Chapter 6. April 1887. Second day after Erik abducted Christine.

Christine woke some time later, and had a moment of complete confusion as she tried to remember why there was another person in her bed. Then everything came rushing back, and she simply lay there, too overwhelmed to do anything else.

Erik's head had turned toward her as he slept, and she gazed at him with curiosity. He looked different when he was asleep. Oh, his face was still hideously deformed, as nothing could change that, but now he appeared much more relaxed, without the glowering antagonism against what sometimes seemed to be the entire world. Some of the lines on his skin had smoothed out a little, and his mouth was slack, not sneering or twisted with fury or misery. He was breathing deeply and evenly, and she hoped that that meant he was getting restful sleep. The fact that he would not admit to how long it had been since he last slept bothered her.

And how long since he ate anything? He had always refused to do so in front of her, and their odd relationship was such that she was not used to worrying over whether he took any food, or rest for that matter. But…look how thin he was. That could not be a healthy state for any human being, even her indomitable Erik. Even once she knew he was no longer an angel, he had still seemed somewhat superhuman, or, she admitted to herself, demonic. He had never been so vulnerable before her as he had been after she came back here. Seeing him faint into bed, and sleep so soundly when she was right there, had opened a good many cracks in his supernatural aura, and she did not think they were repairable. She would no longer view him as she had once done.

He also, she realised, needed a clean shirt. His collar was lying open, as she had undone it before going to sleep, and she could see a faint ring around the inside of it. How…commonplace. No ghost had such things happen. His chest rose and fell with slow regularity, one hand draped over it. Two of his fingernails were broken, she noticed.

He was a man. Not a ghost, not a demon, not an angel. Just a superbly talented and intelligent man, and one with whom she was currently sharing a bed; one to whom she would be married in what was likely to be only a few hours. This seemed so surreal that it did not frighten her. It was as though the facts of the situation had no connection to her, so why be afraid of them? Surely it was not Christine Daae who had slept next to a man who was not yet her husband; surely it was not Christine Daae who had, in the space of a single night, stopped being engaged to one man and begun being so to an entirely different one. It could not be her who had tamed a madman with a kiss, or saved the lives of thousands in the same fashion.

Her left arm was tingling, the circulation partly cut off because it was squashed between her body and Erik's. She shifted slightly to free it, still thinking about that first kiss, and then was interrupted in her hazy musings by Erik's eyes snapping open. For a heartbeat they stared at each other, as still as deer in the wood. Then he gave a yell and shot upright, and likely would have exited the bed entirely had she not already had a good grip on his arm. She'd been sleeping that way, and had never let go. So, when he sat up he dragged her along with him, and she yanked on him and stopped his retreat.

"Don't, Erik, stop! What are you doing?!"

He pressed a hand over his heart, gasping. Worried, she pulled it away and laid her own hand there. Even though he flinched, she could still feel that his heart was racing.

"Are you all right?"

"All – right?" he panted, his yellow eyes wide as saucers. "All – right? What in hell do you mean by this, Christine?"

"What do I mean?" she retorted. "You might better ask yourself that, as it's your fault we both ended up here!"

"Mine?" His expression altered immediately, from shocked to terrified. "My God, what did I do?" He grabbed her arm, his grip painful. "What did I do? Did I lose my mind again? What did I do to you? Why are we here?"

Belatedly she comprehended what he was frightened of. "Erik, stop it! You didn't do anything. I asked you to help me out of my dress, remember?"

His eyes were nearly bursting out of his head. She stared hard at him, willing him to understand and calm down.

"You undid the bodice, and then you…well, I think you fainted. I guided your fall into the bed; it was right there and I didn't want you to hit the floor. I'd never have been able to move you then. And then you just…slept. You must have been exhausted?" She peered at him, her eyebrows raised, and he gave a jerky nod, and seemed faintly ashamed; of course, he would never have wanted her to see him in such a state. "And so I didn't want to wake you. And I was…I was worried," she said all in a rush. An uncomfortable thought was dawning. "I was afraid you might try to harm yourself again…but…I didn't think…"

With a sickening feeling in her stomach, she realised that he would not have had any need to attempt to do himself any further harm, now that she had returned to him. What an idiot she had been. Why had she been so frightened? She had shared a bed with him, thinking that there were extenuating circumstances…when there were not.

But it would be all right, she forced herself to remember, because they were soon going to be husband and wife. There was no question of that, not with the way Erik adored her. She had not done this with just any man; if there were some sin here, it was surely minor, and, after confession, God would forgive them once they were decently married. They would still have been faithful only to each other.

Erik inhaled hard and put his hands over his face. "Christine, if anything causes me harm, it is going to be you."

"Me!" she said indignantly, momentarily distracted from the impropriety of their situation. "Why?"

"Because you nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Serves you just right, then, as you nearly gave me one last night. Morning. Whatever it was." She let go of him, as he did not look to be ready to leap away anymore, and folded her arms crossly, shifting her weight on the bed so that its mattress moved a little. Erik clutched his head with both hands and gave a long groan.

"What's the matter?" Christine asked.

"It is," he said between clenched teeth, "currently a matter of debate as to who has the worse headache: me or you."

"Oh," she said, remembering her injury. Her head hadn't actually been bothering her, as her mind had been elsewhere, but now it gave a sullen sort of throb and she rubbed her temple, deliberately not looking at the corner of the room where there were surely still bloodstains on the wall. Her hands still hurt a bit as well, but not too bad.

"Are you all right?" Erik asked, abandoning his pique and sounding concerned.

"More or less. I think. I don't know."

"Your forehead looks dreadful. Do you think you are in need of a physician?"

"Oh – I doubt it. I think I'll be all right after a while. I've rested some, at least. What time is it?"

"Eleven a.m., according to the clock on your nightstand."

She peered blearily at it. Erik's clocks did not look like normal ones. They showed twenty-four hours, instead of twelve, so that he could tell whether it was day or night aboveground, and she was not good at reading them. "If you say so," she said, and then added with relief, "Then there's still time to go out and get married today. I would not want to leave it any longer than necessary."

Erik went still, and then lowered his hands. His eyes were wary.

"So…you still wish to do so."

"Yes!" she said, startled. "We must!"

He sighed heavily, and leaned back against the headboard. "Christine…I will not hold you to that promise," he said quietly. "You may not have been – quite yourself last night. And I can not believe that you would be anything but miserable if you were bound to me. I can not do that to you."

Her mouth fell open. "How can you say such a thing?" she gasped. He glanced up at her, surprised. "After – after you shared a bed with me! Would you have me sin so?"

"Christine – "

"I've been telling myself it was all right because we were going to get married! Are you that much of a cad? Oh…"

"For God's sake, Christine, that was no one's fault from what you have told me!" he snapped. "Simply some unfortunate circumstances, and those were Erik's doing, not yours! And he is not such a cad as to reveal them. Go and lead your life and be happy, as I told you to last night, and no one need ever know what passed down here!"

"I will know!" she cried, bursting into tears as a swell of intense emotion hit her. "Oh, how can you do this to me? I am a virtuous woman! I would never have done this with a man whom I didn't intend to marry! Oh, what would Papa say?"

"Christine, don't weep!" said Erik, looking panicky. "You are still a good girl. Nothing passed between us except a few hours of some much needed sleep, when both of us were in no condition to do anything other than…you have done nothing wrong."

"It's only not wrong if we marry," she sobbed, barely coherent. "Oh, I thought you loved me…"

"Christine, Christine, I do! And Erik understands now, Christine! I see now how one shows love, that is why I told you to go! Surely you can not want to be married to Erik."

Despairing, she fell back onto the bed, curling up on her side and weeping bitterly into a pillow. In her current state, this seemed the very end of the world. She felt his hands fluttering over her, clearly unsure what to do to comfort her. He went on talking frantically. "Damn it, I want you to be happy! I was only trying to show you that that was the most important thing. I would not have you bound by a promise that makes you miserable."

"I can not be h – h – happy if I have – sinned."

"You have not. You only did the best you could under extreme circumstances, I told you."

She sat up, swiping at her cheeks, and hissed, "It is a sin if we sleep together without marrying afterward! And I do want to marry you. I said so last night. Do you think me a liar? Why don't you believe me? Why would I have come back otherwise?"

"Christine…" Erik hesitated, and then, swiftly, as though he were afraid she would stop him, took her hands in his. She let him, sniffling. Her face was wet with tears and her nose was running, but he was looking at her as though she were as beautiful as a goddess. His mouth worked tremulously, and he had to start and stop several times before he could speak. When he finally did, it was only in an unsteady whisper.

"Do you…really want Erik as your husband? Truly?"

She nodded stubbornly, and then remembered that he needed to hear the words, and said, "Yes."

"And you will not be unhappy with him?" A shake of her head this time.

"No."

He drew in his breath deeply, and then bent and, all in a rush, pressed several worshipful kisses to her hands. "Oh, Christine, Christine!" he whispered shakily. "I do not deserve this! You have made Erik the happiest creature on earth."

"You are not a creature," she murmured. "You are a man."

He reached out and stroked her cheek, first cautiously and then with more boldness, when she did not draw back. His hands were slightly less cold than usual, she noticed vaguely.

"You once thought me a monster."

"You behaved as one. And then…you did not anymore."

"And can you forgive Erik for his crimes?" he asked guardedly.

"A virtuous person forgives a repentant sinner, Erik."

"No one has ever forgiven me for anything before."

"Did you ever repent before?"

He looked abashed. "Well…not much."

"But now you have, and so now everything is different."

"I wish I had known that that was all I had to do," he said ruefully.

"Don't minimize it," she said reproachfully. "Perhaps…perhaps you simply were not ready till now. I am thankful that it occurred before anything really dreadful happened. God was merciful."

He said nothing to that, and she was about to continue by asking when he was going to go to confession, when her stomach suddenly rumbled loudly. She doubled up in embarrassment.

"Christine is hungry," said Erik, unnecessarily. "I should have seen to it that you ate before going to sleep. I am afraid that I have been remiss of late in restocking my larder, but there should be enough to manage some breakfast for you."

"You too," said Christine. "Why don't you go and wash and change? You'll feel better, and perhaps your headache will lessen. I will go and make us a meal."

"How sweet you are." He gazed adoringly at her, with a softer expression in his yellow eyes than she had ever seen before. Touching her hair timidly, he murmured, "Christine, you are beautiful." Then his eyes dropped lower, down the whole length of her in a way which he had not yet done this morning, and she realised anew their situation. They were sitting in a bed together, so close that their knees were nearly touching, and the bed coverings were all askew and the sheets tangled; she was in a nightgown with nothing at all underneath it, its fabric outlining her body and its hem rucked up so that her ankles and even her calves were bare before his gaze, and her hair cascading loose and wild over her shoulders; he was in his shirtsleeves, his collar undone and the pale flesh of his angel's throat exposed to her eyes, as it never had been till now, and his face boldly unmasked.

The look in his eyes was no longer soft, but had changed to something which she could not describe to herself but which compelled her inexorably nonetheless. Christine was acutely aware of her own body, her skin feeling prickly all over. She noticed the strong set of his shoulders, and the muscles that were standing out on his long thin arms, visible through the fine linen of his shirt, as he suddenly gripped her hands hard. She sensed some great, silent struggle going on deep within him, and his fingers kept tightening on hers till it hurt. Soon he would be crushing them; why did he seem desperate not to let go? She was about to give in and beg him to do so, when he abruptly wrenched himself free and whirled away, leaping out of bed.

"You should go eat something," he said, in an inexplicably harsh tone and without looking at her. Then he marched out of the room, back stiff – and Christine clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle an impromptu laugh. The Phantom's grand exits were distinctly less effective on his audience when executed in stocking feet.

The door shut behind him, and she heard his own door opening and then water running. Well, good. She hoped he had a nice soothing bath and came out in a better mood. He was so changeable sometimes! It was difficult to know which Erik one was going to have to contend with from one minute to the next.

Her stomach complained loudly again. She would put on a house dress to make their breakfast, and take a bath herself afterwards. She would not want to be wearing whatever she were going to be married in to prepare food, anyway. Determinedly Christine swung her own legs over the bed, and then her head swam, briefly but badly enough that for a moment she wasn't sure if she could get up at all. She sat still for a moment, breathing hard, and gradually the pain subsided a little. Cautiously she forced herself to stand up all the way. Food and hot coffee would do both of them a great deal of good.

Hurriedly dressing, she stopped suddenly as she saw lines of bruising circling around her arms where they met her shoulders. They must be from the wedding dress; Erik had laced it so crookedly that the sleeves had not fitted right at all, and dug into her flesh whenever she moved her arms. It had only increased her feeling of bondage, and made her a little angry even now. But the dress was ruined and she would not be wearing it to get married in anyway, or ever again for that matter. Erik had lost the opportunity to see his bride coming to him in white. She would now have to pick out another gown from the wardrobe he had provided for her, and none of them were white, it being only spring and not summer yet. Well, that seemed an adequate recompense for her injuries, she decided. There were also faint finger marks on her upper arms, because he had gripped her so tightly in his panic over waking up in bed with her, and marks from the ropes he had tied her up with to stop her from injuring her head any further; she raised her hands and saw the bruises and broken fingernails from her struggle with Raoul, in the catacombs. And her head was pounding again, too… lowering her hands again and gazing at the room without really seeing it, she thought to herself that between her self-inflicted wounds and those caused by not just one, but both the men who claimed to love her, she was hardly the perfect picture of a bride.

But none of that could be helped, nor had it decreased her stomach's demands one bit. Rubbing at her temples, Christine went to the kitchen as soon as she could, picking up Erik's discarded pocket knife from the bedroom floor as she went, and prepared what she could find, deliberately setting two places at the dining room table. There was not much available, as Erik had said, and what was there was far from being fresh. But she was so hungry she didn't care, and found herself gobbling two pieces of stale bread spread with butter while standing up and getting down dishes. Most unladylike, but there was no one to see her do it.

Erik was taking an inordinate amount of time to bathe and dress. Christine opened a can of peaches and made coffee, and then fretted that it would grow cold before it was drunk. At length she finally heard his door opening, and he came into the dining room, now respectably frock-coated. She was disappointed in his attire, however, and it must have shown on her face, because Erik said immediately, "What is wrong?"

"Nothing, I…nothing." She turned away.

"Tell me."

She could not refuse a command of his, still. Even when he spoke dispassionately his voice was irresistibly compelling.

"Oh – it is only that – well, I thought you'd be in a morning coat."

"Why?" he asked, and now there was a caustic edge to his beautiful voice. It made her own ire rise, and she said tartly, "To get married in, of course. Why else?"

"Christine, I debated at great length as to what to present myself to you in. As it happens, I do possess a coat of that type, and the appropriate accoutrements to go with it. It is brand new, in fact; never worn. I ordered it from my tailor in a fit of truly excessive foolishness and self-delusion."

He had turned sarcastic again, and as usual he was managing to make his tone more irritating than anyone else's could possibly have been. And her temper was short this morning. She flung back, "Then why aren't you wearing it?"

"Because I will not go through with this farce!" he retorted. "You do not want to marry me! You can not! You are only doing so because you think you must. Well, I won't have it. I will not take advantage of you anymore. I shall never tell anyone that you slept a chaste night in the same bed with me, when you were ill, and you can go home and lead the life you should have had, before Erik interfered."

Christine set her hands on her hips. "I'm tired of arguing about this! You wanted to marry me plenty back when you thought I didn't want to, and now that I say I do, you don't want to after all? Are you just looking for things to be contrary about?"

"No!"

"Well, then, come to the table and have your breakfast. You must need something to eat." Doing so together would be a new experience for them, but she was too angry to care about his assorted eccentricities.

He remained obstinate still. "I will not. The sight would turn your stomach."

"Yes! You will!" She stamped her foot. "I've been to some trouble to prepare it, and – and maybe that will convince you that I want to marry you! And afterwards I will go change and so will you, and then we are going to be married. And that's final."

O-O-O O-O-O