"Leave your stuff outside," she instructed him coldly.

"I can't do that. This is everything that I own," his grip tightening on the violin case.

"Then you don't come inside."

At the flare of emotion in his eyes, Christine eased off. Just a little. "The door's staying open, so you'll be able to keep an eye on your things," she said grudgingly. "Besides...I don't think anyone around this dump is all that desperate," her eyes dropping to his grungy duffel bag and the equally scruffy violin case, "for that."

Erik reluctantly set his things down and took a hesitant step across the threshold.

They stared at one another.

She hadn't realized how tall he was. Very intimidating this close, looming over her like a skinny bird of prey. And like a bird of prey, his eyes had a freaky directness that was disturbing in the extreme. Blink, dammit. It was beyond silly to say that they appeared hawkish, but that is what came to mind, the irides a shade of such a pale golden brown, that they stood out clearly against the black of his pupils.

Yep. They were yellow. The dude had yellow eyes.

Letting him in may have been the last godawful mistake she ever made. Way to go, Christine. You even screw up your life with men you don't know.

He wasn't impressed with her at all. The eye that had peered so suspiciously at him through the peep hole, was matched by another equally bloodshot blue eye. Shoulder length dishwater blonde hair in messy disarray, framed a heart-shaped face bare of any make-up. Rumpled clothing covered a small slender frame with very little of the attributes which the male of the species was attracted to. To him, she appeared more like an over-grown child playing dress-up and not doing a very good job of it. An aggressive stance warred with a defeated look, paired with those puffy eyes and a red nose. No head cold then. Simply too many waterworks.

"Talk."

"May I sit down first?" his voice coolly polite.

"No." She stood there, arms folded across her chest, tapping one foot impatiently.

He stared at her in damp misery. "You, I believe, have an attitude problem. You are not a woman given to sympathy for anyone but yourself. And you are far too cynical for one so young." Ouch. He put out a placating hand, attempting to repair his harsh words. "I didn't...excuse my-"

"I'm old enough to know a problem when it's standing right in front of me!" her narrowed eyes daring him to say anything more about her age or lack of it.

He got the message. Loud and clear, but his pruning toes and stinging face were not helping him at the moment. "I meant no disrespect to you, ma'am, but we have a situation here, and your lack of tolerance is not allowing us to come to an expeditious resolution."

"My, but you are a wordy one, aren't you?"

"Then let me interpret that, if I may," his attitude that of a frustrated teacher trying to reach a thick headed student. "Your... hostility, is keeping me from a hot shower and a much needed belt of brandy. Does that satisfy you?"

As Christine's cheeks flushed a dull red, she was nevertheless having none of it, already regretting letting him in. But she intended to bluff her way through. Marie Daae's little girl would go down fighting. She put hands on hips, her stance aggressive. "I know what you meant! I just didn't think you needed to say it with so much hot air! You have a hellava nerve barging in here and bashing my character! Attitude problem, huh?" waving an indignant finger at him. "Well, you have an altitude problem," she declared assertively. "How often do you hit your head on the door lintel?"

"A time or two," he was forced to admit, shifting from one foot to the other.

Christine snorted disparagingly as she looked him up and down. "I'd say more than a time or two, fella."

He mimicked her, folding his arms across his chest, and stared down his fake nose at her. "What does this have to do with our present circumstances?"

"Not one damn thing! I was hoping you would have disappeared by now; this being only a nasty dream as I napped by the pool in sunny Florida. Oh, look! Here comes that sexy cabana boy bringing me a pina colada with one of those cute little umbrellas in it! But, nooo-"

You don't mince words, do you, lady?" his temper back up and running, his tired and soggy state having much to do with it. That, and the ratty little she-devil in front of him. Slightly desperate, he searched for his Happy Place. "You remain decidedly hostile, so why invite me in then?"

"I was hoping you'd see reason and hand over that key. I-"

"Mom? Even if we're not... Sorry." Min stopped and glanced shyly at the man now taking up space in their small kitchen, her eyes widening when he turned and faced her.

"Go to your room, Min. Now."

The girl knew that tone of voice, the tone that said, 'you are arriving at the location of my last nerve. Do you wish to proceed?' She did not. Not with the weepy, angry, despairing mood her mother had been in since getting home this afternoon. Regardless, she managed a smile for the man who looked like he could use one.

"Hi."

His strange eyes settled on her and warmed a bit at this first show of welcome, however small, since finding himself on the outs with the acrimonious and bitter woman now glaring at him.

"Hello," he replied to the little girl who looked no more than six or seven. A pair of tortoiseshell glasses were perched on her small delicate face, one of the blue eyes closely observing him, tracking slightly outward. She had fine, light brown hair pulled into a pony tail, and wore a graphic tee of a tiny ballerina in pink, sitting on a flower bedecked swing. It proclaimed the wearer to be a Tutu Girl.

Sweet and innocuous.

Something her mother was not.

He turned back to the woman and his traitorous eyes were suddenly playing mind games with him. It was hardly the first time. He shook his head slightly to dislodge the image of her in a tee shirt proclaiming her to be a 'pistol packin' mama', and pictured above the block letters, a militant woman with a very large rifle, slung with multiple bandoleers and a knife between her teeth.

He blinked several times, the vision thankfully fading, his eyes instead settling on her linen trousers and limp white blouse. Obviously, she wasn't into making fashion statements. He glanced surreptitiously around, looking for the professed gun, relieved to see no such thing. Perhaps she was just bluffing him.

Christine watched the man curiously. "Hey, you all right there? You look a little spooked."

"I'm perfectly fine." Or will be once I figure out where you have stashed your firepower.

Not taking her eyes off of him, she spoke curtly to her daughter, "Araminta. To your room. Now."

One last look behind her and Min decided to scoot as her mother suggested.

Erik got back to the matter at hand. "This can only go one way, ma'am. The apartment has been sublet. To me."

She gestured to his face. "What's goin' on there?"

He blew out an exasperated sigh. "Not that it's any of your business, but since I am trying to sell you," he swept an oddly graceful hand down his thin body," on my suitability to live in...my apartment, I will say it again." Erik paused and looked down at his worn boots, a shiver causing him to hunch his shoulders. He thought longingly of his sock wrapped brandy. "I don't suppose since you have not extended me the courtesy of a seat, that you would have a cup of hot coffee to offer?"

"No," she said again, waiting. Her foot continued to tap against the dingy floor. Tap, tap, tap.

Erik shut out that annoying cadence, his ears forever attuned to rhythm however primitive, and pursed his lips in disappointment as another long shudder ran up his back. He would remain calm and reasonable, reaching his goal of ejecting the cold eyed shrew that much quicker. "It is a birth defect that I hide. I spare you and others the need to look at it."

"Show me."

"That I will not do," he replied unequivocally. "You will have to accept my words as the truth."

"Why should I?"

"You have no choice," he pointed out quietly.

"This has been our home for two years!" she cried in frustration. "All of our things are here. My daughter goes to school in this neighborhood. She enjoys it. She's made friends!"

"And you think this a safe neighborhood for your little child?"

She moved a bit closer, as though to poke him in the chest just to get her point across.

Not a prudent move.

He had been poked and prodded enough for two lifetimes.

The woman again saw something unnerving in his eyes, for she took a small step backward. "I have been screwed over more than enough for one day, and barring the cops coming and removing us bodily, I'm. not. budging."

"What's your name?"

He had caught her unawares, as she prepared to share more of her mind with him. The angry part. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I would like a name to go with the face when I call the local police to escort you out of here."

Christine actually growled at that, until she saw his horrible smile lurking on that otherwise weirdly blank face.

Erik put up hands as though to stop her from attacking him, and said soothingly, "Only a little stab at humor to lighten the mood."

"Then you need to work on that, buddy, because I don't find it funny at all."

"Yes," he replied evenly, "I should. I have no intention of calling the police, but I would like to know the name of the lady who had Nadir Khan's heart for a short while."

The fight went out of her so suddenly, he was left with the impression of a wind up doll whose spring had sprung. She collapsed into a chair and looked up at him, before nodding to the one across from her.

"Sit."

He sat.

"Christine de Chagny. The biggest chump in the world for falling for a great smile and oodles of charm," she mumbled, still warily keeping her eyes on him.

"That would be Nadir Khan, all right," he said mildly, folding himself into the rickety chair. "He of the big white grin and greasy charm." It felt good to be sitting down instead of looming over a slip of a woman with a large chip on her shoulder. "Look," he began, gauging her for a reaction to what he was about to say. First, he had to eliminate other possibilities before committing himself to one very big-assed headache. "Is there anywhere else you could go? A relative or a friend perhaps?"

She had already begun shaking her head, neatly removing that hopeful possibility. "I have a good friend, but she's in the process of moving into an even smaller loft apartment. She could put us up for a while, I guess, but that's all. Min's uncle is a great guy and kinda dotes on his niece, but he lives in London and we're lucky if we see him once a year. Besides, this is my messy life- I'd rather keep Phil out of it. My parents are dead, and I was an only child." Christine propped her chin in hand, wearily contemplating the very strange man across from her. "That cover just about everyone for you?"

"Well, what about your daughter's father? Where is he?" and was nonplussed to hear her laugh harshly.

"We are divorced, Mr. Girard. Raoul would rather chase down the habitat of the Hairy-Nosed Wombat or the Gooty Tarantula, rather than tuck his only daughter into bed at night. I would imagine that is where he is now. Somewhere on the other side of the world watching the blue tit molt."

"The blue...what?"

She sighed with dreary resignation. "He's a zoologist and is rarely at home. Looking back, I suppose he wasn't even with us when he was with us. Always had his nose in a book. I guess if we'd been an endangered species instead of just ordinary Homo saps, he would have shown some interest."

"Homo sapiens," he corrected automatically.

She stared at him crossly. "I know how to pronounce it! It just happens to be how I feel at the moment. A big dumb sap." She sniffed. "As if a zoologist would be interested in human birds and bees. Ha!"

"He must have been interested at least once," Erik pointed out.

"Yeah, before he discovered the www," she sneered.

"The internet?"

Christine shook her head irritably. "Wonderful world of wombats."

He forced the snicker back out of sight and eyed her with no small amount of surprise. "You went from a scientist to a down and out actor?"

"Pathetic, I know, but I always had a soft spot for handsome m-" she dropped her eyes from his, adding embarrassment to the seat of her emotional roller coaster today. "Hey, this isn't getting us anywhere! I suppose you have no other options for a place to crash, huh?"

"Don't you receive money from your former husband for the care and feeding of your child?"

"When he remembers to send it, I do. I provide for my daughter, Mr. Girard, and she lacks for nothing. She has an account set up in her name from the divorce settlement, which takes care of all of her needs until she becomes an adult. If I have to, I could withdraw some of those funds for a roof over our heads, but I'd rather not until it becomes inevitable, or my little girl will have diddly squat for college. Now maybe you'll answer my question. Nowhere else to go?"

He shook his head, studying her tired features with such intensity, that her slight thaw toward him iced up immediately.

"What are you staring at?"

"My new roommate?" he replied rather timidly for such a menacing figure.

"Huh?"

To him, she had the vapid appearance of an unruly mental patient given haloperidol; the only thing missing at the moment, was the drool sliding from lip to chin. And the shakes. Must not forget those. Inwardly, he sniffed. She might be drawn to handsome men, but what in blue blazes did they see in her?

Erik's gaze was one of abject pity for the dull minded woman, and proceeded to list the pros to sharing the apartment. He ticked them off on unnaturally long digits, and Christine followed their movements nearly mesmerized. "You have nowhere to go, but you have a key. I have nowhere to go, and also have a key. We would be hard pressed keeping one another out. Whether you believe me or not, I really don't care to have you evicted. I know treachery and all of its pitfalls from experience, so I am not entirely unmoved by your circumstances. You have a daughter and a job to go to in the morning," he glanced briefly at his watch, "not so very long from now, either. I have a new job I am starting in the morning. This apartment has two bedrooms and ample space for the addition of a quiet gentleman who would be more than willing to split the rent.

"And pay for his own food," he added as an inducement.

"But I don't know you! How can you possibly suggest that I allow you to sleep under my roof with my young daughter just across the hall? That...that's absurd!" she sputtered.

"How well did you know Nadir Khan?" and he could see that his question had hit the mark. "Besides... I don't know you either! You could well be a woman of Lizzy Borden's ilk! Ready to murder a poor defenseless man in his bed," to which Christine let out a loud snort. "But to clarify your last point...you will be sleeping under my roof."

He rose to his feet, and Christine got to hers as well, watching him closely. "W-Where are you going?"

Erik walked to just outside the door where his duffel and violin case were slumped against the wall. "My phone is dead and I need to make a call."

She came up behind him. "Thought of someplace to stay?" her relief making her light-headed.

"No, I am going downstairs and speak with the manager. If I get no satisfaction, I will bring the police in to have you and your daughter evicted."

"Wait a minute! I thought you were only kidding about the cops!"

"I seem to have been wrong about that," he answered with an air of finality, bending to retrieve his things, "so expect to... "

"I accept."

Christine watched as he turned to her, his damned bony Adam's apple convulsing as he processed this. She was forced to admire his quick recovery, as he straightened up and met her eyes.

She shrugged, giving him a very weak smile. "I may be stubborn, but I'm not stupid." *

"Should we go into the particulars now?" he said with a mixture of surprise and relief.

"You weren't really expecting that, were you?"

"No," he replied honestly.

"Tomorrow is soon enough to go over details," as she sped past him to her daughter's bedroom. "Min! Get your things. You're moving in with Mom tonight."

The next forty-five minutes were a mad rush to rearrange the rooms. The little girl accepted the new status quo like one long inured to changes in her young life. Which, Erik reflected, was not far from the truth. Stability didn't seem big on her mother's to-do list.

He mostly stayed out of their way as they passed each other in the hall, carrying her possessions to their new resting place. At one point, the girl became over zealous as she precariously balanced a pile of books stuck beneath her small chin, and a few hit the floor.

Min went to her knees to scoop up her books, when a skeletal hand got there before her, and carefully added them back to the top of the pile. She looked up gratefully, her eyes dilating slightly at his appearance this close as he hunkered down beside her. She got to her feet. "Thanks, mister."

"You are welcome, Miss de Chagny," and felt a tiny curl of gratitude that she didn't seem to fear him.

She giggled at the formality. "It's Min! That's what everyone calls me."

"Your name is Araminta, is it not?"

"Uh huh. I'm named for my great granma Daae."

"May I call you Araminta then?"

"Why?"

"Just to be different."

"Min shrugged. "I guess so." She wrinkled her brow. "But what do I call you?"

Christine rushing by with a load of sheets, spoke as she shoved them into a hamper. "His name is Mr. Girard. He is your elder and that's how you address him."

"We will be sharing an apartment though. I think we can dispense with the formalities, don't you?" Erik stated.

"Suit yourself," Christine muttered, as she stuck her head in the linen closet and started grabbing fresh bedding off of the shelves.

"My name is Erik, and I am pleased to meet you, Araminta."

"Likewise," she said solemnly, as she balanced her load of books, and slowly duck walked into her mother's bedroom.

Erik followed Christine into his room and watched for a moment as she set neatly folded sheets and blankets on the small bed in the left back corner of the room. Next to it was an ancient wooden desk, sitting beneath the room's only window. A computer screen took up half the desk's surface, the rest of it occupied by a little brown creature running busily and going absolutely nowhere on a plastic wheel in a bright red cage.

He watched it glumly. I know exactly how you feel, fella.

Christine caught him looking at the cage. "That's Scooby Doo, Min's gerbil. We'll have him outta here by tomorrow. We have to make some room first. Meantime, here's sheets and blankets for your bed. Oh, and there's fresh towels in the hallway closet. Help yourself."

He eyed the narrow twin bed with misgiving. He might manage to get half of his body on it- the rest would be hanging out in space.

He sighed, considering it the lesser of two evils at the moment; he needed to remove the silicone from his face and take a hot shower.

"I can manage now, Mrs. de Chagny. Go help your daughter."

"Ugh. You can drop the title. You may as well call me Christine. We are one big happy family," she said with one big portion of bitterness.

Carefully ignoring the sarcasm, he said evenly, "And I am Erik. We are finally getting somewhere. We are nearly friends," he added hurriedly, moving in her direction and herding her unobtrusively toward the door. "Goodnight... Christine."

She paused and studied him. Out with the old- in with the new. Boy, and how. "We need to establish some ground rules before we go any further."

"And we will, we will." He searched for patience, the skin on his face clamoring loudly for attention. "However, at the moment I would like to unpack. It has been a long day."

Christine didn't budge as she rattled off the restrictions she was imposing on her new roommate. "I don't do your laundry. You will clean up after yourself. We take turns using the kitchen. I have a growing daughter to care for, therefore I get first crack at meal prep. Oh yeah...no dirty dishes are to be left piled in the sink, and this is important- no booze lying about where my daughter can see it," she stipulated crisply. "No late night friends, especially those of the feminine persuasion. One last thing, and this is crucial. Do not leave the toilet seat up. We outnumber you and demand some male courtesy. Clear?"

"Perfectly," he replied mildly, hands on narrow hips, slightly off-kilter that she actually considered him the sort to invite women in. Or that they would be interested enough to come. "Now it is your turn to listen," his mouth becoming grimmer as he stood there. "My room is off limits to you and your daughter. I will respect your privacy if you respect mine, and for your information, I do not pollute my body with an excessive amount of cheap alcohol on a regular basis. I never over-indulge. I already have more than enough strikes against me to add another and become a blithering idiot! Also, I do not appreciate any loud squawking from that idiot box in your living room, so please keep the volume down low."

He cocked his head as he considered her. "Also I would appreciate it if both of you ladies keep any and all of your unmentionables out of my sight. No panties drying on a line strung in the bathroom." *

"Now you wait just one damned minute! What we do in our-"

"Uh, uh, uh," shaking a thin finger at her. "It is no longer just the two of you. We must share this abode, and may I add...from the innate goodness of my heart, that I allow you to do so...so you must be aware of my sensibilities and accord me some courtesy as the only male in our little household."

"You're turning my own words back on me!" she accused him.

"Am I?" he asked innocently, and pretended to consider it. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"Nadir never had so many restrictions," she grumbled, knowing she was losing this particular argument.

Erik made a point of glancing around the room. "Ah, but Khan is no longer in the picture, is he?" He spread his hands in a gesture of appeasement. "Perhaps you may be pleasantly surprised at how things work out for the better."

She moved to the door, hesitating as she looked back at him with weary eyes. "Nothing has ever worked out in my life. I just try to stay a little bit ahead of the next shit storm. Just remember, Erik, that my door will be locked, I have a gun-"

"Yes, yes. I know. You have a gun and know how to use it. We have established that already. Maybe I am the one to beware. You are a very aggressive woman."

She smiled a wintry smile. "Exactly."

"Goodnight."

She looked him up and down with distaste. "I was working on goodbye." *

He locked the door after her and sat down on the edge of the bed, slowly peeling the mask from his face, wincing as air hit the abraded skin. "What the hell have I gone and done now?"

Bleary eyed, Christine sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes.

Music.

She heard friggin' violin music at...she leaned over and squinted at the clock radio. Twelve damned thirty in the morning. She turned around and regarded her daughter, peacefully asleep beside her, curled up in a tiny ball and lost to the world.

Well, she wasn't going to let that amazingly irritating man come into her home and do whatever he pleased! She had a growing child who needed her sleep to stay healthy. Min seemed to agree with her as she began to lightly snore. What Mr. Erik Girard needed was a set down, and she was the gal to give it to him.

She slid out of bed searching in the dark for her robe. Belting it tightly around her slender waist, she felt her way to the door and unlocked it.

His bow glided across the strings, the melody soothing and restful, just the thing for getting in the mood to sleep. This Mozart piece was a beautiful sigh, an exhalation of relief...a quiet, soothing interlude.

He definitely needed one of those.

A firm rapping on his door had him guessing correctly that the resident shrew had a protest to lodge.

An ax to grind.

Pick your cliché.

"We have a guest, Mr. Doo," he remarked with calm resignation to the gerbil, who remained curled up asleep in his cube. "Yes, you have the liberty to ignore her, but I do not."

He reached over and quickly donned the white cotton mask sitting on the nightstand, before unfolding his legs and getting up. Erik reverently placed his violin on the tiny bed and glanced down at his navy sleep pants, making sure everything was tucked away as it should be; it had been years since he last shared living quarters with the tenderer sex.

He snorted. The tenderer sex- and Christine.

At the last moment he threw on the damp shirt he had only recently removed, and opened the door to find a glowering face staring at him, surrounded by what looked like a large mouse nest. Oh. It was her hair. "It's rather late, Christine. I would invite you in, but I have a reputation to maintain," he said evenly, quickly smothering his amusement as she stiffened in indignation.

He wondered what he had done now.

Erik thought back to his shower. Wet towel neatly folded? Check.

Dirty clothes removed from bathroom? Check.

Toilet seat down? God, yes.

He faced her with a clean conscience, a tiny smile quickly suppressed.

She watched him closely for any sign of mockery- and saw none. "Your reputation is definitely safe with me. I merely wanted to lodge my first complaint."

"Can't this wait until morning?"

"It is morning, and my daughter isn't getting her usual sleep," telling the lie as though she really believed it. Min was as unmoving as a wet sack of cement. Except for the snore.

She peeked round him into the room, noting a fat, dogeared paperback of the collected works of Shakespeare. They all fit in a paperback? It was on the small nightstand with the wobbly leg, and the violin which had awakened her, now lay innocently on his bed. She stared briefly at the culprit before zeroing in on the white mask.

This was too weird. "I won't take long." She didn't allow her gaze to linger below his neck, but it was enough to know that he wore another color besides black. The wrinkled shirt from earlier that evening was now thrown over a washed out gray tee; squinting, she made out the faded lettering, Violinists do it in the orchestra pit.

Christine rolled her eyes at that, and gestured to the instrument on the bed. "My daughter needs her rest."

"Yes. You have already been kind enough to point that out." Bracing an arm on the door jamb, he gazed regally down at her.

"Min has to go to school, and I have to start looking for a job. Who wants to hire a singer if she falls asleep in the middle of her audition?"

Two things got Erik's attention real fast. "You sing? Opera? Modern? Or...or jazz? I unwind sometimes with jazz," his voice leaving boredom behind and latching onto eagerness. What is your range? I thought you said..."

"Whoa, whoa...whoa," Christine protested. "You're making me almost dizzy from this about face. No pun intended."

"None taken," he replied, studying her in a new light. Soprano. Maybe. Mezzo? No, not so strong. Lyric? Perhaps, mentally rubbing bony hands together.

She didn't care at all for his calculating scrutiny. Too much like Ray the time he got that book called Marvelous Creatures and Where They Hide. He had disappeared for three months searching for the Spiny Lumpsucker. "Why the sudden interest in what I do? Yeah, I sing. If that's what you want to call it. Piano bars mostly; a few of the better nightclubs... occasionally. Why? What's the big deal?"

"Well, my new employment tomorrow...I mean today, is keyboard and frontman with the band at the LipSync Club." He stared at her as though he had found a forever friend. "Imagine finding two musicians sharing an apartment. It must be fate, Christine."

"Yeah, fate," she said unimpressed. "I wish fate would just leave me the hell alone. Find someone else to play with."

His enthusiasm dimmed to a marked degree. No doubt if he had been endowed with a handsome face and toned body with more muscles than brain cells, she would be dancing to a different tune. He cocked his head at her. "You explained to me that you needed to be up for work today. Not searching for it."

"Yeah, well...I lied," she responded, having the temerity to smirk at him. "I didn't want you knowing everything about me. I did have a job up until three weeks ago, but the bar folded, and Nadir got the acting job in Miami, so..."

"So you were looking forward to a change of scenery until Khan made the scene change for Act II and decided to go with the understudy."

Christine regarded him with a marginal interest, before replying. "Yeah, you could say that. You know Erik, you're a pretty astute guy for having an asshole for a friend."

"Ex-friend. And may I remind you that he was your boyfriend? Maybe we are birds of a feather, Christine."

"Yeah, we could start the Twenty Watt Club, or better yet, The Dim Bulbs." She allowed the ghost of a smile to linger before becoming all business again. "So, will you cease and desist the playing until we are awake and able to defend ourselves with earplugs?"

He began to shut the door, his view becoming less and less of the irate woman standing in the hall. "Yes, I will. Just as soon as I am able to sleep. Good night again."

The door was shut and locked before she could move. She raised her hand to knock, when the beautiful music began again. Mozart in A major. Soothing. Stunning. Absolutely stunning. For some strange reason, instead of feeling better, her eyes welled with tears. Was she getting so cynical and bitter, that telling him how beautifully he played was too large of a reach for her?

She shuffled back to bed and slipped in beside her daughter. She preferred to hang on to her anger a little while longer. She turned and viciously punched her pillow, accidentally elbowing Min in the side.

"Ow! Whaat?" she croaked, her head poking out of the comforter like a turtle coming out of its shell.

Christine huffed, feeling justified now that the little girl was awake. "Did the noise wake you, honey?"

Min yawned hugely. "No, you did," * and slid easily back into sleep.

Christine nearly choked on a despondent sigh. She turned over and found herself listening to the violin. He was working on the coda. Beautifully done, and remarkably well, for a piece played without a score. Her respect for him went up a notch. A teeny notch. She was turning over a new leaf. Which did not include men. In any way, shape or form. Her eyelids were growing heavy. After a day like today, that was a freakin' miracle.

"Well, Scarlett. Tomorrow is another day," she whispered.

And the music played on.