A/N: Hello, my dear friends! I'm still here, but what a crazy six months it's been. Not only did I have to have two-TWO-knee surgeries (a total replacement in November and a manipulation in February, but my husband was hit on his motorcycle a month ago and almost didn't survive. He ended up with a broken left hip and leg, which they had to amputate at the knee, and a broken right ankle. He's been in the hospital/care facility ever since, because he's wheelchair bound until that right leg heals. We are taking it one day at a day and both of us have a new appreciation for life. Our lives are forever changed, but considering the alternative, this is something that, while challenging, we are more than happy to figure out. And the best news of all is that he gets to come home today, and I thought that was reason to celebrate!

Also, warning: while the majority of this chapter was written before his accident, the latter half was done while I sat by his bedside in the hospital. It gets a little sappy, but damn it, I needed it. And I think Christine did too.

Enjoy!

Chapter 35

Even though I'd promised Maddie and Rochelle that I would break up with Jake the next time I saw him, it seemed like that plan was unfortunately going to take longer than I anticipated. When I woke up the next morning my head was pounding and my nose was so plugged that even the slightest attempt to breathe through my nostrils sent lightning bolts of sharp, shooting pain through my sinuses and into my forehead.

"Ohhh…," I groaned, rolling over to bury my face against the pillow. I was not getting sick. Not now. I didn't have time to be sick.

I laid there like that for a few minutes, silently trying to drum up enough energy to get out of bed to go shower and get ready for work, and when I finally did manage to sit upright, a wave of dizziness washed over me so suddenly that the room spun, and my stomach flip-flopped. Placing both my hands flat against the mattress to steady myself, I took several deep breaths through my mouth and tried to hold back the surge of nausea. A cold sweat beaded along the edges of my hairline, instantly sending chills that started from the top of my head and ended at the tips of my toes.

Jesus, this was the last thing I needed, I thought sourly as I pulled my comforter tightly around me in an attempt to stay warm. Repressing a sigh, I leaned over and reluctantly scooped my phone off the nightstand. Snuggling deeper under the covers, I unlocked the lock screen and selected Jake's number from my call list.

"Good morning, Christine," Jake answered on the second ring.

"Hi," I replied weakly.

"Uh-oh. You don't sound so good," he said. "Are you okay?"

"I don't feel so good. I think I'm coming down with a cold."

"I think so, too. Do you need to take the day off?"

"Yes. Is that okay?"

"Of course, it's okay," he answered with a small laugh. "I'll let Alejandra know. You get some rest and let me know if there's anything you need."

"Okay. Thanks."

"I hope you feel better soon."

We said goodbye and I hung up. Dropping my phone into my lap, I simply stared at the unlocked screen. That conversation had gone a lot better than I thought it would. It wasn't that I doubted Jake would give me the day off, but I was surprised that he'd kept his word about being professional and treated the exchange as a boss would their employee and not someone whose girlfriend had just told him that she was sick in bed. Now I just needed to figure out if I was happy or disappointed over his apparent lack of concern.

God, if Maddie knew I was still waffling over the idea of breaking up with him, she'd kick my ass from here clear to next Sunday.

I must have drifted back to sleep because when I woke up next, the room was filled with the bluish-white light of another cold winter's day. The numbers on my bedside alarm clock told me it was 10:04 in the morning. Good. I'd managed to sleep another four hours. That should help.

I flung the covers aside and went to sit up, and that was when I realized just how much I'd overestimated everything. Every muscle and joint in my body hurt. Even just the slightest movement made my ankles, knees, and elbows throb in aching protest. I felt like I'd run a marathon and tripped and been run over right before the finish line. It didn't help matters that I was still freezing, and all the shivering was making my already sore muscles tense and tight. Suddenly, all I wanted to do was sit by the fireplace and get warm.

With a mighty effort, I forced myself to leave the comfort of my bed and change from my pajamas into my most worn-out but comfiest pair of gray sweatpants and white long-sleeve shirt. Then I pulled on my warmest socks and wrapped myself in a thin gray cotton kimono-style robe. I ran a comb through my wild hair, just so I wouldn't scare the bejesus out of Erik and headed downstairs.

Erik was sitting in his armchair, reading quietly, and glanced up when he heard me shuffling down the stairs.

"Christine!" he said, his dark eyebrows rising above the top of his mask in surprise. "I didn't think you were still here. I figured I must have missed you leaving this morning." He took one look at my face and the small, playful smile he wore evaporated. "Are you—are you alright?"

"No," I replied, shaking my head. I immediately regretted that action and winced, squeezing my eyes shut as my brain pulsed against the inside of my skull. "I'm sick. I must have picked up a cold or a flu somewhere."

Erik jumped up, tossing his book onto the coffee table in the process, and gestured towards his chair. "Here. Come sit down."

"Thanks," I mumbled. "I'm freezing."

He waited for me to walk across the front room and watched as I unceremoniously flopped into his chair. The heat from the fireplace felt good, but it still wasn't enough to chase the chill from my bones. Shuddering, I grabbed the opening of my robe and pulled it even tighter around me.

Seeing this, Erik grabbed the quilt off the back of the couch and gently draped it around me. Then, without warning, he reached out and placed a hand on my forehead. "Hmmm," he hummed, cupping my cheek briefly before moving his hand to the back of my neck. His cool palm felt good against my clammy skin. "I think you're running a fever."

"Great. I wouldn't get too close, then," I cautioned. "I'm probably contagious."

"I'm not too worried about it," he laughed as he withdrew his hand. "I'm a ghost, remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Right," I chuckled. "Sorry. I'm a little out of it."

Truthfully, it was getting harder and harder to remember that Erik was dead. Aside from the perpetual coldness that always seemed to linger on his hands, his touch felt as real as any other man's. And even that was beginning to fade. The last couple times we had made contact, I swore his skin had felt warmer. Alive, even. I snorted inwardly, immediately dismissing the thought. Now I was knew I was out of it. No amount of wishing or hoping was going to bring Erik back to life.

Still, it was a pleasant thought, and I allowed myself to fantasize—if only for a moment. I deserved some happiness in my life right now, even if I had to imagine it.

"Are you comfortable?" Erik asked. I opened my eyes to see him gazing down at me. His eyes were shadowed, and his lips were pulled into a tight line, as though he were fighting back a frown. "Can I get you anything? Tea, perhaps?"

Just the thought of putting anything in my stomach, even something as innocuous as tea, made it flip-flop all over again. Shoving down another wave of nausea, I shook my head. "No. I don't think I can eat or drink anything right now. I'd just like to sit here if that's okay."

His eyes pinched at the corners, but he eventually nodded. "Of course."

"Play for me?"

Erik relaxed and the somewhat shrewd look disappeared from his face as he smiled warmly. "As you wish, my dear."

XXX

Once again, I felt my mind begin to wander as my fingers effortlessly traipsed along the black and white keys. Surrounded by the comforting notes of the music that I played, I finally surrendered and allowed myself to think the thoughts I'd desperately tried to keep shuttered away under lock and key.

What was love? I wondered. What was it really? Of all the emotions, this was the one that I still struggled to understand. Not the suffocating desire to possess. I'd learned that the hard way. Nor was it simply the urge to be near the object of one's affection. It was far more complicated than that. Was it…was it selflessness? The ability to care about another's wants and needs and put them above your own? Perhaps. Christine Daaé had demonstrated that when she'd valiantly sacrificed her own future and well-being to save the Vicomte. That was the moment I realized that my love for her was nothing compared to the love she held for that boy. If I had loved her—truly loved her—I would never have put her in the situation where she had been forced to choose between the two of us in the first place.

Of course, that was easy to see that now, after nearly two lifetimes had passed and time and space had lessened the sting of her rejection. Raising my eyes, I glanced to where Christine lay asleep on the sofa. She was so damn certain that reuniting me with Mademoiselle Daaé would release me from this purgatory, but ironically, I was no longer in any rush to leave. I'd finally found a measure of contentment and I was loathe to let it go now that I had it. I knew that Christine was trying to get us both back to Paris in the hopes of setting my spirit free. How did I explain to her that that was no longer what I wanted? That, if given the choice, I would rather stay here, in this form, than pass on and be forced to be separated from her.

"Erik!" Christine suddenly shouted, startling me out of my reverie. 'Wait!"

Instantly, I was at her side. Kneeling down, I could see the tiny beads of sweat that glistened on her brow and watched helplessly as her face contorted into a pained expression. Without thinking, I grabbed her hand and drew it to my chest. "I'm here."

Her eyes snapped open and after a moment of desperate searching, they centered on me in wild panic. The hand I held close to my body seized the collar of my dress shirt and pulled me down to her. "Don't! Please…don't leave me!"

"I'm not going to leave you," I assured her. "I'm right here."

"Please! I…I need to tell you—"

Suddenly, her eyes rolled back in her head, and seconds later her entire body went limp.

"Christine?" I let go of her hand and took hold of her shoulders, shaking her slightly. When I received no response, I slid my arm around her back and cradled her head in the crook of my elbow. Her light blonde hair was damp and matted against her forehead and the hair at the nape of her neck was wet enough that it quickly soaked through my sleeve as I held her. "Christine!"

The air in the room seemed to thicken as the silence stretched on, and a sense of urgent fear began to build in my chest. I brushed the hair away from her forehead and wrenched my hand back almost immediately. She was delirious and burning with fever! Judging from the heat emanating from her body, her temperature was nearing dangerous levels. I needed to do something—and quickly!

But what? I couldn't call a doctor or take her to an infirmary. I couldn't even call on her admirer. I was, quite literally, helpless. I was going to be forced to watch her die and there was nothing I could do about it.

No! I set her down gently and sprang to my feet. Nothing infuriated me more or spurred me into action faster than being powerless. There had to be something I could do.

Think!

Cold. I needed to reduce her fever in the quickest way possible. A cold compress? Maybe if I'd caught the fever sooner and it was only in the beginning stages. I need something a little more drastic than that. Something to bring her temperature down all at once.

An ice bath, perhaps?

Yes, that might work!

Surging forward with a renewed sense of purpose, I dashed into the kitchen and jerked open the door to the ice box. To my intense relief, I found two full bags of ice stashed in the back and grabbed them with both hands. Pivoting on my heel, I raced out of the kitchen and charged up the stairs, taking them two at a time, and rushed into her small washroom to begin filling her tub with cold water. It felt like an eternity before the water reached an acceptable level, and I couldn't help but feel that each minute wasted in waiting was one minute Christine inched closer to death.

Once the tub had finished filling with water, I emptied both bags of ice into it and hurried back downstairs to Christine, where I gingerly lifted her into my arms and held her close as I sprinted up the stairs and into the washroom.

"I'm sorry. This is the only way I know how to help," I told her, nuzzling the top of her head briefly before I plunged her, fully clothed, into the icy water.

XXX

Tens of thousands of sharp, tiny knives penetrated every inch of my body, piercing my skin with such force and meticulous precision that all my nerve-endings fired at once, completely overwhelming my senses. My eyes flew open, only to slam shut seconds later against an onslaught of blinding bright light and intense stabbing pain.

"Yes, Christine," a voice crooned softly. Its tone was warm and soothing, a lifeline in the darkness. I wanted nothing more than to latch onto it and never let go. "That's it," it coaxed. "Yes, open your eyes."

Unable to resist it's gentle yet powerful pull, I slowly opened my eyes. Erik's masked face filtered into view.

"Good girl," he whispered. He lifted his right hand and brought it to my forehead.

I blinked several times, hoping that would clear some of the confusion from my brain. Erik's expression was one of relief, but the stinging sensation I felt everywhere had yet to go away.

"Where am I?"

"In your washroom," he replied gravely. "You had a high fever…."

It was then that I chose to look down and saw that I was sitting in the bathtub and that it was filled to the brim with cold water and ice cubes. The prickling sensation suddenly increased tenfold. I gasped sharply and tried to lift myself out of the water, but Erik's hand was immediately on my shoulder, holding me down.

"Not yet, my dear. I know it's uncomfortable and I'm sorry about that, but your fever hasn't broken yet."

"This isn't necessary," I argued back. My teeth were chattering and all I wanted to do was distance myself from the needle-like water. "There's a bottle of Tylenol in the medicine cabinet. Two of those and I should be fine in like half an hour."

"I do not know what that is, and quite frankly, I don't care. You were unresponsive and I had no way of seeking medical attention. I did what I had to do."

I glanced up at him. His eyes were fully of worry. I'd never seen Erik worried before. He'd always been so confident and self-assured. I got the feeling that very little rattled him. To see him like this was somewhat terrifying, and it was enough to drain any lingering resistance from my body.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of excruciating anguish but was probably only a couple of minutes, Erik passed his hand over my forehead again and let out a satisfied grunt. Rising to his feet, he bent over and gathered me into his arms and lifted me out of the frigid water. My cold, wet clothes clung to my skin, making me shiver uncontrollably. Instinctively, I nestled deeper into Erik's embrace and relaxed slightly when I felt his grip tighten around me. He carried me into the bedroom, where he set me on my feet and wrapped a towel around me, using his hands in a scrubbing motion to warm me up while at the same time trying to absorb the excess water out of my clothes.

When he deemed that I was dry enough, he stepped back and motioned to the dresser. "Get dressed," he instructed. "I will go tend to your washroom."

I was quickly presented with his back as he wheeled about and vanished through the open doorway, leaving me standing there wet and dumbfounded. After a moment, I collected myself enough to walk over to the dresser and pulled out a pair of clean, dry pajamas.

Once I was dressed, I ambled back into the bathroom to run a comb through my tangled hair and grab the Tylenol just in case I needed it later. As the pills rattled against the plastic bottle, the enormity of what had just happened came crashing down on me. The bottle slid from my shaking hand and clattered into the sink. Erik spun around at the sound, took one look at me, and pulled me into his embrace. I threaded me arms around his waist and buried my face against his chest.

"What if you hadn't been here?" I half-whispered, half-sobbed. "I could have…could've…."

"Shh. It's all right. You're all right. I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere."

I nodded, choking back my tears so I could catch my breath. "You saved my life."

He held me tighter and let his masked cheek rest against the top of my head. The contact was brief—so brief I almost wondered if I'd imagined it—and then he lifted his head and angled me back toward the bedroom. "Come. Let's get you into bed."

The thought of being alone after what happened created a sudden surge of panic, and I planted my feet, halting his progress when he tried to usher me forward. "No, wait. Please, Erik. Can we go downstairs instead? I-I don't want to be alone right now."

Erik's yellow-gold eyes narrowed. "You need to rest," he refuted, "and you will not get it downstairs. You've said so yourself, many times."

I could feel the tears start to prick at the corners of my eyes again. "Please? What if…what if my fever comes back and you're not here with me?" I sank my teeth into my bottom lip to stop it from trembling. "Will you stay with me?

His gaze dropped to my lips, and when his eyes travelled up to meet mine again, I saw they were filled with trepidation. "I…."

"Please?"

"I suppose," he said after a long pause. "You are certain this is what you want?"

I nodded quickly.

"Very well."

Placing his hand on the small of my back, Erik guided me out of the bathroom and over to the side of the bed. He pulled back the covers and waited until I climbed in, then draped the blankets over me and went around to the other side. He hesitated briefly before he finally sat down next to me, taking care to situate himself on top of the bedspread. Leaning upright against the headboard, he crossed his long legs at the ankles and folded his arms over his chest.

"Get some rest."

Smiling contentedly, I whispered, "Okay," and closed my eyes, and in seconds, I was asleep.

XXX

If my past deeds had not already secured my rightful place in Hell, what I was doing right now almost assuredly guaranteed it. This was, by far, the most scandalous thing I had ever done. And yet, it was also one of the most wonderful things I had ever experienced, both in life and in death.

She was only seeking comfort, I tried to reason with myself. She'd suffered a traumatic event and was still reeling from it. It was only natural that she wouldn't want to be left alone. Had I been a gentleman, I would have insisted on watching over her from a chair across the room. A stronger man would not have willingly climbed into her bed and would certainly not have relished the feeling of her body nestled against his. A true gentleman would have returned her arm to her side, whereas I… no, I savored the moment she flung her arm across my lap and let her head fall against my torso.

I was not a gentleman. I'd never been one. And if the price for holding her like this was eternal damnation, then I gladly welcomed it with open arms.

XXX

I woke sometime later to the sound of pounding. It took me a several more minutes to realize that it was the sound of someone pounding repeatedly on my front door. I groaned and tried to snuggle deeper into my pillow, hoping whoever it was would give up and go away, only to find that the surface that lay beneath by cheekbone wasn't as soft and yielding as I remembered my pillow being. And I certainly didn't remember it smelling like cedar and spices.

My eyes snapped open. Holding my breath so as to keep perfectly still, I moved my eyes around to take in my surroundings. I was in my bedroom, in my bed. With my head resting on Erik's chest. He was leaning against the headboard and had his arm draped casually around my shoulder. At some point I'd thrown my arm across his waist, and it was now inching dangerously close to his lap and groin area.

Oh my god, the immature girlish side of me squealed.

Oh my GOD, the side of me that knew this was wrong yelled.

"Shit!" was what I actually said.

I scrambled into a sitting position and immediately straightened my clothes in a weak attempt to look more put together. My abrupt movement shook the bed, and Erik slowly opened his eyes. He, too, appeared momentarily disoriented, before he fixed his gaze on me, and the reality of our precarious situation came crashing down upon him.

He leapt off the bed at the same time I did, and we were left staring awkwardly at each other from across the mattress.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to—"

I was saved from having to finish that embarrassing statement by another forceful wave of heavy knocking on the front door.

"Christine?" Jake shouted; his voice muffled as it filtered through the wood. "Are you in there? I've been trying to get ahold of you all day! If you don't answer me soon, I'm going to call the police!"

Erik and I exchanged identical looks of alarm. He collected himself first and flicked his head toward the hallway. Nodding, I hurried out of the bedroom and ran down the stairs, wishing that my robe wasn't still soaked and sitting in a sopping pile of wet clothes near my dresser. Wrapping my arms around myself protectively, I opened the front door.

"Jesus Christ!" Jake exclaimed when he saw me. He was wearing a thick blue puffer coat and black slacks, and though he had wrapped his blue muffler around his neck and chin, it wasn't enough to keep the cold winter air from nipping at his cheeks and nose, turning them a bright shade of cherry red. "Finally! I've been so worried about you!"

"I've been sick," I said flatly. "I told you that. You told me to take the day off."

"Christine, that was yesterday. Yesterday morning, in fact. I've been trying to get in touch with you ever since."

"Yesterday?" I echoed quietly. "What time is it?"

Jake shuffled a small white container that I hadn't noticed before from his left hand to his right and turned his left wrist over to check his watch. "It's almost four-thirty. I left the office early to come check on you."

Four-thirty? I swallowed down the lump that was suddenly cutting off my air supply and guiltily glanced behind me to where my phone lay discarded and forgotten about on the coffee table. "It's uhh…sorry. Everything's been a blur. I've been asleep most of the time. I must have forgotten to charge my phone. It's probably dead."

"That explains why my texts have gone unanswered and all my calls went straight to voicemail." The worry on Jake's face lessened slightly. "I'm just glad you're okay." He went to reach for me, but I stepped back, artfully dodging his touch.

"Yeah, I'm okay," I nodded. Thanks to Erik's quick thinking. Of course, I couldn't tell Jake that his worry had been well-founded, and that it was a ghost who'd saved my life. I couldn't tell anybody that.

"That's a relief." Jake cleared his throat and awkwardly drew his hand back to side. "May I come in? I brought you some chicken noodle soup."

My gaze dropped to the small Styrofoam container in his hands. "Oh. Thanks. But I…umm…I—" I didn't want him to come inside. The last thing I needed was to give him the wrong impression and then be faced with the uncomfortable task of getting him to leave without hurting his feelings. Now was definitely not the time to initiate a breakup. Erik's hand fell upon my shoulder, and the soft pressure instantly put me at ease. I felt the tension seep out of my tight muscles as he gently squeezed, his unspoken show of support giving me the strength to continue, "I don't think that's a good idea. I'm not sure if I'm still contagious."

Jake nodded, but his disappointment was evident. "Of course. Here," he said, handing me the container before take a few steps backward on the porch. "Just text me and let me know if you need tomorrow off."

"Okay. Thank you, for this," I replied, holding up the soup.

"You're welcome." He made to leave, and then turned back to me hesitantly. "Take care, okay?"

"I will."

I waited for him to get safely down the icy steps and then shut the door, releasing a deep breath the moment he was out of sight.

"You should rest," Erik said, sweeping his hand toward the front room.

I nodded. Talking with Jake had been exhausting—a lot more than I thought it would be, and I'd barely even said anything.

Satisfied that I wasn't about to argue with him, Erik removed the soup from my hands, pausing momentarily to examine the Styrofoam container with mild interest before he turned on his heel and disappeared into the kitchen. With nothing else to do, I made my way to the couch and curled up underneath my blanket.

For a long while I just sat there, staring into the fireplace, watching as the orange-hot flames licked around the edges of the ceramic logs. I should have been grateful that both Erik and Jake had been so worried about me. And I was. But it was the way they showed that worry that consumed my thoughts now.

While Jake had obviously been concerned, he seemed almost irritated at the same time. Irritated I hadn't answered his calls or texts. Irritated that I didn't want to invite him in. Maybe even irritated that I didn't call him for help or ask him to stay and take care of me. Whereas Erik, on the other hand, Erik had been panicked. I'd only known him for a couple of months, but I'd never seen him scared before, and that was unsettling. And then, when the reality of it all came crashing down on me, he'd comforted me. Erik. The Opera Ghost. Someone who I knew for a fact didn't invite physical contact very often, and he'd pulled me into his embrace without a second thought. He couldn't have known how badly I'd needed that, or how damn good it felt to be pressed up against him. And then, there was the whole accidentally falling asleep together on my bed thing.

I sighed. He wasn't making it easy on me. I was trying so hard to be good and respect his boundaries. I had to keep reminding myself that he was meant to be with Christine Daaé. The last thing I wanted was to be the woman that destroyed everything. I wasn't a homewrecker. I didn't ever want to become a 'Carly.' I knew how being on the other side of that felt, and I would never, ever to do that Christine or Erik.

Nope. Instead, I would file all these little moments and exchanges away and think about them later, when it was safe, and I could guarantee I wouldn't do anything stupid.

Erik reappeared and handed me the chicken noodle soup that he'd transferred into one of my porcelain cereal bowls.

"What do you find so amusing?" he asked when I snickered.

"Nothing," I smiled back. "You didn't know that I could've just eaten it out of the container it was in."

His eyes narrowed dubiously. "Don't be ridiculous. That thing was flimsy and way too inferior to be considered proper dinnerware."

I let out a full-bellied laugh, shaking my head at him affectionately. "Don't ever change, Erik."