A/N: The plot bunny for this story was born after watching a you tube video of Sierra Boggess and Ramin Karimloo singing the duet "Poison and Wine" by The Civil Wars. You can view the video of their performance here: /SGF1xZwaH4A

I always thought that Ramin and Sierra created the best versions of Erik and Christine in the musical. This story however, is based solely on events in Leroux's book although I may have borrowed a phrase or two from ALW. This is an angst filled E/C one shot because I love angst!

This is my first fanfic for this fandom! Reviews are greatly appreciated!

Gaston Leroux owns everything. I own nothing. I do not own the lyrics to Poison and Wine.

Poison and Wine

I had turned the scorpion. I do not know how long ago I made that choice. It is an age-old belief that in life time moves quickly but down in the darkness of these cellars time is slow and endless. I peer at myself in the small hand mirror. The only mirror to exist here. I trace the lines of my reflection on its cool hard surface. My pale and hallow face stares back at me. I am to be the wife of darkness. It is fitting. Good.

I emerge from my bedroom to find him perched on his organ bench. He is all hard lines and bones. He is too tall and too thin but what his body lacks in appearance it makes up for in his lithe movements. I quietly walk toward him, peering over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his long fingers as they caress the keys of the grand piano coaxing a dulcet melody from the instrument.

Your hands can heal, your hands can bruise.

How can these hands that create the most beautiful music, a balm to my soul, be the same hands that have taken life? A shiver of fear runs through me but I remind myself he promised not to do that anymore. The Opera Ghost is gone. People are safe. Raoul is safe. Dear sweet, loving Raoul! I wonder what he is doing right now. No! I must not think of him! I am Erik's living wife. That was my promise.

My thoughts are interrupted as the melody echoing from the piano ends abruptly. He can sense my presence. His hands lift up from the keyboard as he slowly turns on the bench toward me. Our eyes meet as he studies my face.

"Good morning my dear. Did you sleep well?"

Your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine.

Oh, that sweet velvet voice, so hypnotic and alluring. It calls to me even now, after all that has past between us. It takes every ounce of strength I have not to succumb to it. I close my eyes briefly and shake my head slightly to regain my composure. This does not go unnoticed by my companion. He notices everything. A small smile plays across his malformed lips. I hate him for it.

"I did." The lie escapes from me easily but he is not fooled. His eyes narrow and I brace myself for the poison laced words that will surely flow from his mouth, but they do not come. What follows is infinitely worse.

He drops his gaze and sighs disappointedly. "Lies do not become you my Christine. You cry in your sleep at night and I hate when you cry." There is resignation and sadness in his voice.

"How do you know this?" I ask incredulously. My chin held high in defiance. "Do you spy on me at night?"

I know everything you don't want me to.

He is pained that I would question his propriety. "I have heard your soft cries through your door. I know you are unhappy here and that you still pine for that insufferable boy." His voice is laced with sorrow and resentment.

I could deny these accusations but that would be another lie and I am so tired of lying.

"I'm sorry. I will try to be a better." I say this with as much conviction as I can muster.

I watch as my words cause his fingers to tighten into fists and he bangs them onto the keyboard letting a dissonant chord ring off the walls of his lair. Surprised I draw back in fear.

"You don't understand!" he roars. "I don't want you to be BETTER, I want you to be HAPPY!" Then he drops to the floor reaching for the hem of my dress the tears already flowing from his eyes as he yet again lays before me his immense love and I am lost.

"Oh Christine. Tell Erik what he must do to make you happy. Tell him what he must do to make you love him. He will do anything you ask of him!"

Isn't this how we got here in the first place? His obsessive love for me and my inability to despise him for it? My resistance to leave when I should have left? Oh Raoul! Please forgive me, I should have let you spirit me away that very night!

I don't have a choice but I still choose you.

What I want is my freedom and I know if I ask him for it now, he might give it to me, but that would likely kill him and I cannot think of him dead. No, that would not do. Instead I kneel down on the floor with him and gently remove his mask. He offers no resistance.

I wish you'd hold me when I turn my back.

His tears have turned into sobs and he is trembling as I place a hand on either side of his death's head and draw his face to lie upon my breast. My arms encircle his thin form and I cradle him as a mother would her newborn babe. We have not been this intimate since the day I agreed to be his wife and allowed him to place a kiss on my forehead. Perhaps not touching since then was a mistake. Now I rock him gently and I hear his swift intake of breath as I begin to softly sing him a lullaby my father taught me. We stay like this until the sound of my voice fades away with the final verse of the song. Then, we disentangle from our embrace as his eyes meet mine. The complete adoration reflected in them leaves me breathless.

You think your dreams are the same as mine.

"Teach me how to make you happy Christine," he begs me.

I answer him honestly. "I want to see the sun again."

He hangs his head in defeat. "You wish to leave me."

"No," I say and then again with more resolve "No, I do not wish to leave you."

He cocks his head to the side wondering if I am being truthful. I am not lying.

"I will not leave you but I cannot stay here. I wish to live above."

He shakes his head at me. "Someone such as me is not meant for a life above."

I look at him with a confused expression. "I thought you wanted to live like everyone else. To have a wife to go for walks with you on Sundays."

"That, was nothing more than a dream," he says solemnly.

I do not believe that. I wont believe it, for if I am not a part of his dream then why am I here? He wanted a living wife!

"Oh Erik," I plead, "Don't you see, this is your chance to finally live a normal life."

"I cannot," he argues, shaking his head vehemently.

"Then if you will not do it for yourself, do it for me." He pauses for a moment and I can tell he is mulling it over in that genius head of his.

"Will it make you very happy Christine?" There is so much hope in his voice that I am unable to disappoint him even if I had wanted to.

"Yes Erik, it would make me very happy."

"Then we will go live above."

A surge of pure joy rises through me and I feel the first genuine smile form on my face in many months. Erik's eyes widen at my expression and he grabs my hand and brings it up to his lips. "Oh Christine, if only I could see that smile upon your face everyday, I would surely die a happy man."

The less I give the more I get back.

It is in moments such as these, when I realize the awesome power I hold over this man. That a smile from me could bring him such elation, that the sound of my voice could inspire such music to flow from his hands, that a simple touch from me could cause his body to tremble.

We are still kneeling on the floor and Erik raises a shaking hand to my face and lightly traces the edge of my jaw. "Christine, I love you."

It sounds like a whispered prayer and I take a deep breath closing my eyes as newly formed tears threaten to spill onto my cheeks. He hands me his heart and lays bare his soul and I am terrified. I think of my dear sweet Raoul again. The love he offered was easy, simple, safe. Erik's love burns with a ferocity that will undoubtedly consume me. I fear I will not know myself. He is looking at me now, eyes full of hope, waiting for a response to his confession. I press his palm to the side of my face.

"I know you do Erik."

I pause then, not ready to admit that which I keep deep inside my heart.

"I don't love you, but I always will," I utter softly.

For now, it is enough.