Phantom of the Opera Storm

Hello again! Here is my second story on this site, I hope you'll like it! As I said earlier, my mother tongue is not english so please drop me a line if I made a mistake and I'll correct it. In case you have any idea how to improve my writing, please leave me a review.

Thank you for reading!

* * *

**Storm**

Somebody knocked on the door.

It was late in the night, the earlier rainstorm was still raging outside and her husband still didn't come home. Christine's heart leapt to her throat. Who could have knocked?

She dropped her book to the bed, not bothering to mark the page and hastily stepped into her slippers. With racing heart, she picked up a pan from the kitchen and tiptoed to the door. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves – which was unfortunately a useless attempt – she warily opened the door, finding Erik standing there, soaked to the skin from the rain, his hair clung to his mask and face and drops of water were falling from his locks in every passing moment.

"I need your help," he greeted her, his voice surprisingly raw.

"What happened?" She asked him but before he could form any kind of answer she happened to see a drop of blood falling to the carpet from the edge of his coat.

"Oh, my…" She breathed and tried not to faint. She'd been so worried for him and now, instead of calming her he came home injured. "Come in."

He stayed unmoving and she gulped. "Can you walk?"

"Hardly…"

She stepped closer and lifted his arm to rest on her shoulder. "Lean on me." She found that he obeyed her, using her strength to limp awkwardly beside her.

"What was the pan for?" He queried through clenched teeth, trying with all of his power to hide the piercing pain in his leg.

"I didn't know it's you."

She led him to the kitchen – this room being nearer than the bathroom – and helped him to sit down on the first chair. He silently unclasped his cloak and dropped it to the floor, revealing his injury: a cut, starting somewhere on his thigh and ending before reaching his knee, then continuing on his calf. As he looked up he saw how she paled just from the sight of it.

"You could have bled to death," she whispered.

"I know."

"Tell me how to help you," she managed to tear off her eyes of his leg.

"The drawer," he pointed at it before carefully rolling up the leg of his trousers to look at the scar. It was painful and serious but not nearly a fatal one. The lower half of it didn't even need to be sewn. In her haste, Christine yanked out the drawer and placed it on the floor beside him, then knelt next to it.

"I can't take care of it with your pants on. Take it off."

He angrily threw his mask on the table and smoothed his hair out of his face before he carefully – and with her contribution – did as she'd asked. Almost three years into their marriage prevented him from shying away from such a request.

Seeing his wound in its reality made her gasp and caused her trembling became an almost uncontrollable shaking. She rose from the floor without a word and brought some water to wash the blood from his skin. After returning to his side she dipped a towel into the water in the bowl.

"What happened?" She asked secondly on that night while clearing the blood from his gash.

"I've been attacked on the way home." She washed the towel in the bowl and continued her task.

"What if you've been followed? It's possible they're now lurking around in the garden." Outside there was a lightning then a huge thunder and fear crept up into her stomach. Rain was still tapping dully on the windows.

"No, it's not," he stated calmly.

"Why?" She looked up at him and from the flash of his eyes she immediately understood why.

"No, it's not," she repeated hollowly his words. "Gendarmes?" She asked him and he shook his head.

"I'm sorry," he said after a long pause. She didn't answer him.

"Will I find the next morning that you're gone, gone with her and I'll never see you or her again?" He asked, his voice laced with venom.

"You'll come after us, anyway," she answered nonchalantly.

"I protected myself," he began again, trying to get know what was in her head but her face remained expressionless. "I… I was afraid he'd follow me, that he'd harm you, harm her… I couldn't bear the thought that it would have been my fault…" She still didn't say a thing but resumed her ministrations.

"Answer me!" He demanded now furious. "Should I expect you to leave with your first chance?"

She lifted her blood-covered hand with her ring upon her finger. "Do you see this? I meant every word, Erik. I'm not going to leave now, tomorrow or in the future. I'm simply trying to concentrate."

"Forgive me…"

"You're already forgiven."

By then, she finished cleaning the damaged area and after examining the cut she, too, found that only the upper section of it needed stitches. She winced when she thought about it how painful it would be and there was nothing she could do to ease the pain coming from it. She readied everything for the uncomfortable task at hand.

"I knew this day would come sooner or later," she said softly but without sadness or disappointment.

"And now?" Without asking her why he'd already known that she was now talking about what he'd done.

"What do you want me to say? That it wasn't your fault?"

"It wasn't."

"I believe you. But I can't just not care about it."

"Are you afraid of me?" He whispered, struggling to say it despite he felt he was choking.

"No. You'd never hurt me. Or her."

"Then?"

"Then what? I can't be happy about it!" She snapped.

He fell silent and was looking at the floor and she continued a little calmer than before.

"I won't leave, Erik. And I won't call the gendarmes, either."

"I didn't think you would…"

"I knew what you did in the past when I consented to marry you. It's just…" She let out a deep sigh. "Don't think I'd be happier if you have done nothing. I couldn't bear to loose you…" Her voice wavered a little and she quickly swallowed the threatening tears. He weakly reached for her hand and she didn't hesitate to give it to him.

"Christine, I'm fine… almost." She granted him a teary smile.

"I'm glad, though, that you didn't lie to me."

"I'd never lie to you again."

She clasped her hand around his ankle, smiling a little at him reassuringly. "Good." Then she sobered again. "Ready?"

He nodded and bracing her hands she plunged the needle into his skin, doing her best to cause only minimal pain while closing his wound, and he tried his best not to show any sing of being in pain, though with time, this proved to be almost impossible. And yet, only once or twice did she hear a sharp gasp or a soft moan. By the time she finished he felt quite dizzy and found it really hard to keep his eyes open and he couldn't remember when she bandaged his injury or when she cleared up the mess.

"Drink," she handed him a glass full of water and after he dutifully emptied it he gave it back to her.

"Come, we really need our sleep, I feel." With that, she carefully helped him to stand, then she walked with him slowly to their bedroom and helped him to change from his wet clothes.

"Is she still asleep?" He asked Christine distractedly while she led him to their bed.

"Yes, I've already checked on her. I think you should sleep on my side tonight."

"Why?"

"I can't embrace you without causing you pain because of your leg," she admitted with a blush on her face.

No matter how much his injured leg throbbed he still found himself smiling at her explanation. As she snuggled up to him he pulled her closer with as much strength as he could muster.

"I love you," he mumbled into her ear.

"You know that I love you, too." She hugged him with matching fervency and then, they slept.


End file.

Phantom of the Opera, Angst