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Christine

I was deathly ill. My lungs burned and I was warm - I couldn't stop coughing.

I was in bed, shivering with fever, when I was pulled from semi-sleep by Marie, a look of deep regret and sadness on her face. I was told to change. She informed me that I'd been fired today by Madame de Chagny. She kept saying that she was sorry, that Madame de Chagny had fired me today and that I was to be dropped in Paris.

"Where in Paris?" I asked, voice quivering in fear and illness.

"I don't know," she replied, looking at me with pity.

I wasn't allowed to pack - apparently, my belongings belonged to the de Chagny estate, even though I'd used my own money to buy them. I was stuffed into a carriage, shaking - I didn't even have a coat, I realized. I'd forgotten it. But by the time I remembered, the carriage was already on its way.

All I felt the entire ride was dread. Panic and dread. And though the coach was comfortable, the coughs and heat that coursed through me was nothing but painful.

What would I do when I arrived?

Where would I go?

We passed the outskirts, passed the poor district, the middle-class district. He only stopped when I looked around and recognized that we were in one of the wealthiest sections of Paris. I knew from my visits here that the construction site of the Paris Opera House was just a few streets from here.

It was evening now, and people were walking about when I looked out the window. The driver opened the door, a look of anger on his face.

His words told me, though, that it wasn't me he was angry at.

"Mademoiselle," he said, "I abhor the fact that I was ordered to drive you here. But you have a better chance of surviving in this part of Paris than in the slums. Right there-" He pointed behind him. "-is a good hospital. Go in, get well, find a new position, and please - stay alive."

I stared at the hospital in horror. I wanted to tell him no - take me somewhere else. I didn't care where, but not at the hospital my father died in.

"And Christine," he said.

I looked at him again. "Yes?"

"Should you..." He grimaced. "Should you find yourself unable to find a position, or unable to get well...please forgive me for the part I played in your fate."

He held out a gloved hand to help me down.

I had, really, no choice but to take it.

The moment Erik's hand yanked Raoul's off of my wrist, I was bolting for my bedroom - my former bedroom. Gustave's nursery. Heart hammering, I closed the door behind me and locked it. Gustave was asleep. I went to my bed, sat, and tried to catch my breath. But it was coming in fast and hard, and I couldn't seem to stop it. The sight of him had brought back memories of everything from my father's death to the moment Erik found me. Every piece of pain in my life - and all I'd had to do was look at his face.

He had a face of terrors. Not Erik.

I heard the front door close, but no voices or footsteps within the flat. They'd both gone out into the stairwell. Would Erik hurt him? Would I care if he did? And if I was secretly relieved if Raoul's life was ended, would that put blood on my hands as well?

My breaths turned into breathy, silent tears, my shoulders shaking. If Erik hadn't stepped in, Raoul wouldn't have let me go. He would have forced me to talk to him. The idea of it made my stomach turn.

Several minutes later, the door to the flat opened. Footsteps toward the nursery. A light knock. "Christine?" Erik's voice was gentle.

I stood and went to unlock the room. I opened the door, and Erik's face looked as though my expression had broken his heart.

"Oh, Christine," he whispered, and took my hand in his, leading me to the sofa and sitting me next to him. He squeezed my fingers, but it only made new tears form. He used his free hand to wipe my my face tenderly. "My darling, please don't cry like that. You're safe."

I leaned into his side, and he wrapped his arms around me and kissed the top of my head. I did feel safe.

"My dear." He rubbed my arm lightly. "Why didn't you say anything sooner? Why didn't you call out for me? I'd been under the impression that it was Jules - though the low voices really should have given me pause."

"I should have," I whispered. "But I wanted to take care of it myself. I thought he'd listen to me when I said to go away. I didn't know he'd grab my arm."

He kissed my head again. "Well, he's gone, Christine. And he won't come back again."

He's gone.

"Erik?"

"My dear?"

"Did you hurt him?"

He stiffened. "No. I threatened him, but he is fine."

"All right." His arms remained stiff, and I felt unease grow. I pulled away, looked into his face, and found hurt there. "Erik?"

He examined me, searching for something, but I couldn't say what. "I told you I wouldn't kill anyone, Christine."

"I know."

Slowly, his eyes moved to our interlaced fingers. "Is that part of the reason you didn't say anything?"

"What?"

"That you were frightened I'd kill that boy."

I took a steady breath. Deep down, perhaps, there had been a part that feared that. A very small part. I knew he was capable of it, for certain - but I trusted him when he said he wouldn't kill. I didn't really think he'd break that promise so quickly.

And he hadn't.

"I simply know how angry you are at Raoul," I explained, "and wanted to make sure. But I believe you, Erik. I know you aren't a killer."

He nodded, but didn't seem entirely convinced.

The following day, Jules came by in the morning, looking distant and under stress. I asked if he was all right; he smiled and said he was fine. Erik sent him off with errands to run; he also once again stayed home from work, but still encouraged me to spend time with Louise. I loved Erik with my whole heart - but I would be lying if I said that the idea of seeing my friend at last didn't excite me. He asked me if I could return at four in the afternoon. He wouldn't say why. Confused but intrigued, I agreed.

Louise asked after everyone's health. Erik was simply tired, I explained. I assumed, after all, that was the reason he wanted to stay. I showed her Gustave: he was (of course) doing well.

After several hours of time with my friend, I went back upstairs to the flat. I walked in, and was immediately greeted to the familiar and very welcome smell of ratatouille. Excited, I went to the dining room and found the dish on the table, a half-loaf of bread already sliced next to it. Candles in ornate holders were lit as well.

I was still holding Gustave, staring at the table, when Erik emerged from the kitchen.

"Christine," he said pleasantly, "you're five minutes early."

"Early?"

He smiled. "Put Gustave in his nursery - I'm finishing the tea. It should be nearly ready by the time you're out."

I looked at the table again and smiled. "What's the occasion?"

His hands gently waved me to my room. "Do as I asked, my dear, and then come back out."

I obliged. I pressed my lips to Gustave's forehead and placed him in his bassinet, before brushing my hair again and walking out into the dining room. Just as I walked in, the tea kettle screamed. I went into the kitchen and watched as he poured tea into two cups. I watched his face, watched how serene his features looked. An utter contrast to his pained features just a few days ago.

"You really are feeling better, aren't you?" I said softly, putting a hand on the doorjamb.

Erik didn't look at me, but smiled. He opened up the cupboard with one hand. "I am." He pulled out sugar and honey. "Much better, my dear."

"Completely better?"

He glanced at me before pouring some sugar on a spoon and stirring it into one of the cups - my cup, I presumed. "Not completely, no - I'm a bit irritable sometimes and...well, you know I'm not sleeping through the night. But that could be less withdrawal and more my natural psychology. It's not anything I can't keep under control."

I nodded. I watched as he worked. "Do you need help?"

"No, my darling. You go sit."

I laughed. "Erik, why are you cooking? Isn't that my job?"

He opened his mouth as though to say something, but then closed it and smiled again. "Just go sit, Christine."

Still grinning, I did. I took a seat, feeling entirely strange having him cook for me. It felt entirely backward, but not unwelcome. Erik emerged with two cups of tea. He set one down for me and took the other to his own seat. He went back into the kitchen and emerged again with the teapot in on hand, and the sugar and honey in his other. I marveled at how he could hold both in his long fingers - my small hands could never.

At last, he sat down. He led grace, and then we ate. He asked me about my visit to Louise, how the Garniers were. As we talked and ate, I found with joy that he was a good cook as well - clearly, I realized, he hadn't needed me to work for him, but hired me anyway. My heart warmed for him at the thought.

My face must have reflected that, for he sat back in his chair and studied me, curious. "What is it?"

"I just..." I bit my lip. "I really do love you."

His expression softened into affection. "I love you, as well. Very much."

I looked down at my half-finished food. He really had done an amazing job with the ratatouille - he'd either already known how to make it or had seen me cook it enough to grasp it. Either way, it reminded me of when my father would cook it for me, the two of us sitting at the servants' table in the kitchen late at night. I remembered loving his Swedish accent, how it sounded compared to everyone else's, as he talked and laughed with me. I wished, sometimes, that I'd naturally inherited his accent, but growing up surrounded by the French accent as well, I sounded terribly average.

My father had been the kindest, friendliest, most life-loving person I'd ever known. I'd grieved for so long when I'd lost him. But I now had a piece of him again - his violin, just a room away, in the nursery with Gustave. I felt that it was fitting. Gustave Daae, the tiny watcher of Gustave Daae's violin.

"Christine?"

I snapped back to reality. "Yes?"

His eyes, though still affectionate, held a seriousness in them. "My dear, I already asked you this question, and you've already said yes..." He took a deep breath. "But, I wanted to ask you properly."

I had an inkling - a very happy one - of what was coming.

He stood up from his seat and went around the table, offering me his hand so to help me out of mine. I took it and stood as well. He took my other hand as well, and continued holding them as he cleared his throat and spoke:

"Christine, your presence has been the most positive force that my life has ever experienced." He gave me a small smile and I felt my heartbeat quicken. "For thirty-one years, my entire life, my world has been riddled with loneliness and pain - no." He shook his head as I grimaced. "No, my dear. I'm not saying this to gain sympathy. I'm saying this because since I met you, I have finally understood what true comfort and safety and love feels like - and, my darling, I want to give those gifts back to you in as many ways as I can." He squeezed my hands, the pressure lovely. "And I want to give them to you for the rest of our lives."

A buzz of anticipation went through me, and I felt as though I could hardly breathe correctly, hardly see anything but him, as he went down to one knee and pulled one of his hands from my grip and brought a ring from his pant pocket. He held it out for me to see - and it was beautiful. The most beautiful piece of jewelry I'd ever seen, with a diamond glittering on the gold band.

"It would be," he said softly, eyes intense as he watched my free hand go to my mouth, my eyes wide, "the greatest privilege on this Earth to be able to call you my wife and Gustave my son. To call myself your husband and his father. Christine, would you do me the honor of marrying me?"

"Yes," I whispered. I nodded feverishly. "Yes, Erik, of course."

He smiled again, and his eyes shimmered in pure joy. He tenderly placed the ring on my finger, and for a few seconds we both gazed down at it in astonishment.

I was engaged to be married.

And to Erik.

He started to rise from his knee, and as he rose, I threw my arms around his neck. He laughed his beautiful laugh and lifted me, holding me tightly for a moment as my feet were suspended in the air. He let me down and put his forehead to mine. "My darling," he whispered, and kissed me full on the mouth. He deepened the kiss, his hand on my cheek. I put my ringed hand over his. He pulled away, grinning and breathless. I knew I was the same.

I whispered, "How soon can we marry?"

Delight lit his face at my question. He kissed me again. "When would you like to?"

"Tomorrow."

He laughed again, the sound truly happy, but he said, "How about two weeks from now?"

"Why two weeks?"

"It would be nice to have some kind of tradition in the wedding. A dress. Guests, perhaps - though, I suppose, there wouldn't be many." A little bit of light left his face. "And, besides, I would...I would like to give you time to truly think about it. To change your mind."

I balked. "Erik-"

"I'm serious." And he looked it now. "I really do want you to think about it, Christine. It was only a few days ago that I told you my past-"

"I told you, my love," I insisted, "that I accept it. I know what you did. I know it wasn't good. But I also know you changed that part of you."

"And yet you questioned if I killed Raoul."

I felt a jolt. He hadn't said it with bitterness, but rather as a simple fact. That almost made it worse. "No, Erik. That's not-"

"You have two weeks to really think about it," he said softly. He kissed my hand, and gazed at the ring. "And, if you end up wanting more time, I will give you that. But no less than two weeks, Christine - I want you to be sure. The last thing I desire is for you to realize you regret marrying an ex-murderer because you jumped too quickly into it."

"That won't happen-"

"Christine." His voice was gentle but firm. "It's only two weeks." He lovingly ran a finger through my hair. "You have a tendency to act too quickly - to use your emotions rather than your head. That's not necessarily a bad thing - I love how strongly you're able to feel. But this is not something to be taken lightly."

I frowned, uncertainty clouding my brain - not uncertainty of my love for Erik, but rather at the proposal. "Do you...I mean, did you want me to say yes? You want to marry me, right?"

"Oh, Christine, of course I do." He kissed my forehead. "That's not what this is about. I just - I want you to be ready. I don't want you to feel like loving me was a mistake."

Loving me was a mistake.

That was the very thought that had gone through me when Raoul told me he never should have made love to me. I didn't want Erik to feel that way - I had been heartbroken. I would never let him feel that.

"Please, my darling..." he continued, "please promise me you will actually think this through."

I looked at him. I did trust him - I was silly for thinking he'd hurt Raoul, that was all - but if this was what he needed to feel sure, then that was fine. What was two more weeks?

"All right," I said. "I will think it through."