Love Revived

Chapter III

When I awoke, it was this time to the wonderful sounds of a seraphic organ thrusting its melodies on my welcoming ear drums. The heat of music drove me to stand and walk towards him. My Erik sat at his organ, composing away, but never leaving the musical bubble he had placed himself in. Almost making a repeat of last time, I scolded myself. I would see his face one day, no need to push him. It had just been so long....

I sat next to him and played with my nightgown, the robe clinging to the small embellishments.

"Good morning."

"Is it morning already?" I asked airily.

"Not nearly, but you passed out for several hours, Christine."

"Were you worried at all?" I asked, jesting of course, but he semed to be taken off-guard by the question.

"Obviously, think otherwise not, my angel."

Furrowing my eyebrow, I realized this was going to be harder than I first planned. I had to leave him to open up to me the first time, and I was not doing that again. Besides, with the way I had spoken to Raoul, I would not be surprised if he hated me.

"I apologize, I meant simply to jest," I said, fumbling a little over the words. I peaked over Erik's mask as he was unceremoniously quiet and saw a smirk hiding on the other side.

"Erik!" I scorned, hitting him on the arm as he burst with laughter. "I thought I actually offended you," I whined.

He looked at me with smiling eyes and shook his head.

"This is everything I wanted it to be," he muttered just under his breath. I could hear him, but I was sure he did not want me to.

Ten years in a huge de Chagny household and you learn to listen carefully when you have a small boy who likes mischief and exploring. I missed Gustave then, yearning for him more than I had now that the shock had worn off and his father sat before me. Currently, however, that boy did not exist. 

"You're everything I wanted you to be."

His eyes shot up to mine at my admission. I would have told him so years ago, but I was scared then. There was no reason to tell him when I had a suitor knocking on my dressing room door every seventy seconds. He cleared his throat as our faces were so close together. The turn had caused him to be right in my proximal space, invading what was his and his alone. Poor Erik knew so little, and the power was quite intoxicating. I understood then why he enjoyed this so much, the feeling of supremacy. 

"Christine," he seemed to halfheartedly warn as I leaned in, closing the tiny space between us.

I finally reached his lips and pressed a soft kiss to them, igniting both of our pungent desires that had laid beneath us for so long. Erik longer than I, but if we counted the years I knew, I finally had some time over him. His lips were just like I remembered, even from our last kiss, and nothing made me happier than knowing it hadn't, and will never, be our last kiss. 

"Christine, what are you doing?" He asked as he pulled away, unconsciously grabbing my waist with his large hands.

"Kissing you."

"Why?"

Was it too early to tell him I loved him? I felt as I had this chance I was going too far with it already. There was something about it that wasn't adding up yet, and maybe I was moving too much. I hadn't kissed him until six months from now, and here I was, the first night I met my angel, claiming him.

"Well, I-I," I couldn't finish my thoughts as a crimson blush hit my cheeks like the slap Raoul had delivered once. I preferred not to speak of it, as it had only been once and he was extremely regretful for it later on.

"Do you have feelings for your angel who has feelings for you, Christine?"

"Yes," I choked out as his hand came in contact with my skin softly stroking down from my cheek to the base of my neck like he had during Don Juan.

I smiled, watching him enjoy the curves of my collar bone and the softness of my skin. I was getting as much from his touch as he was from doing it. I wasn't worried about his intentions, if his intentions were to bed me, then by all means I had done it before. He would only do so by my will, of course. The poor man had asked a hundred times if what we were doing was alright when we created Gustave.

"Oh, Christine, you have no idea what I hope you shall do for me one day, your voice will soar high, but our love..." he seemed to pause, hoping that I accepted loving him; That his words weren't scaring me away.

"Yes," I cooed softly, holding my hand over his.

"Our love shall be infinite."

I smiled, pressing our foreheads together.

"For now, you must go back to the above, I shall not have Carlotta singing that wretched opera and making it any worse than it already is," he said dismissively as if the diva were a flea that simply needed exterminating. Not that I didn't agree, but I didn't want to go back.

"Must I?"

"You must go, they'll wonder where you are."

I cringed at the sound of my words being changed and moved. He didn't remember too, did he? Surely not, he would be crying and reverent to my very presence. This calm was nice, and pleasing, and I wanted nothing more than to sleep in his arms that night like I thought I was going to on Coney Island. Still, somewhere deep down I felt doubt creep into me. He seemed calmer than I predicted this would go, so my suspicions needed abating. There was only one way to find out for sure.

"What's our son's name?" Gustave was a passionate boy, surely he would come out if he knew of our darling child. And in this way, I would also reveal my own knowledge of our future.

He was standing from the chair, readying to return me above, yet he stopped dead in his tracks at my question. 

"A son, Christine? Are you going made?" He worried, though he would not face me, as if ashamed or something to that nature. I could't tell for sure, but I knew that the future Erik would have claimed his son immediately. 

"No," I answered defensively.

"Just affirming suspicions, angel," he assured me, turning back to me and hesitantly resting his hands on my biceps and running them up and down my chilled arms.

"I apologize for the oddity of a question, now why must I go back again? Can you not just hear me sing the opera here?"

"That would be selfish, my dear Christine," he said, sliding his wandering hands down to my fingers and interlacing the ligaments.

"Then be selfish."

"Not today," he whispered huskily, whisking me off the bench and carrying me back to my dressing room.