Ah! All of the reviews I've gotten for this story so far are super encouraging! Thanks so much for the support, guys!
Also, in response to a question I got from a reader, the story IS set in Washington, DC, and "the Shah" is just a nickname that a local organized crime leader has earned. Because most of my knowledge of organized crime comes from watching James Bond movies, where characters like "Jaws" exist, so I assume all criminals have nifty nicknames. There's no actual political associations with the title.
I did some research into DC's crime and drug culture for this (which hopefully didn't get my google account flagged) and discovered that, while a majority of the heroin smuggled into the US comes from Mexico, a portion also gets smuggled in from an area known as the "Golden Crescent", which includes Afghanistan, Pakistan, and Iran. So my Shah is an Iranian ex-pat who works with his connections from back home to smuggle and traffic significant amounts of heroin into the city. As well as dabbling in other assorted criminal enterprises. I appreciate the question and I'm happy to answer any others that people have!
A quick sidenote: for most of the dance routines mentioned whenever Erik's at the burlesque club, I've found some youtube videos with choreography that serve as my inspiration. I would post them on here, but FF doesn't like links. So if anyone wants me to share those with them, just let me known in a review or a PM and I'll figure out a way to pass them along!
Surely it said something about Erik's character that he had faced off with a gang of drug smugglers without so much as blinking, but the prospect of entering a nightclub was enough to have his heart pounding out of his chest. Yet he couldn't seem to help the fear that gripped him as he entered Madame Giry's. With every step that he took further into the club, he became more and more convinced that he must have misinterpreted the events of two weeks ago. Surely Christine's camaraderie had just been the product of extreme circumstances that night, of her seeking comfort from the nearest available person, regardless of who it was. When she saw him tonight, she would no doubt smile politely and make quick excuses for why she had to be anywhere but where he was…
The insidious voice whispering doubts in his ear wasn't enough to keep his eyes from scoping out the club in search of her, and he felt a curious rush of disappointment and relief when his search proved fruitless. He was desperately anxious to see her again, and yet… If she wasn't here to reject him, then at least he could go on another day deluding himself into thinking that she could possibly consider him a friend.
On leaden feet, he walked up the stairs and towards the balcony where Siavash was currently holding court in a circular booth, a woman in a slinky silver cocktail dress plastered to his side and a bevy of cigar-smoking henchmen arrayed around him. He looked like a bad gangster movie stereotype, and Erik had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.
"Ah, there you are," Siavash proclaimed once he spied Erik's approach. "Nadir tells me the negotiations went well?"
"They were amenable to our terms," Erik replied evenly. He crossed his arms and looked at Siavash expectantly.
"Oh, alright. I got all the details I needed from Nadir, thankfully, so I won't try to force you into any conversation. It's like pulling teeth... Here." He casually slipped Erik a small envelope under the table. Erik pocketed it and turned to leave, but froze momentarily at the Shah's parting comment, delivered in a sly voice. "You might want to stick around for a bit. Something tells me you'll enjoy this next routine."
Erik forced himself to walk away without turning or giving any indication that the words had affected him. But he only got as far as the bar before his legs stopped following his commands to exit the building. He desperately didn't want to give Siavash the satisfaction of seeing his teasing hit home. And yet, if he really was implying that she was there…
And then it was too late. The muscular, shirtless man on the stage finished his rendition of Bad Things, and Christine and a stunning, dark-haired woman he recognized as Madame Giry's daughter took his place. They were both dressed in cropped black halter tops, tight leather shorts, fishnet stockings, and thigh-high stiletto boots with impossibly tall heels. Erik had a brief moment of sympathy for what Christine had meant by truly impractical footwear, but then the music started up and he lost all capacity for higher thought.
The song, Teeth by Lady Gaga, was a popular radio hit that Erik generally found less irksome than most. It was aggressive in its sexuality, and the choreography was written to match, all hard kicks and sharp thrusts interspersed by long, languid rolls of the body, with Meg and Christine taking turns between singing lead and doing the more strenuous dance moves. And Christ how was it possible that this was the same girl who had sung so sweetly and coyly the last time he saw her? There was nothing coy about this raw seduction, and Erik felt want flow through him with a strength that was almost physically painful, as he hadn't experienced since his first years of puberty, before he had taught himself to ignore the pointless cravings.
Blue eyes locked unexpectedly with his, and all the air fled from his lungs. His heart pounded in his chest, almost in rhythm with the song, waiting for her to rip her gaze away and studiously avoid him for the rest of the number. But then she smiled. The grin was playful and wicked and perfectly in character with the routine, but it was the glow of genuine excitement that lit up her eyes that had his pulse picking up impossibly faster.
For the rest of the performance, her gaze kept flicking back to his, and oh, oh, this feeling consuming him was surely torture of the most exquisite kind. The song finally ended, and Erik walked unsteadily to the same table Christine had seated him at during their previous encounter. He placed his head in his hands and focused on composing himself, and had nearly gotten his heartrate under control when a playful voice sent it spiking again.
"Hey there, stranger."
He jerked his head up to spy Christine standing in front of him with her hands cocked on her hips.
"I was starting to wonder when I was gonna see you again."
She had been wondering about him? Erik cleared his throat nervously. "I apologize," he declared, then winced at himself. What exactly was he apologizing for? Saying she'd wondered when she'd see him again wasn't an admission that she had actually missed him in his absence. "I was called away on business this past week."
"Oh yeah? Anywhere fun?"
"Toronto." And then, with a tentative hint of a smirk, "It was very exotic."
Christine chuckled. And oh, look, her laughter hadn't lost any of its potency in setting his blood racing.
"And how is Canada this time of year?" she teased.
"Cold."
She snorted in amusement, even as she rolled her eyes at him. "Well it's nice to have you back, traveler. Can I fetch you a drink?"
"Only if I'm allowed to pay for it, this time."
"What a strange man you are."
Erik stiffened instinctively at the descriptor. Freak, monster, sideshow…. The familiar slurs played through his head on repeat, reminding him of all the times people had remarked upon what an oddity he was in the past. Although… None of them had ever grinned at him like that when they did so.
Christine slipped away before she could notice his reaction, and Erik forced himself to relax again. It was surprisingly easy to do, when he allowed himself to consider the simple fact that, somehow, impossibly, Christine seemed genuinely happy to see him again. He waited impatiently while she took care of her other tables, then sat up straight and tugged nervously at the cuffs of his blazer when she approached.
Christine's eyes followed his movements, and she smiled as she set a vodka tonic in front of him. "You know, I was kind of partial to the rockstar look you had going for you last time, but I have to admit that you clean up nice."
Erik ran a hand self-consciously down the charcoal dress shirt he had paired with a fitted black suit. "The last time I was here, I hadn't intended to hang around. This time I thought I might as well try to follow the dress code. I stick out enough as it is," he finished in a bitter undertone.
Christine's gaze strayed to his mask curiously, and Erik cursed himself for drawing attention to it. But to his relief she refrained from commenting. "How long are you planning on sticking around tonight?" she asked, instead. "There's a group number coming up in a bit that you're not gonna want to miss. You're a big Pussycat Dolls fan, right?" Her eyes danced with mischief.
"My favorite band," he deadpanned.
"I knew it."
Erik repressed a smile. "In truth, though, I have nothing pressing that needs attending to tonight. So I'd be more than happy to stick around for the musical genius of these Pussycat Dolls." A beat passed where his stomach seemed to leap into his throat, but he forced himself to continue with apparent nonchalance. "I could even wait around and give you a ride home, if you'd like. The weather is rather miserable tonight, and I don't envy the thought of you having to walk home in it."
Christine's startled expression slowly morphed into a cautiously pleased one. "Are you sure you wouldn't mind? It's sweet of you to offer, but I promise I'm fine to get myself home safely. I'm pretty well-armed now, thanks to some anonymous benefactor," she added with a wink.
"It would be no trouble," Erik countered, hoping his voice came out evenly.
"Well then sure! I'd happily accept a ride. You can even stop in for a bit and try out my fancy new tea, if you'd like. Brewed in a proper pot and everything."
Erik sent up a silent prayer of thanks to the universe for whatever cosmic fluke had tricked this enchanting woman into actually seeking out his company. But while he wanted nothing more than to fall at her feet in gratitude, all he allowed himself was a smirk and a wry response. "What if I've become partial to your microwave brew?"
"Too bad, buddy. You've successfully shown me the error of my ways, and no way am I going back now."
"Ah, well, I suppose I have no one to blame but myself, then. Proper tea, it is."
Christine smiled at his roundabout acceptance of her invitation. "Alright, I'm off to make the rounds again and then I have to go change for the group routine. Better nurse that drink of yours while I'm gone. Now that I know you're my DD, you won't be getting too many refills."
"Duly noted, madame."
Erik sipped his drink and watched her check on her other tables, silently wondering to himself if this was what happiness felt like.
Christine felt the weight of Erik's gaze upon her for the remainder of her shift, and tried very hard to convince herself that she wasn't pleased by the attention. She couldn't quite stop herself from a bit of extra strutting and posturing as she went about her work, however.
When her shift was finally up, she had Erik wait out back by the employee's entrance while she went to change into her normal clothes. He had been pacing the alley, but froze in his tracks with a deer-in-headlights expression as he caught sight of her. Christine blushed furiously and reached up to tug at the hem of the leather jacket she was wearing.
"I, um, I didn't want to risk not having it if you showed up here again, but I got tired of lugging it around, so I kind of just started wearing it to work instead," she lied. She fervently hoped that he wouldn't think to question the availability of personal storage at an establishment that required its employees to change clothes during their shift. She reached up to pull the jacket off, but Erik's hands landed on her shoulders, with surprising gentleness considering the speed with which they'd shot out, to stop her.
"Keep it," he insisted. "It… suits you." There was an intensity to his gaze that caused the slightest of shivers down Christine's spine.
She smiled gratefully and shoved her hands in the pockets to protect them from the cold, misting rain. "I'm not gonna lie, I have grown kind of attached to the thing. I'm not sure that I pull off the badass look quite as well as you, but it's super warm and comfy." But then she noted the thin blazer of his suit that seemed to serve as his only protection from the elements. "But don't you need it back?"
"Nonsense. I have plenty of other coats."
"And where are they tonight?" she teased, falling into step beside him as he headed towards the parking lot.
"At home, until they're needed. I don't get cold terribly easily, and I wasn't planning to be outside long enough to justify one." As he said this, he removed a key fob from his pockets and unlocked the doors of a sleek, black Aston Martin.
"What, no motorcycle tonight?" Christine asked, forcing her voice to remain casual despite her (completely ridiculous) twinge of disappointment.
The look Erik gave her was equal parts startled and scrutinizing. "I… Had thought you might appreciate a windshield and heater, given the weather." The statement was almost a question, said in a mixture of defense, apology, and… hope?
Christine just gave him an enigmatic smile, unwilling to confirm one way or the other, and slid into the passenger seat. She giggled to herself at his slightly lost expression before he moved to take his spot on the driver's side.
"So what have you been up to since I saw you last?" she asked conversationally, once Erik had started the car up.
"Nothing much, beyond the romantic Canadian getaway with my boyfriend."
Christine nearly choked in surprise. She searched Erik's face for any signs of humor, but found only calm concentration as he navigated through traffic. She suddenly felt incredibly foolish (and more than a little disappointed) at having read so much into all of his attention and kind gestures. After all, it was possible for a man to decide to help and befriend her without angling for anything in return. When had she gotten so jaded, and arrogant, as to assume otherwise?
"I, uh, I thought you said you were in Toronto on business."
Erik shot her a sidelong glance, and his mouth twitched up at the corners. "I was. Nadir just decided to get creative with our alibis when we were going through customs. Did you know that I'm also an architect?"
The amount of relief she felt was startling.
"Oh yeah? You'll have to show me some of your designs, sometime." She paused for a moment, looking contemplative. "Nadir… I've seen him around the club before, right? Middle aged, a little shorter than you, scar on his cheek?"
"That's the one."
"Hey, you could do a lot worse for yourself," she joked.
Erik chuckled. "And you, Miss Daaé?" he ventured, after a moment. "How have you kept yourself occupied these past two weeks?"
"Oh, you know. Stripping. Drug trafficking. The usual."
Now it was Erik's turn to choke.
Christine smirked, pleased with herself for having gotten him back. "You look scandalized, sir! Do you disapprove?"
"I… No, of course! I just… Um…"
"Relax, Erik. I'm just screwing with you."
Erik let out a sigh of relief and shot her a playful scowl. "Cruel woman."
"Just paying you back in kind."
They arrived at Christine's apartment within a matter of minutes. Erik parked in the guest parking area she had directed him to last time, but he left the car idling. He glanced at her hesitantly, and it took her several seconds to realize that he was waiting for her to confirm her invitation to come in.
"Well c'mon then! It's time for you to critique my tea-brewing skills again."
Erik's eyes lit up, looking momentarily more yellow than amber, and he quickly uncranked the car and followed her up to her apartment.
"Give me just a minute to de-glamor," Christine called over her shoulder, heading down the hallway to her bedroom.
Erik strolled into the kitchen to wait, pleased to see the kettle he'd purchased her sitting on the back burner of the stove. He had agonized over whether or not to give it to her, that night. The self-defense items had been an easy choice, since he was more concerned with ensuring her safety than with how she would react. But he worried that the teabags and kettle, and the accompanying notes, would be interpreted as an insult, or at the very least seem overly familiar from someone she had only just met. But it seemed like she had accepted his gesture with the tongue-in-cheek humor with which it had been intended, and was even getting some use out of the items.
He then spotted both of the notes he'd left with his gifts stuck to her refrigerator with magnets, and a surprised flush of pleasure spread through him.
"Right," Christine announced, padding down the hallway on bare feet. "What are we feeling? Black? White? Green? Herbal?"
She had scrubbed her face bare, braided her hair, and changed into a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Erik suddenly felt ridiculously overdressed in his suit, but he couldn't help but marvel at how relaxed she seemed in his presence. No one ever let their guard down around him like this, not even Nadir.
"Herbal, please."
She brushed past him and reached up to take the tins of tea he'd bought her down from the cabinet. Her shirt rode up slightly as she did so, and Erik swallowed convulsively. He wondered if it was a facet of his lifelong desire for normalcy that made him more affected by Christine in her everyday clothes than in elaborate lingerie.
"You know, Erik, you can get comfortable, too." Christine threw a studiously casual glance over her shoulder when she went to the sink to fill the kettle. "You don't have to keep your shoes or your jacket on… Or your mask."
Erik stiffened, his heartrate spiking. "I'm quite comfortable, thank you," he replied crisply.
"Hey," she said softly, setting the kettle down and turning to face him. "I know I'm basically still a stranger to you, so this may be kind of rushing things. But you've been nothing but wonderful to me since we met, and I really want us to be friends and for you to be able to trust me. And that thing can't be comfortable…"
Erik let out a laugh so bitter it made Christine flinch. "Trust me, my dear, it is far more comfortable than the alternative."
"Erik-"
"No." The word was cold and implacable.
"Look, whatever it is, I promise-"
"This was a mistake." Erik whirled on his feet and stalked for the front door.
"Wait!" Christine bolted forward and slammed her back against the door right as Erik grasped the doorknob. Her hands rested against his chest, as if preparing to push him back if she had to, and Erik's wild eyes darted back and forth between them and her face. "Please don't go. I'm so sorry. I swear I won't bring it up again. It's your business and I had absolutely no right to push."
Erik's heart pounded almost violently in his chest, and he wondered distantly if Christine could feel it beneath her hands. Her desperate lunge to block him from leaving and her fervent apology were… startling, to say the least. People never cared if their questions about the mask bothered him. They only cared about having their curiosity assuaged. They certainly didn't care enough to forcibly prevent him from leaving. She had touched him, was still touching him, and had promised not to bring it up again, and Erik's head was reeling from trying to process everything while the haze of fear and anger at her probing still clouded his brain.
"Please stay. Let's just go have our tea and watch a movie and forget I ever even brought it up. Please?"
Even in the midst of his fight-or-flight mode, she was impossible to resist. With a grim nod, he released the knob and took a step back, causing Christine's hands to fall away from his chest. He missed their warmth immediately.
Christine gave him a relieved smile and gestured for him to have a seat on the couch while she finished making their tea.
He sank stiffly onto the edge of the seat, his hands curling over his knees like claws. When she offered him a mug, he accepted without comment, warily watching her take her seat out of the corner of his eye. Half of him was just waiting for her to continue her line of questioning, or, worse yet, make a grab for the mask. It wouldn't be the first time.
But all she did was grab the remote to turn her TV and blu-ray player on. "So," she offered tentatively. "Should we continue our Disney marathon, or have you had enough?"
"I'm not sure I'm quite in the mood for a children's movie tonight," he finally responded in a strained voice. "Though… I did enjoy the music, last time."
"Ah, so a grown-up musical? I think we can manage that. How do you feel about Little Shop of Horrors?"
"I'm familiar with the Broadway adaptation, but I've never seen the film."
"Then you are in for a treat, dear sir!" Abandoning the movie streaming app she had been searching through, Christine hopped up to fetch her personal DVD collection.
She shot him an excited look once she'd inserted the disc and settled back beside him, but her smile faltered when he failed to meet her eyes. Erik was still feeling too much like the walls of the room were closing in on him to fall back into their playful manner from before. Eventually, though, Christine's tentative commentary throughout the movie, and, more importantly, her lack of any further mention of the mask, brought Erik back to himself. Not even an hour into the film, they were back to their easy banter, and Christine had resumed her prior habit of singing along enthusiastically with all of the songs.
Her interpretation of Audrey II's soulful baritone in Feed Me was particularly amusing, and before he could think better of it, Erik suddenly found himself jumping in with Seymour's part.
"I don't know."
Christine cut off immediately, staring at him in shock and disbelief.
Erik felt a blush creeping up his neck, but nonetheless continued with the next lines. "I don't know. I have so, so many strong reservations. Should I go and perform… mutilation?"
Christine's startled, almost-dazed expression slowly melted away into a delighted grin, and when Audrey II came back in, she resumed her part with a challenging raise of her eyebrow.
"Think about a room at the Ritz, wrapped in velvet, covered in glitz! A little nookie, gonna clean up your zits and you'll git it."
Erik smirked and continued, perfectly affecting Seymour's earnest excitement. "Gee, I'd like a Harley machine, toolin' around like I was James Dean. Makin' all the guys on the corner turn green!"
They carried on swapping lines with barely repressed grins, and then came the part where both characters sang together, and Erik had never experienced anything in his life quite like the feeling of joining his song with another's. His voice melded with Christine's in a tight, almost dissonant harmony, and he felt something like bliss coursing through his veins.
When the song came to a close, they were left staring at each other with silly grins and no small amount of wonder in both of their eyes.
"You have 'some experience' with singing?" Christine questioned incredulously, giving his chest a playful smack. "That was incredible! I've seriously never heard anything like it. Why the hell aren't you some world famous singer by now?"
Erik's expression immediately darkened.
Christine's brow furrowed in confusion at his reaction, but then her gaze flicked to his mask, and her mouth formed into a small 'o'. She took a breath, no doubt preparing to launch into an apology, but Erik held a hand up to stop her.
He was feeling uncharacteristically confident after their impromptu duet. And he was starting to realize that if he didn't get this over with now, it was going to hang like a pall over them whenever they were together. "It's a birth defect."
Christine's mouth clamped shut in surprise.
"A severe one, that people have reacted very strongly to my whole life. I've found that I prefer the suspicion and social judgement that the mask engenders to the revulsion or pity caused by my bare face."
Christine sucked in a startled breath. She hesitated a long time before replying, seeming to consider her words very carefully. "Are you so sure that revulsion and pity are the only two options?"
"They're the only ones I've ever experienced." Erik was aiming for unfeeling nonchalance, but he knew his words sounded harsh and bitter.
"Erik," Christine began, grasping his hand. Her fingers were soft and gentle, and her voice was thick with compassion, and for a moment Erik was struck with an almost childlike desire to just curl up in her lap and be held. "There is so much more to you than your face, and I'm sorry if you've been surrounded by shitty people in the past who haven't been able to see past it, but I swear to you that-"
"No, Christine," Erik interrupted, firmly. He squeezed her hand slightly to soften the sting of his interruption. "I appreciate the sentiment, truly. It's more than most people have ever offered me before. But… I've had so little friendship in my life, and you've treated me so… normally. I don't want that to change. It's not a lack of faith in you, but I don't want you to have to see past my face. And nothing you say is going to change that."
Christine, bleeding heart that she seemed to be, looked nearly on the verge of tears. But she nodded resolutely. "I won't bring it up again. Promise."
Erik nodded his gratitude, and they settled back to watch the rest of the movie in silence. The lighthearted feel of the evening had been thoroughly shattered, but in its place was some deeper sense of connection, and Erik left Christine's apartment in the early hours of the morning with something almost approaching contentment settling over him.
