Guest- Thank you. You hope there's a happy ending? Me too ;)

squishmich- Erik's backstory is coming. Promise. Eventually. Sorta. And yes to more about Christine's singing. Later. I know, I know. Always later. But...

You would shake a jar of coins at a woman in the throes of a lascivious dream? Cool ;)

This time around Erik is more confident. His voice and musicality in a modern day setting would draw a following, I think, whether he wants it or not. Some women would be intrigued by the mask. Pathetic Erik is fun to read and write, simply to see him realize his dream of love and acceptance, but a more self-assured one with a side helping of vulnerability is good too. As for Erik with Carla, the man wanted a boink and didn't get one. May we have a moment of silence for a frustrated Erik?

Very good.

Moment of silence observed.

Pit stains on a white shirt? *snort* But you are correct. Carla is like a bad case of the hives. Seemingly unending. As for the E/C dynamic being compared to R/C? Not even close. You haven't yet been treated to Erik with his nose buried (pun definitely intended) in a book ;)

Thank you once again for the laughs!

This chapter- Erik catches Christine red-handed. A discussion on the nature of friendship. A party in the kitchen, and a visitor.

Christine washed and dressed for bed, throwing on whatever came to hand, which turned out to be a pair of soft flannel pajamas in red and black plaid. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hair pulled back in a tail, and smeared Aztec Secret Indian Clay for deep pore cleansing on her face, squinting at her reflection. She wrinkled her nose, turning her head from side to side and sniffed. She looked like a kabuki dancer.

What the hell.

Who would see her?

She went to her cure-all for periods or just being down in the dumps, deciding a chocolate chip cookie or maybe several, would perk her up. Chocolate always made her feel better- at least it did until the guilt set in from having indulged in the first place.

What the hell.

She padded out to the kitchen and had just reached for her first cookie, when she heard the scratch of a key in the lock. Surprised, she turned around and watched as Erik entered the short hallway.

He looked strangely at her, and said with tired amusement, "Is this the part in the movie where I catch you red-handed with your mitt in the cookie jar?"

Christine waggled a cookie at him. "Yep! Caught me eating my way through a depression. Guilt comes later, so watch out, Girard!"

"Duly noted," he replied dryly. "So what has you feeling down?"

"Hormones," she said vaguely.

"Ah," nodding his head sagely. "When in doubt, head for the hormone defense."

"Shut it, you," Christine said mildly. She was feeling better already. "I didn't think we'd be seeing you 'til sometime tomorrow. Wore it out already?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Erik's tone slightly aggressive.

"Nothing. Just that I assumed you would be...busy for the entire night."

"Well, you assumed wrong," he replied curtly. "Is Araminta asleep? I promised to say goodnight."

Christine took a bite of her cookie and waved it toward their bedroom, scattering crumbs everywhere. "Help yourself. She might not be asleep yet."

He regarded her for a moment, until she began to feel a little self-conscious, then turned and walked to the bedroom. Erik paused before opening the door, unwilling to disturb a sleeping child, but a promise was a promise. He pushed the door open and entered the room, moving to the side of the bed where the girl lay, hesitating again. He watched her for signs of wakefulness and was rewarded when Min turned over and stared up at him.

"I knew you wouldn't forget," she whispered. "Every time my eyes tried to close, I made them stay open."

He went closer and leaned down, carefully arranging the blankets around her slight form, wrapping them snugly about her. That was what one did when tucking in a little girl. He remembered. "If I accomplished nothing else tonight, I would make sure that I did this," he said softly, awkwardly patting her shoulder. "Sleep well, child," and turned to go.

"Erik?"

"Yes?"

"Will you kiss me goodnight like my mom?"

For an answer he leaned down and lightly touched his cool lips to her forehead. "Good night."

She yawned in reply, murmuring, "I can close my eyes now," and turned over on her side.

He stood there a moment more, foolishly pleased by the girl's request. She liked him.

He walked slowly out to the kitchen where Christine was dunking a tea bag up and down in a mug. She looked at him. "Want some?"

"Huh?"

"Tea, Erik. Want some?"

At his slow nod she grabbed another mug, adding a teabag and boiling water from the kettle. She handed it to him, along with a bottle of squeeze lemon. "I don't know how you drink that in your tea, but to each their own, right?"

"Yes," and sat down across from her. He idly dipped the teabag up and down in his mug, adding a squirt of lemon to it. "She waited for me," he said in a quiet voice.

Christine pushed a plate of cookies toward him. "She said she was, although she usually falls asleep the minute her head meets the pillow."

"She asked me for a kiss," he said casually, never taking his eyes off of his tea. To him though, it felt ridiculously good.

"Min really likes you, Erik. She looks up to you.

"In more ways than one," she teased.

He raised his head at that. "I'm not worthy of anyone's admiration, Christine, least of all hers."

"You'll have to take that up with my daughter. Actually...I agree. You're good with her."

He shrugged. "She is a sweet child. I am fond of her as well."

"I know you are," she said, eying him closely. "Is everything okay? You look a little worn."

Oh, you don't know the half of it. "I'm fine," and took a sip of his tea.

Not really believing him, she persisted. "What I said before you left still applies. If you want to talk, I've got two good ears."

"I am fine," he reaffirmed, not wishing Christine to upset his current mood. He was feeling better now, his libido no longer clamoring for attention, having subsided on the way home.

Home.

He looked around the tiny kitchen, noting the tired paint and worn linoleum. It was the closest thing to a home he'd had in a very long time. But it wasn't the drab apartment that made it so. It was Christine and her daughter who made him feel like he belonged somewhere. He didn't want to acknowledge it, but there it was.

"What color would look good in here?" he asked abruptly, studying the walls.

"Color? What are you talking about?"

"Painting the kitchen...perhaps the other rooms as well. What color?" he repeated, watching her face.

Christine shrugged. "Okay. I'll play along. Mm...lemony yellow for the kitchen. Uh...a nice neutral shade for the living room." She snapped her fingers and looked at him with growing enthusiasm. "I have just the color! Cinnamon sugar for the walls and vanilla trim for the living room. Hey! This is fun!"

If he could get her to smile at him like that all of the time, he would renovate the entire apartment. "Lemony yellow as in the citrus fruit? Cinnamon... sugar? Vanilla, Christine? You are describing food. Are you hungry, by any chance?"

She ignored this as she reached for another cookie. "I've wanted to give this place a shot in the arm for a long time now, but never had the funds. Still don't," she added, her now buoyant mood deflating a little.

"I will pay for the paint if you give me a hand with the application of it. Deal?"

Christine was baffled by the flood of joy which left her a little light headed. Just like that, he walks in and brightens her mood without even trying. She shouldn't be so damned happy just because he's the one to do it.

Must be the chocolate.

"Deal." She held her hand out to him. "Let's shake on it."

He met her hand with his own, clasping it lightly and pumping it once.

Her hand in his felt good, his grasp cool and dry. She hated sweaty man's hands. Feeling flustered and not knowing why, Christine shoved her chair back and took a turn around the room, picturing sunny walls, bright and cheerful even on the dreariest day.

She turned a radiant smile on him and Erik wondered how he could make her do it again. He decided then and there that he wanted more smiles. He rose to his feet, joining her and found himself blurting, "Maybe even some new flooring in here. I keep catching a toe in that tear by the door. It is the reason I fell that night."

Christine grinned evilly. "Oh, you fell all right, Girard, but it had more to do with your liquid refreshment than the state of the floor. You were plastered, bud." She sobered as she looked up at him. "You would really do this? Spend your hard earned money on sprucing this place up?"

He loomed over her, wondering not for the first time, why she had paste smeared all over her face. It was drying in cracks, like dirt will from lack of rain, except for a largish blob near her mouth. It actually looked painful. He would say nothing though. It was safer for him that way. After all, who was he to denigrate her appearance? He shrugged. "Why not? I live here too. Is that a yes?"

Happy for no discernible reason other than a face lift for the apartment, she squealed a yes and flung herself into his arms. "You know what, Girard? I think you're the best roommate two girls ever had!" and braced her hands lightly on his shoulders before going way up on her tippy toes and kissing his cheek.

"Can I have that in writing... just in case?" feeling mentally off balance from her gratitude and his reaction to it.

He was stunned by her action and couldn't move from the feel of her lips imprinted on his mask- wishing it could have been his actual skin. He put a tentative finger up to his cheek, imagining her lips there. It would tickle a little bit, that was certain, the tender skin on his face more or less untouched by anyone but him. It would be a brush of her mouth, ghosting over highly sensitive nerve endings. Her bravery to kiss him there, would mean more to him than the actual kiss itself, feeling like a sweet benediction. He dared to think these thoughts before meeting her eyes.

He wasn't at all prepared for the look of horror staring back at him, and jerked away from her. He was hideous up close- he knew that, but it still hurt for her to approach him and respond in such a way.

Christine was staring at the mask, at the exact spot where her lips had just been, looking at the blob of clay now sitting there. "Shit!" and ran for the bathroom.

Numbly, he followed her, ready to apologize for being so freakishly ugly that he had made her physically ill. "Christine-"

"I (garbled) 'ou...didint (garbled) I 'ave shet (garbled) overr I facce." She was bent over the sink frantically splashing water on her face, and trying to talk at the same time.

"Why in 'ell didn' 'ell me, 'rik?" scrubbing vigorously at the dried mess. "Ist (garbled) inna congcreed!"

His head was tilted, mouth hanging open as he concentrated hard on gobbledegook, translating it into English, unaware that he was repeating it out loud. " 'I can't believe... you didn't tell me...um, I have shit all over my face! Why in hell didn't you tell me, Erik? It's dried into concrete!' " he said triumphantly, in a perfect facsimile of her voice, right down to pitch and intonation.

Spooked by his uncanny ability at mimicry, she nevertheless raised her dripping face and looked accusingly at him. "Isn't that what I just said? Are you mocking me?"

He grabbed a fluffy white towel off the rack, and began to dry her off. "I am not mocking you, Christine," he soothed. "Merely trying to understand you with your head in the sink."

"I forgot about my facial and it hardened into...into clay. Aztec facial, my ass! Only if I want to end up looking like a dried up Aztec mummy!"

"Hold still," he commanded her.

His hands were gentle as he wiped her face, and she stood quietly letting him swipe the towel over her nose, cheeks and chin. The towel stilled as Christine used him for balance by placing her hands on his chest, her only conscious thought, to push Erik away as he hesitantly leaned down ever closer to her mouth. They should have just called it a night by then and gone their separate ways.

She did chuckle a little, albeit, nervously, and even attempted to move slightly back from him. For some strange reason, she found her hands on his shoulders, how did they end up there? her fingers clutching him. Erik wasn't being sensible either, when he proceeded to pull her into his arms.

"Here now. You're slightly off-balance," he said cautiously, sounding very much like a man approaching a hungry bear with a juicy fish, or a hungry Christine with a chocolate chip cookie. Determinedly, he drew her in, his hold tightening.

Off balance? She was? And mentally shrugged, managing to compound the problem by going into his arms quite willingly, even helping things along by rising up on her toes and meeting him halfway.

Silly me.

With slightly parted lips, her arms moved independently of her will, or so she tried to convince herself, before latching themselves firmly around his neck. Her first official action in his arms, was to thread her fingers through his hair.

Well well. Just like her dream, but better. Hair so soft. So soft.

Take that, My Little Pony!

Erik...

She had no idea what she was doing.

He didn't have a clue either.

Erik noted with awe where her hands had wandered, and bent obligingly down so she wouldn't have to struggle to hold onto him. He shivered as her fingers combed through his hair, reminding himself to breathe, dispensing with the towel altogether as he cupped her freshly washed face in his hands and bravely settled his lips on hers in a gentle kiss.

A kiss.

He wanted more of them. Smiles and kisses from Christine, his interior voice hissed in a sibilant whisper. He could build a world around those things, and in the next instant, squashed the hell out of that thought.

Erik had never believed in fairy tales and wasn't about to start now. He was way out on that hypothetically weak tree limb, thirty feet in the air, far from the stony ground. If he slipped here, the fall would kill him. He was ready to break away if she showed even the smallest inclination to struggle.

His lips moved shyly across hers, his spare length pressing her against the sink, which was digging painfully into the small of her back. Her mouth opened beneath his, and he lightly touched his tongue to Christine's, his hands leaving her face and traveling down to her backside, cupping her buttocks and pulling her up tight against him. His mind gratefully slid back into the hazy lust which was becoming harder to deny, and his hand slipped beneath her pajama top, his fingers inching closer and closer to his destination.

Oh! she thought fleetingly, wriggling nearer to that questing hand as it brushed a nipple and retreated, as though waiting for a reaction, good or bad from her. Come back! her mind screamed, and pushed herself into his erection, grinding away happily.

The kiss deepened as they each breathed the other in...tasting. Exploring.

Their bodies fit together like pieces of a puzzle, developing a natural rhythm as they held tightly to each other. She knew about pounding someone into the mattress, but pounding someone into a sink? Her back was protesting loudly, but Christine merely told it to shut up and stop whining. She broke away from his mouth, muttering against his lips, "What are we doing?"

"Frottage," he responded hoarsely, and pushed his hips against her, drawing moans from them both.

"Not that. Us," she managed, before his mouth swooped down on hers again.

The intensity of the moment ratcheted higher and higher, until it became too much for a very frazzled Erik. What was worse, or better, as the case may be, Christine slipped her hand down between their bodies, laying a warm palm against his arousal, her fingers curling around it, smiling when it twitched in response as though trying to escape its cloth prison

He tried. Oh, how he tried, but after a few minutes of her considerable attention to his very rigid anatomy, along with the excitement of hot, open mouthed kisses, he gave in, unable to stop the speeding train hurtling down the track. It had simply been too long of a time for him, his control overworked twice in one night.

A few well placed caresses, and he was gone.

With a low growl, Erik tore away from her mouth, his arms tightening around her, his breath rasping in her ear. He buried his face in Christine's neck and shuddered against her.

His eyes were screwed tightly shut as he went from euphoric to extreme embarrassment. He had shot his wad like a damned schoolboy. His voice emerged muffled from her shoulder. "That was...tacky." He squirmed a little. And sticky.

"That bad, huh? Gee, from your reaction, I thought you were going to say, 'yeah, mama, let's do 'er again.' Not tacky," she murmured, her tone light and teasing.

He lifted his head and looked at her, his trembling legs threatening to dump him on the floor. "It was good, Christine. Trust me... it was."

She reached up and smoothed back a lock of his hair that had fallen across one eye. "It's been awhile, hasn't it?" she said, surprised that this was so. "I thought you and Carla-"

"Carla? Whatever gave you that idea?" knowing how close it came to being true.

"Well, uh, for one thing, I can smell her on you...her perfume, and I once found a pair of lady's panties in your room when I went in to get your sheets, so I figured... um-"

"Nothing happened tonight, Christine," he said with conviction, "but not for lack of Carla trying."

"And you were able to hold her off?" her tone one of pleased surprise.

"Have you ever heard voices in your head?"

"No. Can't say that I have."

"Well, I did, and they kept insisting that I leave," his wry smile a puzzle to her. "And the underwear? She stuck them in a pocket one time while I was playing cards. That's all," his hand dropping down between them and fingering the waistband of her pajama bottoms. "Enough about her," he whispered. "Allow me to return the favor," and before she could lodge a protest, his hand had slipped inside.

"That's not necessary, Erik," she said faintly, not really trying to push him away.

He was having none of it, and Christine tried one last time to convince him of his folly by plucking weakly at his fingers, which were plumbing depths in her she hadn't known existed. Those lovely, knowledgeable super-sized fingies of his. "You don't have to...to-

"'Really, G-Girard. I-

"Oh-

"Oh... my.

"Oh, yesss. That's...nice."

She scooted closer to him, entirely forgetting her totured back. She squirmed against his hand as it moved eagerly across her hot and needy flesh, soothing away some of the leftover ache in her heart. His mouth once more latched onto hers, kissing her thoroughly and deeply, like a man proving his lips are better than anyone else's, and Christine hissed her pleasure, rubbing herself against his stroking digits as they made themselves at home inside of her. His thumb was... was amazing! And the other four fingers were no slouches either. She rocked her hips as she sought her release, her tongue trying repeatedly to suck his down her throat. His strong arms held her securely upright as she felt the first hard ripples of her climax, and broke apart, her legs turning to mush. A heartfelt sigh slipped out of her mouth as she hummed in delight.

He placed tender kisses on her jaw, before straightening up and allowing her head to fall forward and thump on his breastbone. "It's been a while for me too," she mumbled into his shirt.

Erik held her close as her breathing returned to normal, in no hurry to release her, despite the mess in his underwear. He was beginning to itch.

She finally looked up at him, smiling sleepily, her arms somehow finding themselves wrapped around his narrow waist. "That was lovely," she whispered, "and just what I needed. Does this make us friends with benefits?"

"Why, yes. I believe we are now considered...uh... benebuddies," he returned, his hands moving comfortingly on her back.

"Uh huh...how 'bout romper roomies?" she contributed, snorting inelegantly.

"Friendmance," he added, his crooked smile making an appearance.

"Oh, I like that one!" she giggled. "Okay, okay. How 'bout-"

"Mom? I have to-

"Pee."

They both froze as Min stopped and stared at the two of them wrapped tightly in each other's arms, looking like a body with two disparate heads. They broke apart guiltily, Erik looking from mother to daughter and back to mother, before taking the low road, and slinking out of the bathroom. He mumbled a hasty good night, as he left his dignity and a hot shower behind.

"Nothing fainthearted about you, Girard," she sneered to his retreating back, watching him make a beeline for his bedroom.

"What were you and Erik doing?"

Christine's mouth opened and closed several times before she came up with an answer. I had s-something in my...something in my eye. Yes! I had something in my eye, and...and Erik got it out." Oh, please, Christine. That line's been used and abused.

"Oh. But you were laughing," she accused, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

"Ah...no. Not laughing. It was... relief! Yes! That's what it was." Boy, was it ever. Drowsy and sated. Feelin' fine, thank you very much. She herded her daughter to the toilet, and spoke soothingly, "I'll ah, just get outta here, 'kay? Let you take care of business."

The little girl nodded, and Christine scuttled out of the bathroom. Min settled herself on the toilet and rolled her eyes heavenward. "Geez. Grown ups."

Christine stood in the hall, thoughtfully regarding Erik's closed door, lamenting the end to their stolen moment, just as she decided it couldn't go any further. She wasn't going to sneak around the apartment, waiting for a chance to tumble into bed with Girard and go at it like demented bunnies.

Nothing would be going on. She would make sure of it.

She sighed mournfully as she lingered a moment more, glancing longingly at his door. But what a waste of all that manhood.

Yeah, and don't forget them magic fingers, she thought with longing.

The next day went by exceedingly slow, her shift taking forever to end, thanks to a rather sore back, which brought to mind that very pleasant interlude in the bathroom. Which in turn, led to smutty daydreams about the two of them moving it to the bedroom and making love in that large bed of his. There, Erik actually did pound her into the mattress. Somehow, she always managed to cut that particular dream off at the knees before reaching the satisfying conclusion. If she didn't, she would be attacking him some night while he slept innocently in his bed.

When Christine got home, she was going to speak with him about what had happened the night before. She didn't regret it. Far from it, but it had to be a one-time thing...for all of their sakes. She wasn't ready for another relationship so soon after leaving one, and Min didn't need the emotional impact of losing someone she held dear, due to another failed relationship of her mother's.

That's what she told herself.

When she opened their apartment door, it was to find Erik standing at the kitchen table, studying paint chips. Every shade of yellow was there- among them, pale flaxen, creamy butter, the orangey-yellow of saffron, golden honey.

And muted gold...the color of Erik's eyes as they looked last night, dark with passion and strangely beautiful to her as they shone like old coins from behind the mask.

"What's all this?" she inquired.

He had glanced at them as they came in the door, his heart speeding up as he thought of Christine and himself wrapped around each other, mouths fused together, his fingers stroking her...Christine flying apart in his arms as he brought her to completion.

"This is every color of yellow the paint store had," he said, feigning a tranquility he didn't feel. "I wasn't sure which one suited your needs, so I brought them all." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a silver bracelet, the tiny charms a varied mix of red lacquered lips and musical instruments surrounding the words LypSinc. He held it out to Min. "For you."

She came forward and took it from his hand. "Thanks, Erik! Look, Mom," and she held it out for her mother to admire. "I'm gonna put it on right now," and started for her mother before reversing course. "I love it!" Min said, putting her small arms around Erik and hugging him tightly. "Will you fasten it for me?"

For an answer, he took the bracelet from Min and secured it around her thin wrist. "You will have to grow into it a little, Araminta. It's very loose, so be careful it doesn't slide off."

The little girl nodded as she regarded her treasure. "Wait till Angie sees it!" and left the adults awkwardly standing there.

Christine was the first to break the tense silence. "That was nice of you," she said quietly.

He nodded, wanting to reassure himself that she didn't regret that very sweet, very hot moment. "Look, uh...about last night," he began.

"Save it. If you're going to apologize, I'm not listening. I enjoyed myself and except for getting caught like some half-assed teenager, I have no regrets, but...it can't continue."

"I understand. Not really your usual type, am I?" his tone a little bitter.

"No, it isn't that at all, so stop right there! Believe it or not, I happen to like you just the way you are. The thing is... I'm not ready for any entanglements at the moment. I have to get my head together and stop looking for a man at the end of the rainbow. The only one who can make me happy...is me."

"Can we go back to the way it was before?"

She shrugged. "It has to. I'm not going to sneak around my daughter with you, Erik.

"Much as I would like to," she added truthfully. "But remain friends? Sure."

"I understand," he said again. "No benefits." He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked down at his scuffed boots, rocking on the balls of his feet. "I'll take the friend part. The closest I ever came was Nadir, and as you well know, there is very little benefit to that."

"That's why we get along so well, Erik. We're both members of F.A.N."

"Come again?"

"Friends Against Nadir," she responded with an easy grin.

"Yes, we are united against Nadir, and no more assignations in the bathroom- or any other room, for that matter. Got it in one." He stood back from the table. "Come and look over these chips and tell me which color you like best. I'll get the paint tomorrow and we can get started this weekend."

"Wait a minute! You're not going to argue even a little in favor of continuing? We did kind of start something last night."

"And you are now the devil's advocate?"

"Of course not! But you gave up too easily. I wasn't expecting that," she said perversely.

"A one time encounter does not an affair make, Christine."

"You would know, Yoda."

He simply stared at her, as if likening her mind to the sharpness of a bowling ball.

"Don't look at me like that! Yoda... little green guy with humongous ears? You know...Star Wars? You kinda sounded like him just now."

"Yes, I know. I am not a complete movie illiterate. My-" He stopped, not bothering to finish the sentence.

"Your what?"

"My movie knowledge isn't perfect, but I am familiar with some."

"Okayy. So you're cool with a platonic relationship?"

"I never said that."

"Damn you! You did so, Erik."

"No, I didn't, Christine. I said I understood the reason. I didn't say I agreed with it."

"Then why not argue for it?"

He looked up from the table, one corner of his mouth lifting. "If I insisted on continuing what we began, what would you do?"

"Throw your ass out," she said promptly,

"Yes. And I have no wish to break up our little family."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

She looked at him, her eyes narrowed in thought. "You know, Erik...you're different."

"You really are observant," he jeered.

"No. I wasn't talking about your looks. I meant your attitude. Nothing like Nadir's."

"Thank you?" he answered, obviously enjoying himself now.

"I think we'll keep you," Christine said magnanimously.

"That's very generous," he returned dryly, not wishing to end their strange friendship by pointing out that the lease was in his name. Even so, the rigid set of his shoulders relaxed. "Now how about looking over these paint chips? Pick one, and we'll get started this weekend."

"It's kind of close to Thanksgiving, isn't it?"

"So it is, but it's not a large area. We can have it done and everything back in place in one day."

She regarded him hopefully. "What're your plans for turkey day?"

"I don't have any," he replied honestly. He never did, usually spending the day alone, opening a can of something unappealing, but quick.

"Well, you do now, Girard. Once we get the kitchen done, you and I are going shopping for the biggest, baddest Birdzilla in this town!"

"For three people?" he protested, even as he felt a warmth spreading in his veins at the thought of the holiday being spent with Erik's little family.

"Leftovers. Lots and lots of leftovers," she grinned.

Saturday had arrived, rainy and cold. Christine got out her battered pan and made a pot of oatmeal for their breakfast, insisting that Erik sit down and eat a bowl too, pointing out that he needed something to stick to his prominent ribs. Min, the ever-present bracelet tinkling merrily on her wrist, kept him entertained, barely stopping to take a breath, but he seemed to take it in stride as he listened seriously to her.

Christine dressed in old jeans and a white shirt Nadir had left behind, helped Erik lay newspaper everywhere. He began on the ceiling, giving it a coat of fresh white, while she started on the walls. They worked in silence for a time, Christine singing along to the radio tuned to an oldies station.

"I can't get no satisfaction. No, no, no." She heard a male throat clearing, and whipped around to find Erik watching her.

"And whose fault would that be?" he asked softly.

"I take full responsibility," she mumbled, and turned back to the wall she was painting. "I can't seem to get that song out of my head."

"You have what is known in the business as S.S.S," he informed her.

"Ah...let me guess. Stop Singing Shit."

"Close...but no. It stands for Stuck Song Syndrome, and is quite painful until it goes away."

"Painful, huh?"

"Yes. For all of us who have to listen to it over and over and over."

Just to be annoying, Christine proceeded to sing it non-stop, even working in a few sour notes, but Erik was more than ready for her, pretending indifference, even as he winced every single time she hit the wrong pitch. As the afternoon wore on, she often stopped to watch as he painted his way around the kitchen ceiling. He was dressed in... she had squinted until she was cross-eyed.

Tuxedo trousers?

She found herself staring again and again at the black satin stripe which ran down the outside seams, a stray thought chasing itself round and round. Why did the idea of a formally dressed Erik ring a bell?

She eyed the white button down, shirttail hanging out, the sleeves rolled back to the elbows, revealing his skull tats livid against pale skin, and willed the memory to show itself. It was nearly there, before diving once more into the murk. Frustrated, her eyes fell to the ever present motorcycle boots. He looked like an escapee from a wedding in Hell.

She glanced down at her sloppy jeans, over-sized shirt, and dirty sneaks with a hole in one toe, before looking back up at Erik. "Where's your cummerbund, Girard?"

"With my silk gloves and top hat, where else, de Chagny?" he retorted, moving the roller smoothly along the ceiling, the clean white, a bright flowing ribbon of paint.

"In all your odd jobs, you ever work as a butler in an uber swanky townhouse?"

"Butler?" Erik said, turning and regarding her with amusement. "No, madame," he intoned in a snobby, severely stuck-up fashion. "I cannot say that I have."

"All right," she replied in resignation, dabbing at a blob of yellow on the baseboard. "I'll bite. Why are you wearing formal pants to a painting party?"

His sigh was that of a man having trouble explaining a simple fact to a dimwit. "Because I do not want to get paint on my good clothes, Christine."

"In the real world, what you're wearing now would be considered your good clothes, Erik."

"Not for me. I have no need for these, therefore they are expendable."

"Sure. That makes sense. Ever hear of Goodwill?" she muttered, admiring his long legs and acknowledging the fact that he literally had no hips or ass. What in hell was holding up his pants? She snorted. Why, the world's smallest belt, what else? The ceilings in the old building were at least ten feet high, and she got a crick in her neck looking up at him. If he had been a little taller though, he could have dispensed with the ladder altogether.

He painted as he seemed to do everything else- neatly and efficiently. She looked closely at the yellow paint spatters surrounding her and stuck her tongue out in his direction. Yes, sirree. He was neatly efficient when he painted, and dressed to the nines while doing it. His very oddness was endearing in a way. She shook that annoying observation clean out of her head.

Not interested.

Christine could hear giggles and squeals of breathless laughter coming from their bedroom. Min's friend from a few streets down was visiting, and the two of them were playing dress up in Christine's old clothes and costume jewelry.

"Go ahead and ask him," Angie hissed.

"No. I won't," Min replied stubbornly.

"I'll bet he will, if you ask him nicely. Don't you wanna know?"

"Uh uh. You do."

There were more hushed whispers, to which both Erik and Christine listened closely, fairly certain what they were arguing about.

Curiosity about the mask.

"Sometimes their need to know is greater than their common sense," he said, not looking at her, "but she is just a child and doesn't know any better."

"Are you implying what I think you're implying?"

"Which is?"

"People have actually tried to forcefully remove your mask?"

"Yes."

"Have they ever been successful?" Christine asked, going to the fridge for two bottles of water.

"Yes."

"And?"

"They never got the opportunity again," his voice pleasant, but raising the hairs on her neck.

She slowly walked over to the ladder and looked up at him. "What are you saying, Erik? You made them disappear for good? Cement shoes and a watery end like the mob?" only half joking.

His head snapped up in surprise. "Made them disappear? What makes you say that?" He stared at her as if she were a fuzzy little dog ready to bite, as he made his way down the ladder until he was standing beside her.

She shrugged. "It's kind of silly, I guess. It's the way you said it though. You sounded scary there for a minute." She lunged playfully at him, and her fingers connected lightly with his side. "Gotcha!"

His reaction was immediate, as he made a sound suspiciously like a laugh and twisted away from her. "Yes. Silly."

"You're ticklish," she accused him, and before he could stop her she had both hands on him. He was mortified when a high pitched squeal of laughter exploded from his mouth, as her fingers raked unmercifully up his ribs. "Was that a giggle, Erik? The man who gives rocker groupies everywhere heart palpitations, has the gigglies?"

Breathless with laughter, he had managed to put the table between him and his tormentor, eyes alight with mirth, when Min and Angie clomped out to the kitchen in their borrowed finery. "What's goin' on?" Min demanded, watching the two adults circling the table.

Christine halted in her tracks and looked at her quarry. "Saved by a child, but you won't be so lucky next time, Girard." She picked up a bottle of water and took it to him. "Here. You look like you need it," she said grinning.

The look he gave her promised retaliation at some future date as he took the water, his paint speckled fingers brushing hers. He surveyed the two girls. "Who are these lovely ladies and what have you done with Araminta and Angela?" he asked solemnly.

Angie giggled, her thin face flushed rosy. She elbowed Min in the side. "Ask him," she hissed.

Erik casually unscrewed the cap on his bottle of water and took a healthy drink, his bony Adam's apple jittering up and down, Angie watching him in fascination. He looked at the two girls from his imposing height, bracing himself. "Ask me what?"

Min glanced at Angie and took a deep breath. "Can you get another LipSync bracelet, Erik? F-For Angie?"

Christine let out the breath she'd been holding. They had both been silly, it seemed.

"That was a promotion the club ran, and I'm afraid there aren't anymore," he replied, watching the girl's face fall in disappointment. "Perhaps you will like the next one though. A tee shirt, I believe, with the club's logo printed on the front."

"Yeah, that would be great," Angie mumbled, looking shyly at Erik.

"Uh, Min? You girls go and play now, 'kay?"

"Come on, Ange," Min said, grabbing the other girl by the arm. Secretly, Min was content that her friend wasn't getting a charm bracelet like hers. It was special because Erik had given it to her.

With one last longing glance at Min's bracelet, Angie followed her out of the room.

Later, after her friend had gone home, Min approached Erik as he was cleaning up. The ceiling had a fresh coat of paint, and the walls were nearly done.

"Angie really likes you."

"She does?"

"Uh huh. She said you're cool like Jack Skellington." At his silence, she added, "Nightmare Before Christmas? I have the movie and we can watch it together. Okay?"

"Sure. Whenever you like," Erik replied, amused that he was not only cool, but this dear child found nothing wrong with comparing him to a skeleton. True though it was.

"Erik? Uh...did you ever ride a motorcycle?" Min asked, staring curiously at the lurid tattoo on his right forearm.

"Yes."

"Wow," Min whispered in awe. "Did you go real fast?"

"Yes."

Christine wisely noticed his suddenly grim mouth and stiff posture, and headed her daughter off from anymore questions. "Ah, Min, I don't think Erik wants bothered right now."

"That means I should take myself off for a while, doesn't it?"

"What a smart girl I have. Set the table, please," and put down her paint brush, standing back to admire the walls. The room already looked much better. Sunshine all the time now. She went to the stove and stirred the pot of chile simmering there.

Christine turned to Erik who was gathering up the newspapers covering the floor. "Just so you know... she can annoy her mother with too many questions. Sometimes kids step on toes without meaning to, but you're good with them, Erik. I think you'd make a great father."

"What child would want me as a parent?" his tone wistful.

Christine snorted. "Any child that likes to be spoiled, that's who!"

Min, hearing this, sidled up to him and hugged his arm, gazing up at him. "That would be me...Daddy. And I would love a kitten!"

"And that's only the beginning of her list, Girard. Wait till she gets to the pony!" Christine laughed.

Knowing she was teasing him, didn't make it any less sweet. "If I don't get any other offers, I just might take you up on that," his large hand settling on top of Min's head.

A flurry of light knocks sounded at the front door, and Christine gestured to her daughter. "All right, you little suck up, go answer it."

Min opened the door, and immediately started squealing. She threw herself at the well dressed man standing there, and he dropped the shopping bag he'd been holding and caught her, lifting her high in the air. "Uncle Phil! Mom, it's Uncle Phil!"

Christine looked from a suddenly austere Erik back to her former brother-in-law. "I can see that. Phil. Well, this is a surprise!"