A/N: Sorry for the delay of posting today. I got distracted and forgot what day of the week it was. Being on vacation does that. Anyway, I hope you all realised that I did in fact update on Friday, the site was just acting up. If you haven't read chapter 8 yet, you'll clearly want to do so. Enjoy!

'What would you like?' he asked her, his eyes glittering in preparation for a challenge.

She had to stifle the urge to giggle at his eagerness to please. He was like a puppy. 'Nothing too complicated. I don't know what you bought, so…' She trailed off as she tried to peer around him to see what was on the counter to give some indication as to the food he had deemed necessary for her.

His eyes shone even more at her subtle curiosity. 'As you wish, Mademoiselle,' he said with the faintest of purrs at her title. He felt his heart skip a bit when she ducked into a slight blush at his words. Something in this reminded him of what else he had bought for her this morning.

'Here,' he said after grabbing the white box from the counter. He held it out to her incredulous gaze. 'I promise I won't bite,' he told her, though the joke was lost a bit when he infused it with solemnity.

Taking it from him, she clutched it to her in a way she hoped would not seem like a wild animal cautiously accepting food from a human.

'Feel free to make use of the bathroom. Breakfast shall be ready in time if you wish to take a bath,' he told her, hoping she would not take this as some kind strange threat upon her sensitivity.

She nodded timidly before leaving the room. She reappeared at the door a moment later, looking at her feet as she brushed the toe of her shoe on the floor. He looked at her oddly contradictory behaviour with a cock of his head. One moment she could be as brave as a warrior, the next as meek and innocent as a turtle dove. This aspect only endeared him to her more, though.

'You didn't have to burn them all, by the way,' she told the floor, but Erik knew the words were for him. He felt himself pale a bit at her discovery of the sudden deaths of the flowers. 'I don't hate all flowers. I don't truly dislike lilies, I just cannot be in the same room as them for too long,' she explained.

'I see,' he admitted softly, feeling guilty for acting so rashly on both counts for the flowers. Too many, now too few. He felt he was fighting a losing battle.

'I rather like roses, though,' she told him.

He looked up just in time to see her eyes, gentle and unafraid, before she ducked back off to her task. He swore upon that moment that he would remember the look in those hazel orbs forever, and would do anything in his power to see it again. Infatuation it may be, but he knew his heart was slowly slipping from his not so resistant grasp.


Christine went into what she supposed she could safely mentally designate as her room and put the white box on the bed for further examination. It felt rather heavy, but she could not guess what it might be.

Pulling the lid off revealed a sapphire blue dress. It was very modestly cut with a close, round neck even more concealing than her current dress and with short sleeves that were fairly loose. The skirt of it, cinched at the waist by a long thin sash of matching hue, was long and diaphanous. It billowed down in faintly ruffle-hemmed chiffon to her shin and had a slip underneath. The weight of the box came from a pair of t-strap heels, rounding her height up to a nice five foot six. The thing that struck her about them, though, was that their patent leather was of the exact same shade as the dress. Erik had clearly put a good bit of thought into this ensemble. While impressed by his devotion to her needs, she was slightly perturbed he would go to such trouble for her.

Shaking the thoughts away, she headed into the bathroom, checking to make sure the other door was securely locked before starting up the water. She was amazed by how quickly it heated, hardly needing any time to come to a comfortable temperature. Most mornings, she had to deal with a tepid bath as her apartment was situated farthest from the hot water heater and her late nights meant later rise and less fresh water prepared.

Sinking into the warm liquid with a sigh, she let her head relax upon the gentle curve of the edge of the tub. It felt nice to unwind and breathe without worrying over all of the events that had come to pass in the last few hours. She wondered idly what brought a man like Erik to think himself in love with her. Certainly she had a few good qualities, and she was not about to say she was completely useless, but to compel someone to steal her away seemed a bit of a stretch.

She knew her face was of average beauty. She liked how her nose was straight apart from the slight tip up it had at the end, and her lips were a nice cupid's bow with a round bottom lip, but her eyes were decidedly too large and her chin too sharp when compared to her mild cheekbones. Her hair was a story for another day as it was the most unruly set of curls known to man. She supposed her figure was nice enough, though she felt her hips were a bit too full for today's fashion. Really, she was nothing special appearance wise, so perhaps he truly did find her personality attractive. How he managed to discern this, she would probably never know. She was too changeable for even Meg to follow most days. One moment she would be strong, the next a crying mess in a hidden corner somewhere. She knew her value as someone who would give their all for something they believed in, but as far as being truly herself was concerned, she did not feel overly secure in knowing who she was. Everything felt so shaken up lately that she wondered if it might be simpler to just let someone else decide.

She determinedly shook this thought away. She was not the kind of person to let someone trample all over her. That much she knew, despite how she let herself be lost in the sea of the crowd.

Washing quickly, she left the tub with a resolve she hoped would last. She would let her father's words guide her as she had since she was little.

"Don't be afraid to stand up and say who you are. Only you can decide what your life will become."

She felt her mettle being tested in this new and odd series of events, and she set her shoulders with the determination to see that she came out of it stronger.

Dressing in her new clothes as the red dress was embarrassingly wrinkled and would need pressing, she headed out of her room and into the hallway. Instantly, she felt her certainty melt as she did not know where to look for her masked companion. Following her nose, however, brought her into the dining room where Erik was leaning over the table, uttering something to himself as he set two places.

'Be kind, courteous, and gentle,' he uttered over and over again as if in a mantra.

Christine was caught between stifling a laugh and wondering if it would be kinder to walk back out of the room to announce her return rather than clearing her throat. Unfortunately her choices were erased when he froze suddenly before turning round to face her, his back pressed slightly against the chair he had been stretched over. She could see his flush of embarrassment rising on the small bit of exposed skin between the collar of his white shirt and the edge of the black mask. She knew it rude to make fun of his nervous self-assurances, but she could not help how childish they seemed when compared to his rigid and imposing demeanour.

He looked at her with wide eyes for a moment as she tried to hide her own blush at catching him off guard. Finally, he shook off his surprise and decided it best to push forward, praying she would not bring the tender subject up.

'Bonjour, ma chérie,' he greeted, cringing at the fact he had already done so earlier. 'I take it the dress and shoes are to your liking?' he asked, nodding a bit towards her new clothes which he had to admit gave him a surge of pride to see on her.

'Oh,' she looked down as if just noticing them. 'Yes, they are lovely, thank you.' She hated how encouraging she was being towards his behaviour, but she always blushed when someone complimented her. She decided to wait on the question that had occurred to her when she got dressed: how did he know her size? She supposed that after four years of watching her through the mirror in the dressing room that any clever man could guess, but even the shoes fit like they were made for her. It disturbed her that he knew her every detail so well.

'And may I say, you look absolutely stunning in them,' he told her, gesturing her over to the other chair with an elegant sweep of his hand. Too much, too much, he cursed mentally as she coloured again, hurrying over to the chair with that skittish flutter of footsteps. He could not help but compliment her. She was simply too beautiful to ignore. He fought the urge to pull her chair out for her, knowing the close proximity that it would require would most likely frighten her off.

Tucking her hair behind her ear, as was her tendency when faced with overwhelming flattery, she turned her attentions to the plate before her. On it sat a wonderfully flaking croissant with a small set of dishes of jam, a wide rimmed cup of coffee, and a little glass of crème with an accompanying dish of sugar. She looked up questioningly to her companion.

'I did not know what you liked on it, so I thought to give you options,' he explained as she looked over all of the jams, each with a tiny place card to mark what kind it was. He noted how she covered her mouth with her hand as she shoulders started shaking. His heart beat erratically as he observed this, his words flurrying from his mouth. 'If you would prefer something else I would be more than happy to—'

She cut him off as she released a bout of laughter. He had never heard something so heavenly as her giggling across the table from him. He could only sit there, enraptured by the simplest gift she could have given him. Beyond the glance from earlier, of course. Simple, yet he would treasure it forever.

'I'm sorry,' she said, covering her still smiling lips with her red painted fingertips. 'I don't know what came over me just then,' she excused, feeling like a silly child. She noted her companion's stiff figure and wondered if her impropriety had upset him. 'I did not mean to offend.'

'Not at all. But, if I may, what caused such laughter?' he asked, taking a guess.

'Forgive me, but it was you.' She knew even with the mask that his eyebrows shot up at this. 'I have never seen someone take so much trouble into preparing a French breakfast,' she explained further, noting his absent confusion.

He looked at her as if this were the only viable way to prepare breakfast. 'Of course, I want to make you happy,' he explained though it was obvious to everyone. He seemed to falter a bit, letting in some of his insecurity into his golden eyes. 'Does this arrangement…please you?' he asked, suddenly timid again.

Christine sighed a bit, noting how her opinions caused him worry. Why could he not be happy for his own sake? She stopped this as she realised she was often guilty of the same uncertainty. 'It does. Thank you,' she told him with a gentle smile.

Turning back to her croissant, she dipped the tip in the dish of honey, then into her coffee for the slightest of moments. She took her bite, humming contentedly as she did so. It was the perfect consistency and her coffee was now made just slightly sweeter from the honey. She preferred tea, but a sweetened coffee would never be ignored. She happened to glance up then, noting the way her companion was watching her every move with rapt interest. He looked like one who was studying the behaviour of a monkey when given a puzzle to solve. She felt the microscope of his gaze analysing her intently. It disturbed her and she set down her food to look at him sternly before noticing his own food was going untouched as his hands were folded in his lap.

She cocked her head at his odd behaviour. 'Are you not going to—' she stopped, seeing the error in her question. His mask. He could not eat with his mask on. 'I am so sorry.' She ducked her head, feeling shame wash over her. She had suspected, given the absence of mirrors in the household that he wore the protective face covering to conceal something more than his identity from her. Something in the way he held himself told her he would not care if she knew who he was, so the reason must be from there being something wrong with his face. She had just asked a potentially disfigured man why he was not trying to eat with the mask he was forced to wear.

He would be forever surprised by this girl, Erik determined. He had known the question she would pose the moment she had looked up to him. He had let a hardness come into his eyes at her thoughtlessness. His entire visage was covered in black leather, for God's sake. But then she amazed him by seeing the error and then apologising. He had expected her to think it silly to ask something so obvious, but never to apologise for an offence she had not truly committed. He softened even more at this caring attitude. He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and thank whatever God had deemed him worthy of her presence in his life, but he withheld such an urge, seeing the hurt on her face. She thought him angry or offended by her. Such a silly, beautiful girl she was.

'It is fine. I shall eat in the kitchen later. I am not hungry often,' he told her, hoping to assuage the fears he saw lurking in her downcast eyes. He did not want her rushing from the room thinking him mad at her.

She looked up in surprise at his passive tone. All hint of offence was gone from the pools of gold which were his shining irises. If anything, they shone as if she had paid him a great respect. She wanted to question if he was sure he would not rather find another arrangement so that he could eat, but determined that trying to make her captor more comfortable was not the wisest choice. She knew he cared deeply for her, and so encouraging this would only make the line she had drawn between them fainter.

Instead, she finished her croissant in silence. She sipped her coffee, trying to ignore his persistent gaze and look anywhere but at him. She suddenly felt her eyes beginning to stare, which was one thing she did not wish to do. She had the feeling that staring would only set him off, though he insisted that he would never be angry with her.

'Perhaps you would like to sing a bit when you are finished,' he offered, noting her discomfort.

She looked at him with fearful confusion. He cursed whatever words had brought this back out in her.

'Oh, but I can't,' she said, feeling her tightrope of security narrowing beneath her feet. 'I have to go to work,' she explained in what she hoped to be a reasonable tone.

'You need not concern yourself with it.' He brushed the idea aside with a graceful hand.

'But I have to. I cannot pay my rent without it,' she explained, feeling her breaths start to shorten as panic rose in her stomach.

'I will pay your rent for you, if it would please you,' he told her, an excitement at doing something to make her happy glimmering in his eye.

'No, I would rather do it on my own, thank you. I have lived off other's kindness enough in my life,' she told him in a calmly assertive voice. 'And I fear I must be going, I do not wish to be late.' She slowly rose from the table. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched him do the same. 'I thank you for your kind hospitality, but I truly must go.' She started backing towards the kitchen door behind her.

'Christine, you need not worry over it,' he insisted. 'Besides, it is well past noon.'

She stopped, frozen by this. 'Noon?' she asked in rising panicked horror.

'Yes,' he answered her calmly. 'It would seem you slept in later than usual. I suppose that is my fault for not providing a clock, but I find the ticking tiresome,' he told her, shrugging as if they were two average humans holding a regular conversation.

'I am already so late! I will lose my job for this!' she said, running her fingers through her hair as her eyes welled with tears. 'Please, I have to go,' she insisted, putting her fingers behind her to the swinging door.

'Christine,' his tone suddenly grew sharper, widening her eyes with fear. He seemed to realise this, took a breath, and started over in a gentler voice. 'Christine, there is no need, I assure you. Neither the bookstore nor the Majestic are open today. It is Easter Sunday,' he explained with a smile in his voice at her silly flustering.

'I don't care, I want to go,' she told him, letting tears into her eyes.

'Now Christine,' he started as if reprimanding a peevish child, but he never finished as she suddenly whirled round and flew through the kitchen door. He hurried after her, his eyes glinting from the chase. He watched her as she swept through the kitchen, looking like a blue bird in flight. He followed with long, purposeful strides as she fluttered to the elevator door and started digging at it with her fingers, trying to pry it open. She yelped slightly, clutching at her hand as she watched the small cut on her right three middle fingers start to seep ruby droplets.

Erik was upon her in an instant, looming over her comparatively small frame imperiously. He felt her fearful eyes sear into him as she looked up. She brought her hands up defensively, but he caught her wrists, trying to examine the cut on her finger. She yelled at this, pushing against him as he watched her in confusion. She made him take a step back, bumping into the coat rack and sending it to the floor with a clatter. In this she managed to wriggle her hands free before fleeing to her bedroom with tearful gasps.

He heard the door slam as it wracked through him what he had just done. He felt the burning of his own eyes and blinked it away. He realised then that his actions mixed with the look of a predator stalking its weak prey had undone any security he may have hoped to gain in her happiness with him. Letting out a wail of despair and frustration, he instantly crumpled to the floor, shoving the heels of his palms into his eyes forcefully as he took in rasping breaths. He had ruined everything! He had destroyed all hope of ever winning her! Even now she was probably hoping for the comforting arms of that boy he had seen her dressing room. She would shun him, the monster, and run to that perfect faced, blue eyed child of a man with open arms.

Rising from the floor, he walked to his room like a man determined to die. He cringed away from the sobbing he heard on the other side of her bedroom door and let each gasping hiccup of a breath she took stab through him like a knife. He had brought this upon himself. But even worse, he had brought this upon her. His angel was now suffering pitifully because of his foolhardy hopes that she could come to care for him.