The cover of night did little to send relief to the occupants of the city. It was the dead of summer, and heat hung with cloying stickiness to the skin of every man and woman. Nadir highly suspected that, in the inception of this country, there was no consideration for temperate climate. Of course, he had no right to complain, coming from Iran. He should have been used to the debilitating heat.
Unfortunately, he was no longer fit for such climates. He had spoiled himself rotten on the west coast, enjoying the glorious breeze that only a Californian beach could afford. While it was still sunny in Washington DC during the summertime, Nadir longed very badly for the gentler temperatures.
To his great disappointment, he had recently learned that he would be stuck in DC for much longer than he had originally anticipated.
In the eight years Nadir had worked for the United States government, he had had the good fortune to be stationed in California. His expertise in intelligence had made him an asset ever since he defected from the Iranian government. He had left Iran without any regrets, happy to leave his sorry, sordid past behind him, and make good on his promises to his departed wife for a brighter future.
If he did leave one regret behind him, it had followed him to America.
His expertise and knowledge were so great, the US had granted Nadir a ready pardon, and a high pay grade, to boot. He was happy with the arrangement, glad to be of service to a country whose morals were, if not perfect, far and above what his home country's were.
He only hoped his prickly friend could secure some kind of amnesty as well.
Nadir didn't have high expectations for Erik's cooperation. Erik had left Iran under the same circumstances as Nadir had, but it had taken him much longer. Erik had fewer compunctions about the goings on in that country. For him, the ends often justified the means. If anything, the thing that Erik took greatest issue with was his virtual servitude. Crime was tolerable. Necessary even, in some circumstances.
The real problem laid in having the option to say no. Which Erik did not have. Neither had Nadir.
The breaking point, from Nadir's understanding, was when Erik had been commanded to murder a man he knew to be completely innocent of any crime. A man with two small children who relied upon him.
Despite the fact that Nadir had escaped years before, he returned to Iran with the aid of the United States to help Erik escape. It was a suicide mission, but Nadir had insisted. He believed that deep down, Erik was good, and could be a contributing member of society. He just needed someone to believe in him.
Erik wasn't inclined to agree.
Nevertheless, Erik was now bound to fulfill his end of the extraction deal that Nadir had made. If Erik wanted protection, and any kind of freedom, he would have to comply with whatever the United States government asked of him.
His slippery friend was supposed to have been in attendance of the meeting with the government agent, but Erik hadn't bothered to show up. Instead, he had ordered Nadir to impart the details of the meeting to him the next time he made contact.
Which was to be, in all probability, minutes after Nadir arrived back in his hotel room.
He gritted his teeth. Erik was difficult on a good day, but he had hoped that in this situation he might be more compliant. After all, it wasn't everyday that the United States exonerated you for terrorist activities. Erik wasn't an American citizen. Technically, he was a French citizen, but seeing as how his mother country hadn't done Erik any favors in the past, he was less inclined to make nice with their foreign officials.
They hadn't exactly exactly knocked on his door, either, which Nadir suspected was fine by Erik.
"We're offering your friend a very good deal," Leslie Baker, agent of the CIA, had told Nadir during their short conversation. "He is fortunate that we are offering it at all."
It was on par with what Nadir expected the agent to say. He was all too aware of how lucky Erik was. In any other case, someone in Erik's position would be rotting in a cell somewhere. But Erik's was a special case, and he could tell right away that Agent Baker was severely annoyed by it. He didn't seem to be the type of person who enjoyed watching people linked with terrorist activities get off Scot-free. Nadir could empathize with that. It was a difficult situation. And for all of the illegal, heinous things Erik had done, the last thing Nadir wanted was for Erik to waste away in prison.
"He understands that. And is very appreciative, I assure you."
Leslie had frowned. Nadir had always been extremely good at kissing behinds, but this man was a professional. He could smell bullshit a mile away.
"His lack of attendance says otherwise."
Nadir had nearly groaned at that. Of course, of course, the one chance Erik had had to make a good impression on the federal agency that was throwing him a bone, and he threw it back in their face.
"My cohort is a very private person."
Leslie peered at Nadir humorlessly. "Nothing is private to the Central Intelligence Agency."
Nadir was well aware of that. His own personal history had been through the ringer for two years before he was offered a chance to interview as a civilian. Like Erik, he had been heavily involved in terrorist activities (unlike Erik, due to having very little choice), and had been offered a chance to earn the safety of American exoneration. After revealing everything he knew about the inner workings of the terrorist regime in Iran, he kept in close contact with the CIA, working as a consultant of sorts. When he wished to legitimize his relationship and be an agent of his own standing, the process had taken some time. There was not a day that went by that Nadir didn't thank Allah for his good fortune.
"You have my word, Agent Baker, that I will pass along all details of this meeting to Erik. And you can hold me personally responsible for what Erik does from here on out."
"I'll hold you to that, Agent Khan," Baker said seriously. "As of now, your associate is a hair's breadth from being labeled 'Public Enemy Number One'. We've seen what he is capable of. I don't know how he escaped our holding facility, and I'm sure that that mystery will be solved in due course, but he does not have free reign to go prancing about Washington DC. Unless he makes contact with us, Agent Khan, and soon, we are under the authority of the President himself to do what it takes to bring him in."
A chill had passed through Nadir. He didn't doubt it. He could only pray that Erik would take the situation seriously.
His suspicions paid off in an alleyway just off the street of his hotel. As a former police chief in Iran, Nadir was usually quite vigilant, but as he got on in age, he let his defenses down too often. He took for granted the relative ease of Washington DC, a drastic change from Tehran. He had been contemplating a cigarette at the foot of the alleyway when he heard the voice of a ghost from his past.
"It is my understanding, Daroga, that those things can kill you."
A familiar shiver of cold dread washed down Erik's spine. In all his years of knowing him, the sound of Erik's cool, mellifluous tones never ceased to affect him.
"Then I suppose I am lucky I have you to remove the temptation," Nadir answered primly, stashing the cigarette back into the cardboard carton. He looked down the alleyway and caught sight of a dark silhouette against the orange street lights. From what Nadir could make out against the steam rising from the grates, Erik was wearing a long trench coat with a hood attached to it. Better to conceal his face, Nadir surmised.
The figure approached silently. If Nadir's eyes were closed, he wouldn't have heard him, even if the ghostly figure was inches away. The man was uncannily stealthy. "You met with the man?" the shadow asked.
Nadir nodded. "It was much as I expected. Erik, they want you to come in. They're starting to get nervous with you freely roaming the city."
Erik let out a low chuckle. The sound wasn't very reassuring. Nadir felt the small hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
"If the agency is so nervous, perhaps they should hire more competent agents."
Nadir glared. He didn't miss the not-so-subtle dig. "I'm sure that if they had the resources, they would not hesitate to drag you in by your earlobes. As it is, they have far more pressing matters, which concern the two of us."
"Us?" Erik repeated, throwing a glance in Nadir's direction. "Are you to be my nanny then, Nadir? To make sure I don't muck things up?"
"For lack of more eloquent response to that, yes." Nadir sighed. "We're supposed to work this together, Erik. We're both experts of a sort in these matters. Between the two of us, I'm sure we can work our way around a threat to national security."
"My dear Nadir," Erik said with a hint of amusement, "Surely you don't think they would call on a couple of derelicts such as ourselves for a routine bomb scare in the nation's capitol?" The derisive nature of his tone did not escape Nadir's notice.
Nadir leaned against the wall at the lip of the alley, weary from the subject after two consecutive conversations. "I'm afraid that the threat is more than just 'routine' if they're throwing us into the mix," was Nadir's dry response.
Erik didn't respond for a moment. If Nadir could have seen his expression, he would have said the man looked thoughtful. As it was, the silhouetted figure was hiding in shadows, as well as, Nadir assumed, wearing his mask.
"I'll have the details now, Nadir."
Nadir complied. Agent Baker explained that the bomb threat came from certain anonymous sources that could be half-traced to well-known terrorist organizations that both Nadir and Erik had dealt with in the past. Despite the fact that Erik and Nadir were not the only terrorist experts in Washington, the threat had enough uncertainty surrounding it to make it a higher caliber threat to national security. Because the CIA couldn't point a finger in one single direction, they thought it best to call on the two men with enough history in Middle Eastern politics to be able to pinpoint the source.
That was not to mention the very extensive skillset between the two men, including but not limited to firearms, weapons of mass destruction, intelligence, cyber-terrorism, physical terrorism, chemical warfare, profiling, and specialized hand-to-hand combat.
"Hardly sounds like a challenge," Erik said dismissively, but Nadir was familiar enough with his companion to know that Erik would do it.
"We're to start with surveillance at the Cartier," Nadir explained. "The CIA is given to believe that it's the target for the bomb."
"The conservatory?" Erik's interest was definitely peaked now.
"The very same."
"It would make sense," Erik continued, appearing to talk to himself rather than to Nadir. "The school has a rather sordid reputation for encouraging sexual relations between the students and this nation's civil servants. Targeting one event, particularly one with high attendance, would mean the eradication of several important people."
Nadir nodded. Baker had said as much. Of course, Erik had narrowed in on their theory without much prompting. The agency had chosen the very best person to work their case. Erik knew it too. His arrogance knew no limits, and because of it, he would extort them to the very last.
"I'm to receive a package containing all the preemptive research they've done on the school thus far. And we have a contact there, too. A Madame Giry. Apparently her deceased husband used to work for the agency. She is extremely knowledgeable for a civilian, though how that happened I am not sure." Nadir paused, his brow furrowing. "She's also, to my understanding, somewhat of a hard…."
Erik blinked at him from behind the mask.
Nadir blushed, not wishing to repeat the unkind words of Agent Baker. "Well, a singular woman, in any case. She's the dean of the dance department. We're to meet with her in a few days."
Erik didn't argue, which was good enough for Nadir. His companion was being downright agreeable, and for that Nadir thanked his lucky stars. Erik must have had his own reasons for being so obliging. Whatever they were, Nadir was thankful.
A chorus of police sirens wailed into the night. Nadir groaned. It was the third time that hour that Nadir had seen a caravan of police vehicles speed by.
"The law is entirely too prominent here," Erik grumbled. "I don't like it."
Nadir couldn't help but agree with him. He wrapped his coat more tightly around him. "It's only temporary, Erik. It's a job. We've had countless ones before."
"This one is different," Erik murmured enigmatically. "Our opponent is faceless. We are going into this blind."
"Which is why you'll need to read the background information," Nadir reminded him.
Erik turned to him. "You used to know better than to tell me what to do, Daroga. Don't ruin a perfectly good track record by starting now. I promise that if you do, it won't go well."
Nadir folded his arms. "Allah forbid you follow anyone's orders, Erik." In all of his years of knowing Erik, the only authority he had ever answered to had been his own. He longed for the day Erik found someone, or something, that mattered to him more than his own impulses.
"Rest easy, old man," Erik said, a shark-like smirk splayed on his exposed lips. "If we play our cards right, this might even be fun."
"Christine, really, would you stop that tapping?" Meg Giry whispered furtively.
Christine Daae glared at her from the next seat over, but stopped. Her agitation had caused her tapping, which was entirely due to the circumstances they were under, and therefore out of her control. Although, if she were being honest with herself, Meg's bossiness would have been reason enough.
In the year that Christine had known Meg, she had discovered that for a small-boned ballerina, she was unfailingly commanding. Christine wrapped it up to a formidable personality quirk, something Meg had definitely inherited from her strict mother.
The two girls were sitting in a large auditorium with a few hundred of their peers, listening to the annual start-of-term speech. The assembly had only just started, and Christine already dreaded the hour and half to come.
It was the the official meeting of faculty and students to welcome in another year. It was an opportunity for the president of the conservatory, the department deans, various faculty members, and the student body to discuss the expectations for the year, and some of the things students could look forward to. School-wide events would be announced, as well as changes to the curriculum or faculty. In short, it was everything the students of Cartier needed to know for the coming year.
Christine, alternatively, saw it for what it was: an official ploy to push the unspoken agenda of the conservatory on the students.
Cartier Conservatory was an institution renowned for turning out some of the most accomplished artists: some of the most talented singers, dancers and musicians of their time. They had a reputation that overshadowed that, however, and it glamorized talents that did not win land you a job at Carnegie Hall.
It was enough to turn Christine's stomach. As a second year student, she was all too aware of the kind of activities that went on behind the scenes. It was enough to make her question her decision to choose Cartier over other schools.
Juilliard had been a distant, unattainable dream, and the conservatory in Boston had been too expensive. Her father's passing had left her with a very meager inheritance, barely enough to pay for her applications. Thus, few options. The committee at Cartier had seemed impressed enough by her audition and had even offered her a scholarship. Refusing an offer like that was out of the question.
An emphatic round of applause brought Christine back to the present. She jerked her head up and towards the stage, trying to focus on what was happening before her.
"Thank you, Dean Giry, for that. I'm sure this year's dance students will be most enthusiastic about the selections for the winter recital."
"Not likely," Meg muttered from beside her, shrinking down in her seat. Christine was always amazed by how terrible Meg could make her posture. She wrote it down to the fact that her friend always had impeccable posture, and when she slipped a single vertebra out of perfect alignment, it was startling.
Christine crouched down beside her conspiratorially. "What did she say?"
Meg rolled her eyes. "The same thing she says every year. Blah blah, we must practice discipline, blah blah, will not tolerate distractions, blah blah, my daughter is a disappointment..."
Christine giggled under her breath. "She didn't say that, Meg."
"How do you know? You weren't listening," Meg fought back.
Christine gave her a level stare, choosing to let that slide. "What material are you doing this year?" she inquired.
Her friend sat up straighter in her seat. "That was the only good part," she answered. "For the winter recital we're doing the same boring stuff we do every year," she rolled her eyes, "But in the spring, we'll be forming a corps for the opera! We'll be working together, Christine!"
Christine smiled back at her friend, but felt her heart drop. Performing an entire opera, not just selections of it, was a wonderful prospect, for everyone involved. If I'm involved, she thought, uncertainly.
The assembly eventually came to a conclusion, leaving Christine less than inspired for the year to come. It had been much like the one she attended the previous year, only her enthusiasm for school had considerably declined. It would take more than a thrown-together school assembly for Christine to find her passion for her craft again.
"How do you think it started?" Christine asked as they made their way out of the assembly hall and out into the open sunshine.
"What do you mean?" Meg crowed, her hand popping up to cover a yawn.
"You know."
Meg raised her eyebrows.
"You know," she repeated emphatically. She gestured, making a windmill-like motion. Meg side-eyed her, uncomprehending.
Christine huffed. "You know what I mean, Meg!"
Her friend giggled, then proceeded to groan at Christine's frustrated expression. "Yes, yes, you sour puss, I know what you're implying. Geez, you sure are grumpy today."
"Start of term always stresses me out," Christine confessed. "And don't change the subject."
Meg shrugged. "Not changing. Just taking more time to think."
Christine allowed it, albeit begrudgingly. They walked out of the assembly hall, located in Mizner Building, and walked across the yard to the tiny Starbucks located on campus. Due to the heat, many of the students had chosen to stay inside, giving the girls their pick of the outside tables. Christine always liked sitting out of doors, especially when the weather was fine. The tables were in the shade, and with an iced drink in hand, she was happy.
It was only after both girls had gotten their beverages and sipped them quietly in contemplation that Meg gave her answer. "I think it began even before the school was founded. I mean, this town is notorious for….well, for notoriety!"
Christine snorted at Meg's choice of words.
"I'm serious!" she continued. "It makes sense. Men in power have always exploited women: young, old, poor, rich, doesn't matter. It's just the way of things."
"And not changing any time soon," Christine murmured, frowning.
"Hey girls!"
A trio of girls came dashing up to the table, each of them sporting strongly tanned skin and showcasing a fair amount of it. The foremost girl had taken the seat next to Meg, who eagerly turned in her chair to face her.
"Hey Jamie! How was your summer?" Meg asked cheerfully.
"Uh-mazing," Jamie replied, crossed her legs and leaning towards Meg in conspiration. "You'll never believe the stuff I've heard during the vaca." The two other girls nodded, proceeding to pull up chairs to get a closer listen to what Jamie had to say.
Christine rolled her eyes. Of course these girls would consider the summer off as "vaca". For girls like her, who were on scholarship, the summer was comprised of hard work, and little beach time. The following summer would be dedicated wholly to auditions, or interning at an opera house, whatever opportunity was available to her. Being her last summer of relative freedom, she had made sure to work her butt off to earn as much money as she could.
It was especially important that she made money this year. The cost of tuition had gone up in the past year, meaning that her scholarship was worth less. If she wanted to save money for the next few years, she might even have to consider a part-time job during the fall semester. Spring semester meant the spring show, and there would be no time for anything except for that.
"Tell. Me. Everything," Meg breathed.
Jamie tucked a long strand of dark blonde hair behind her ear and ducked her chin conspiratorily. "Well, from what I've heard, Deborah Bishop spent her summer in fragrante, if you catch my drift."
Christine cleared her throat. "Actually, it's flagrante."
The rest of the girls looked at her, as if suddenly noticing her sitting there. Jamie pursed her lips.
"Right." She gave Christine a lingering, curious look before turning back to Meg. "Anyways, Deb's been parading herself around campus, and wouldn't you know it? She's got half a carat per ear."
Meg gave a low whistle. "Wow. Never took her to be one of those."
Christine couldn't help but agree. If her memory served her, Christine could conjure up the imagine of a shy, mousey-looking girl who hardly spoke up in class. She kept mainly to herself, aside from a few close friends. In many ways, Christine could empathize with the girl. She too had tried to blend into the crowd, preferring not to draw attention to herself.
Until now, it seemed.
"Any word as to who her new sugar daddy is?" Meg inquired, taking a dainty sip.
Jamie shrugged, inspecting her chipping fingernails with distaste. "Not yet. The rumor mill has been pretty dry lately, but hopefully someone will know something soon."
The girls lingered for a few minutes longer before flouncing away, presumably to spread the news to as many people as they could.
Christine found the whole practice distasteful. As if the trend wasn't bad enough, the girls at the school insisted on perpetuating the rumors. It was a sorry cycle. She preferred ignorance.
"Anything of actual note we should look forward to this semester, other than our classmates' personal lives becoming the subject of university-wide discussion?"
Meg grimaced. "'Fraid not," she replied soothingly. She grinned suddenly. "Unless, of course, you want to talk about the ghost…"
Christine groaned. Just when she didn't think there was a topic she wanted to hear less about. "Not again, Meg."
Her friend gave a loud whine, so shrill Christine was surprised they did not attract more attention. "C'mon, Christine! I have to tell my theories to someone!"
"Don't your other dance majors enjoy superstition?" Christine asked, fishing around the bottom of her cup for lingering whipped cream.
"Yes, but I can't tell them. My mom might overhear me, and you know how her greatest joy in life is to squash rumors of any kind. Especially the ones about the ghost."
"I still don't see why I have to listen to your crazy talk," Christine said cheekily.
"Maybe because you're my best friend and you love me?" Meg gave her the best fluttering lashes and simpering smile in her arsenal.
"Or," Christine supplied, launching herself out of her seat to throw her empty cup away, "Maybe not."
Laughing, she walked away, an irritated Meg jumping up to follow close behind.
"Christine!"
The walk back to their shared dorm room was thankfully a short one. As undergrads, they were still required to live on campus, but being in their second year, they were given a better pick of the lot. After being randomly assigned as roommates in one of the dormitories farthest from campus, Christine and Meg had agreed to live in a closer, pricier dorm. The convenience could not be denied, and the privacy of a shared bathroom between them, rather than the rest of the girls on their floor, was downright luxurious.
Christine walked straight through the door of their dorm and entered the kitchenette. She took a direct left turn towards her bedroom, passing their tiny living room. Meg's room was located diagonally across from her, affording them both some privacy in the small space. They were on the first floor, which saved them any exhausted trips up and down a stairwell carrying laundry. It also opened up a whole new set of opportunities to sneak in and out without the other being the wiser. It was an idea Meg had supplied, and Christine had laughed at. As if she had someone or somewhere to sneak off to.
With a great oomph, she released about five books from her possession and let them fall with a giant plop onto her book. The girls had chosen to make a quick pit stop to the local bookstore, knowing they would have to take many such trips over the course of the week. The caffeine pit stop had certainly helped in their physical endeavor, but staring down at her books now, Christine was having trouble summoning up any more energy.
"Did you make it?" came Meg's muffled voice.
"Yes!" Christine chirped back, letting her hands fall to her hips with a sigh. She felt accomplished, and it was only 3 o'clock in the afternoon. She would have the rest of the afternoon to organize their shared space, begin outlining her schedule, look into part time jobs around campus…
It was with a quick glance at her class schedule that all her plans for the afternoon were dashed.
"Crap, crap, crap!"
Meg came rushing into her room, alarmed by her friend's outburst. "Christine? Are you okay?"
"Crap!" Christine replied back, running back out into the living room where her purse had fallen off of her shoulder in her hurry to reach her room.
"Hey, slow down, what's wrong?"
"I have intermediate music theory tomorrow, Meg! I forgot to get the book at the store!"
"So?" Meg asked carelessly, deeming the outburst low-priority and opened a cabinet to find a snack. "It's shopping week. You have time to get the text book. It's expected. The professor can't penalize you for that."
"But it's Professor Reyer," Christine replied back, digging through her bag to find the receipt. "He requires you to have the book on the first day, and there's a reading assessment before the first class!" The assembly had stripped all other thoughts from her mind. She had been a space case all afternoon.
"Alright, no stress," Meg soothed. "The store doesn't close until five, you have plenty of time to get back there and buy the book."
Christine nodded absently, already looking for her keys.
"Although," Meg said, a new thought forming, "You might want to make sure they even have the book before you go all the way back there. That's a pretty popular class, and I'm sure every other student had the same thought as you and went to the campus store to buy it."
Christine stopped what she was doing. "You're right! Thanks Meg!"
She felt Meg lazily eyeing her as she made her call, the silent scrape of a metal spoon against the inside of the peanut butter jar only half-occupying the dancer. She made the call directly, frowned, and hung up.
"No luck?" Meg asked sympathetically.
"Not so much," Christine said. "I think I'll have a better shot at the bookstore on 10th." She groaned. The store was almost half an hour away from campus, and she'd have to take a bus as well as the train. She briefly contemplated an Uber, but she really didn't have money to be frivolously throwing around.
Another call only proved that she'd have to make the trip. So much for her afternoon.
"Do you want me to come with?" Meg offered.
Christine shook her head. "No, that's okay. Thanks Meg," she said gratefully. "I'll be back in an hour or two. Dinner in the caf?"
"You know it," Meg said with a wink. Laughing, Christine gave her a small wave before walking back out the door.
In her first year, Christine had stuck pretty close to campus. She had explored DC during her orientation, but preferred to stay on campus during the school year. As a result, navigating DC was still somewhat confusing for her.
But she still enjoyed the city. She loved history, and being surrounded with the history of the country was magical. She especially loved when the cherry blossoms were in full bloom. The air was sweet, and the city was awash in excitement. She and Meg attended the festival, and promised that they would continue the tradition for as long as they stayed in DC.
Traffic was always bad in the late afternoon. Her trip to the bookstore took longer than she anticipated, but luckily, her book was waiting for her when she got to the store. The owner was so good as to hold it for her, smiling sympathetically when Christine frantically raced inside.
"No rush, dear, I'm still open for another hour."
Christine blushed. "Oh. Good! Great. Well, thank you. I might browse for a little while, then."
The store owner nodded in encouragement. It would give Christine a moment to catch her breath. She had a few more books to get anyway, and the fewer trips, the better.
She had been lost in her own little world of textbooks for about twenty minutes when the store owner came up to her. "Excuse me, miss?"
Christine looked up. She glanced around her. There was no one else in the store, so the woman was obviously intending to engage her. "Er, yes?"
"Do you know that young man lurking about outside? He's been standing outside the store for about ten minutes, looking at you. I think he's deciding whether or not he should come in."
Startled, Christine directed her gaze out the windows at the front of the store, searching for the young man. When she spotted him, she paled.
"Dear? Are you alright? Should I call the police?"
Christine turned back to the woman sharply. "No!" The woman started. "I'm sorry," Christine apologized. "I didn't mean to...that is…." She looked back out the window. "I just thought I had seen a ghost."
She smiled, giving the man outside an enthusiastic wave. His expression turned from wary to joyous. He matched her wave.
Christine turned back to the store owner. "Would you mind holding my book a little longer?"
The woman shook her head with a bemused smile. "Not at all."
Christine shot her a quick, "Thanks!" before heading outside.
"Christine Daae, as I live and breathe," the young man sad, meeting her on the sidewalk. "I could have sworn that was you when I passed by the window."
"And gave the book store owner a heart ache in the process," Christine teased. "She was about two heartbeats away from calling the cops."
The young man colored.
"Thankfully," Christine continued, "I came to your rescue." She gave him a saucy grin.
"Well, there's a first time for everything," he teased right back.
She laughed. Simultaneously, they moved towards one another and hugged.
"Raoul, it's so good to see you," Christine enthused, speaking into his ear.
Raoul squeezed her before stepping away. "It's good to see you too, Lotte. This is the last place I would have expected you!"
She laughed, tossing her head. "I know! But I'm not in politics. I'm going to school at Cartier."
His eyes lit up. "Cartier? Christine, that's amazing! That's a really good school, I hear!"
She shrugged good-naturedly. "Well, it's no Julliard. But I couldn't have gotten in there, anyways."
Raoul shook his head. "I doubt that. You were always amazing, Christine! I bet you could have gotten in anywhere you wanted."
She wanted to protest that she doubted it, and that had been the reason behind why she didn't bother applying, but let him keep his optimism.
"You're studying to be a singer, of course?" he half-asked, half-stated.
"I am," she confirmed. "And you, Raoul? What are you doing in DC? Last I heard you were still in New York."
"So were you," he teased. He gestured to his fine suit, as well as the briefcase he carried. "I go to Georgetown Law. And when I'm not frittering my life away in a classroom or library, I'm volunteering with Philippe's office."
A few years ago, Christine had been pleasantly surprised and somewhat amused to learn that Philippe, Raoul's significantly older brother, had landed a senator's seat for the state of New York. Christine knew that Raoul's family had always been very connected politically, with his uncle being the former mayor of Albany and his grandfather being the governor. He came from a long line of New York politicians, and was expected to follow in their footsteps. With Raoul's charm, good looks, and good intentions, she had no doubt that he would be the kind of person to change the world.
"That's so great, Raoul," she gushed. "I always knew you were destined to save the world."
Raoul blushed, his pleasure evident. "Well, I don't know about all that."
Christine cuffed him on the shoulder. "Well, I do! I remember all those games of superheroes. You always wanted to be Superman in those."
"And you always wanted to be Supergirl, even though the obvious choice was Lois Lane."
"And I told you that I didn't want to be the damsel in distress," she laughed. "I wanted cool super powers too!"
He held up his hands placatingly. "Fair enough," he said with a laugh. "So," he hedged, "Any chance we can continue this somewhere with menus and horrible fluorescent lighting?"
"I'm pretty sure there aren't any McDonald's around here, Raoul," she teased.
"Har, har." Raoul ran a hand through his hand. "No, really. How about grabbing some dinner? My treat. You can tell me all about what you've been up to these past...what has it been, three years?"
"Four," she automatically corrected.
He smirked at her slip.
She pointed her tongue in his direction in retribution.
Raoul chuckled. "I'll take it that's a yes?"
She hesitated. "I don't know, Raoul. I promised my friend we'd grab dinner together at the cafeteria on campus…"
Raoul made a face. "Please, Christine. Indulge an old friend and let me take you out to a proper meal. And besides, it's rush hour. You won't get back to campus for at least an hour. You'll be starving by then, and you'll have made your friend wait, too. She'll understand, I'm sure?"
Christine didn't doubt it. They got dinner together almost every night; it wasn't a special occasion. In any case, she knew that if she told Meg she rejected Raoul in favor of a regular school meal, she would never hear the end of it.
"Okay, sure, why not. I'll text my friend, grab my books and we'll be off."
"That's the famous Daae appetite talking!"