A/N. My homage to The Phantom of the Opera. All the events are taking place in modern times and I'm creating new characters for the Phantom side of it (although most of the new characters will be based off actual Phantom characters, and in some instances where I loved their names too much to change them I kept the original name they had in the Phantom, like Christine). There will be a ton of buried references to PHOTO...just because I can. If, however, you've never seen the show or read the book or heard the story, this still should make sense as a casefile (I hope--also, you really should see the show or read the book or hear the story).
I don't own Criminal Intent or The Phantom of the Opera. Will probably be T for language at some point, because, try as I might, my own vocabulary tends to filter into these stories.
***
Prologue – A Bright New Year
The baby was trying to wake up so he sang to her, gently, softly, tenderly, stroking her impossibly smooth head of hair.
This, this is what humanity should be. Innocent. Unvarnished. Quiet, and gentle, and easy. Not people shouting and shoving and judgment and chaos and random moments spliced all together.
But it's safe here, below these floors. This isn't part of the world.
So sleep on, baby.
Ignore the fireworks and gunshots and drunken shouting, for that world does not belong to you.
You're going to change the world.
And Erik's going to change it with you.
***
Anderson took Franklin's hand and they stood back and surveyed their theater as fireworks and squeals went off in the background.
"A new year," Franklin murmured, his voice soft with wonder.
Anderson checked his watch. "We open in…17 hours."
"I'm nervous."
"Don't be. What could go wrong? It'll be fine."
The star of the show, Charlotte, lurched by waving an empty bottle. "'Ere, where'd Jackie go? Said e'd get 'smore voddy, bastard."
"It'll be fine," Anderson said again, feeling Franklin's hand in his starting to sweat. "She has nearly an entire day to sober up before she has to sing."
The theater, glowing so brightly with the lighting they'd spent thousands on, suddenly blanked out into darkness.
"Fine," Anderson whispered unconvincingly. "Maybe…I'll go call the electrician."
And the electrician staggered by after Charlotte, stumbling over his feet in the dirt and falling flat on his face.
"It's…"
"It's beyond imagination, is what it is," Franklin muttered. "Come on. Let's go see what damage has been done for tonight."
And they set off.
***
Outside, the raucousness of the new year set in. It woke her up. But the muted sounds from outside echoed in, and the room was suddenly too quiet.
Christine opened her eyes into the darkness and squinted around for the bassinet by her bed. For her baby. For Rachel, who hadn't woken up crying at all this night.
She could hardly keep her eyes open. Hadn't felt like this since giving birth four months ago and dealing with the aftereffects of the epidural, which numbed not only the physical pain but everything until she just wanted to sleep, and sleep, and sleep some more.
She waved her fingers in the air until they hit the bassinet.
Eyes growing heavier.
Fingers plunging underneath empty blankets. Rachel should be right there, her little breathing body warm under layers of fleece and cotton.
So tired.
Where's Rachel?
A curtain rustled, or perhaps a door.
The soft notes of a song.
A pinprick.
And then, nothing.
***
Another stakeout, another New Year's Eve spent working as the ball dropped in Times Square and criminals plotted to assassinate the mayor.
They were huddled together for warmth, hands wrapped around hot chocolate, when the ball dropped.
Another year past of Goren and Eames, of partnership and cases and nothing more.
And everyone around them was kissing the year in, but not them.
Happy New Year.
