His eyelids slid down when she touched him -- first his cool forehead, then his cheek. He was too weary to continue maintaining his hard, commanding veneer. He hungered for those simple touches, the feel of her skin on his, without the fear of violence or demand. Ah, Christine, he thought to himself. If only you knew the creature you touched! He'd been easy with the details of his life; he'd left out the horrors. But he still knew, even if she were blind and trusting enough to ignore the things he had said and had not said.
Her hand on his face... He would never have believed he could have such a simple pleasure. But when she started speaking, he opened his eyes again and focused on her. The things she said pierced through the numbness and sent his wretched heart ablaze with hope. He'd told her his life, and she hadn't run, and she still wanted to stay with him. She had chosen it, this time. She, she herself. He seized her hand from his face and kissed her open palm once, twice. How much more than enough was this?
Without releasing her hand, Erik reached with his left hand to the telephone on his desk. It took two tries to grasp the receiver, but he managed it with only a little fumbling. Setting the black plastic on his shoulder, he punched a few numbers with the back of his curved fingers. "Has she changed?... Good. Bring her down to the car... Send for a doctor to meet us there. We leave in 10 minutes." He hung up carefully, this time being careful and slow enough that his body answered appropriately - albeit sluggishly.
The chore done, he set one more kiss in her palm before gesturing for her to rise. After a moment, he followed her up. And when he stood, there was no weakness in his manner -- nothing but strength and vitality in his demeanor. His face carried still the ravaging lines of his illness, but that grace and power which he wore like a cloak prevented the obvious from being apparent.
"Come then, my dear," he said, offering his right arm to her.