….? She thought as the world was rapidly closing in on her before she could breathe or process what he'd said. Oh…God no…!

But he was already turning his back toward her and taking unsteady steps towards the staircase with his last shred of dignity.

"Erik," she choked.

He kept walking.

"Erik, I'm sorry—"

Nothing.

Christine grabbed her skirts and sprinted after him, managing to cut him off before he reached the spiral stairs. He shifted to turn away until she caught hold of him by framing his poor face in her hands to make him look at her. Rather than obliging, he grasped her wrists to pry them away as his eyes avoided hers.

"No, no, no," she protested. "No, you look at me. Look at me, Erik!" When she captured his fleeting glance, she saw more than redness and tears. There was deep-rooted pain and emptiness…and she was the cause.

She realized that, despite all his strengths, Erik's greatest weakness was her. That brief moment of thoughtless vitriol had wounded him in the cruelest of ways. Another man might have endured it better, but this was Erik, who had suffered more torments than anyone ever should.

Her voice trembled as she spoke, "I love you. I haven't stopped loving you. I love you so much that the thought of not being with you...pains me."

"What you said suggests otherwise," his voice was hoarse.

"I… I know. I'm sorry. I am so sorry…I didn't mean it…not any of it… not to you. Especially not you. You have done nothing but support me, I just…" she shook her head, trying to explain it while realizing there was nothing that she could say to make sense of the turmoil within. "I'm sorry for hurting you. You didn't deserve it — any of it. I'm sorry for not realizing how much of a toll this all is taking on you. I cannot possibly imagine what it's been like. Please forgive me, Erik…"

Tears were flowing down her cheeks and she ached for his untold pains as she brushed her fingertips through his lovely little wisps of hair. She wanted to be strong for them both but failed that goal in the same breath.

When Erik's forehead tilted forward to rest upon hers, relief rushed through her. She shut her eyes tight against her tears, willing him to know how much she cared for him.

"You cannot ever say things to me that you do not mean, Christine," he rasped. "I can scarcely understand this behavior from the rest of humanity, much less from you…"

She gave a vigorous nod, "Never again. You have my word."

Erik brushed the back of his fingers along her jawline, the despairing look she saw in his eyes had faded away, exhaustion appeared in its stead.

"…did you sleep last night?"

He gave a minuscule headshake.

"Neither did I," she replied, releasing him enough to slide her hands down his arms until she grasped his cool fingers. "Come…"

Christine led him upstairs to his room, and with a bit of gentle coaxing for the sake of comfort, she shed her dress in favor of modest undergarments that covered plenty while Erik was in his trousers and unbuttoned shirtsleeves, exposing a bit of the undershirt beneath. They crawled into bed where she pulled him into her arms to his great reluctance. However, when his head came to rest on her breast and she began tracing her fingers through his hair or following the twists of his disfigurement, he melted against her with his arms snug around her waist.

"Thank you," she murmured. Upon his head twitch, a silent question, she explained. "For the office…and for protecting me in so many ways…"

"There is no need to thank me for that."

"Yes there is, because I appreciate you," she kissed the top of his head, her eyes growing heavy.

Little else was spoken between them as exhaustion took firm hold.