Hello there,

So, apparently a lot of people really liked the way I had the unmasking occur- thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, especially: Bookgirl13, Skittlesgirl99 and Erik'sTrueAngel- you guys are my rock for commenting on almost every chapter.

For everyone else who has/is read(ing) this, please, please, please review!! Otherwise I won't know for sure if other people out there are enjoying this or not. I would greatly appreciate it.

A note for this a few other chapters- because they decided to not take care of some of their clients until after opening week, there won't really be that much action... as for when Christine and Erik are getting together... well, that's completely up to them. And what is everyone's thoughts on Christine's recent victim already being killed?

Again, thank you to everyone for your encouragement- I really appreciate it from the bottom of my heart.

Ever yours,

The Soprano in Shadow

A weary Christine yawned and stretched before getting out of bed that morning. Going through her morning routine, the brunette avoided mirrors, knowing that being greeted by the sight of bags beneath her most likely bloodshot eyes would not be the best of ways to start the day. She did have an opera to perform in the late afternoon. Christine groaned as realization began to sink in. She would have to perform the opera with that insufferable man—she was too stubborn to quit, and too proud to get fired by not showing up.

Opening her bedroom door, Christine began to walk out to the kitchen only to find that blocking her in was a breakfast tray serenading her door. A breakfast tray complete with two poached eggs, sausage links, wheat toast, a single peony in a milk bottle, five client files and a New York Times paper. Stuck onto the milk bottle was a rather large sticky note.

Dear Miss Daae,

Please accept my humblest apologies for the way yesterday evening's words were exchanged. If you will permit me to, I would be honored if you would join me for an early supper post-matinee. I will eagerly await your response during warm-ups and Director's Notes at noon.

Humbly yours,

Erik Destler

Huffing in annoyance, Christine brought the tray in and set it on her desk, grabbing the files of the clients that Erik had pulled—all of them on her own list. They had agreed to only complete the one client during opening week, so why—Ah. That's why.

Glancing through the files, she saw that next to the box that stated "date of termination", last night's date had been hastily written in, followed by Erik's own initials for confirmation.

Apparently Erik Destler, famed composer and now baritone, had anger issues.

Either that, or he was trying to find some new way to apologize for yesterday's actions.

Those out of the way, Christine glared at the breakfast tray in retaliation. However she couldn't help but soften at the peony set in an old-fashioned milk bottle (peonies were her favorite flower). Nor could she help the gurgle of hunger coming from her stomach.

Maybe this one time, she would accept breakfast from someone she was angry with.

…

Christine made her way into the house of the theatre, hoping that Mr. Destler would not try to confront her in order to receive a response about early supper that evening. The last thing she wanted to do was sit and look pretty while the composer flounced about and tried to schmooze in order to get on her good side again. Mentally, she stopped herself from thinking like that: While Mr. Destler may have acted like a jerk, it didn't necessarily mean that he would try and pull the same moves as other guys.

Well, at least she could hope.

She could also hope that the eccentric composer wouldn't notice that she was arriving five minutes late to the Director's Notes, when the young soprano noticed that the rest of the performance's cast and crew were already seated on the stage and listening to both the director's notes and the composer's observations from on stage.

"Ah, Miss Daae, so kind of you to grace us with your presence," Erik said sarcastically, completed with a little mock bow.

Glaring at the object of her fury for the past twelve hours, Christine was surprised to see that he was back to acting his normal cocky self. Did he really think that a breakfast tray and invitation to supper was going to cut it? The composer gave her a look sending a simple message: Now is not the time to talk about our other life.

The moment was broken when the director once more began to discuss her notes. Taking a seat in the front row of the house, Christine began to seriously ponder what choice words she was going to use, when the sound of her name caused her to become aware of her surroundings once more.

"Christine Daae, all I really have to say is 'congratulations'! I have to say that you were in quite a rare form the previous night. I think that you really were able to pull off a wonderful job—despite the surprise of Mr. Destler's… ahem, appearance on stage thrust upon you." Christine gave a light smile in acknowledgement of the director's praise. However, it was short-lived.

"Actually, I would think the opposite," the composer cut in. "I believe that Miss Daae could have put in a lot more emotion in Act Two, Scene Three. The little emotion I could see was rather disappointing, and I was standing right next to the girl." Christine huffed in annoyance, crossing her arms, as Erik looked smug. Truthfully, he would make her run through that scene over and over just so that he could feel her in his arms and believe that even for a moment, his vision on stage could be real.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Destler, we do not have the luxury of having that time today. Perhaps Miss Daae and yourself can work through these… problems in a more private setting during your personal time?" A few members of the chorus and stage crew sniggered at the director's comment, causing a blush from both of the leads. "Alright, everyone—warm ups, please! Mr. Destler, Miss Daae, a word?"

As the chorus members and the rest of the leads began to sing through several variations of warm ups, the two leads mentioned made their way over to the director.

"I did see that news report a few days ago about the both of you. While I must say I'm both surprised and happy after that rocky introduction, I also request that you keep yourselves professional—especially when in front of the chorus members. Which means, Mr. Destler, that you cannot use your 'composer rights' to make Miss Daae work overtime. And Miss Daae…" The director trailed off not knowing what to say, feeling as though the soprano hadn't really done anything wrong, before waving her hand away in order to dismiss the pair.

Glaring at the baritone once more in warning, Christine turned on her heel and joined the rest of the cast in warm ups, giving Erik a few moments to appreciate her retreating figure. A knee length, beige, pleated dress accentuated the creamy complexion of the soprano's legs, and the bold colored heels she had chosen to wear with the ensemble also highlighted the muscles within those specific limbs. Erik grinned. What he wouldn't give to call those legs his.

Shaking his head in order to cease his personal thoughts, he moved next to the soprano as he joined in singing with the group. Glancing at the chorus members in approval, Erik felt fortunate that his opera had been cast strongly.

He snuck yet another glance in at the woman who hadn't left his thoughts since he had met her. Her eyes seemed to sparkle every time she sang, with a power and a passion he had never seen before in anyone else.

He smiled. She was perfect.

Within a few minutes, the cast was sent in different directions for costuming. An hour later the house was opened and members of the audience began to fill the seats. Another hour later, both Erik and Christine mentally reminded themselves to not bring their personal politics onto the stage as the curtain began to rise.

Let the opera begin…

…

Wiping off her makeup, Christine was startled to hear a knock on her door.

"Come in." Christine looked up to see the man of her very recent thoughts walk through the doorway. She smiled, amused at the first thought that had popped into her head. "I guess this makes us even then."

Erik smirked in response. "Ah, but Miss Daae, you barged into my room. I, on the other hand, politely knocked."

Rolling her eyes in jest, Christine fully turned around so that she could see more than just his reflection. She realized suddenly that for someone who was completely furious with this man, she seemed to have forgiven him almost straight away.

And she really didn't care.

"I hope that my acting skills in our scene of passion were sufficient for you?" Christine asked, adding on the thick layers of sarcasm to highlight her meaning.

Chuckling, Erik nodded in response. Somehow she could always see right through him. "Could've used a bit more," he mumbled, startled by the light caught in her eyes.

Christine turned back to her vanity mirror, intent on wiping off the remainder of her makeup so that she could finally wash her face, and change clothes. "I'm assuming you're here because you want to know my answer concerning this 'early supper' idea of yours?" At the sight of his nod, Christine gave him a pointed look. "Would it honestly make you feel better?"

Another nod.

The soprano sighed in defeat. After getting through the amount of fans today, she could use a drink. "Fine, I'm yours for the evening. Just make sure I'm home by eleven, otherwise Firmin and Andre will most likely place a bounty on your head."

…

They sat in Balthazar, one of the most expensive, yet casual dining experiences in SoHo. Of course Erik would choose this place. With Christine in her dress, and him in his black jeans, Christine had to admit: the choice of restaurant was actually… perfect.

Christine wondered when her partner for this meal would begin to explain everything that had occurred in the past twenty-four hours. Impatience and hunger just simply didn't mix, and they would only have a limited amount of time to speak honestly and in private, before their waiter returned with their orders.

"I just wanted to start off by saying how sorry I am for all of this occurring," Erik began. "However, your little friend didn't completely fill you in with all of the details."

Christine looked confused. "What do you mean?"

Erik took a deep breath; it was now or never. "After you left, I took the earliest red eye that I could back to the Organization in order to speak with Antoinette as soon as possible. While it was definitely not in my power to stop working with you, I do admit that at the time I was hoping I could find a loophole in being your second for this assignment. However, Antoinette was firm with her decision: I needed to stay with you and at the moment there was no one else who could be able to keep an eye out for you, while also doing my half of the job."

Christine became frustrated. "I already knew all of this. And why didn't you just not come back then? If you don't want to be here, don't be here. I won't go looking for you to try and get revenge. This was such a waste of time," Christine muttered before starting to get up. She refused to sit here so that this man could tell her everything that was wrong with her.

"Miss Daae, wait, please. Let me try and explain my process of thinking, at least." Rolling her eyes, Christine sighed once more, before sitting back down.

"I'm waiting."

"Did you ever think to give your newest partner a background check? Have you ever thought that you should give that a try?" Christine nodded.

"Normally I would, but Antoinette chewed me up enough about my issues with you, and so I assumed that I wouldn't be granted access to one."

"Well no matter how annoyed Antoinette is with you, she is never allowed to deny you your right to ask for one. If we all went about not giving each other background checks, then we wouldn't know each other's weaknesses and past. It's up to us to work as a team, and part of that involves making sure none of us go around the bend."

"Well," Christine began uncertainly, "Did you give me a background check?"

"No. Figured that you basically being Antoinette's second daughter would mean that she had been keeping a firm eye on you. Thankfully, I was right." Erik said, watching the brunette fidget. What was she hiding?

"Alright, well what do I need to know about you then? Obviously if you're mentioning those, then you're speaking about one of us."

"Correct. I am in this case talking about myself. I—"

"Here are your soups, enjoy!" The waiter seemed immune to the masked composer's deathly glare, as he sent a wink in the soprano's direction before walking back to the kitchen.

"Idiotic boy," Erik grumbled as he watched the young man move away from the table. He was not one to be messed with this evening.

"As I was saying: Antoinette was kind enough to point out the fact that, really, you are the only one who has worked with me in about five or so years," Erik began. "The last woman who worked with me was my contact, Luciana. She was a nice enough girl, probably close to your age. She was sweet and could manage me during almost any of my moods." Erik swallowed as he prepared himself to tell her the worst of it.

"After working together for a few months, we fell in love. Or as in love as anyone could be with me. Having been in the Organization for about seven or eight years before Luciana, I had planned after that assignment to marry Luciana, and retire at a young enough age where we could still live rather comfortably for the rest of our lives, and never have to work again. Except things have a way of never working out the way you want them to," Erik finished softly.

Christine watched him, eyes wide, waiting for him to finish. "What happened to Luciana?" Christine asked quietly, when the composer didn't say anything else.

"She died."

"My papa died too." Christine whispered in response. Reaching across the table to hold his hand in understanding. She knew what it felt like to love someone fiercely, and then to have him or her torn away from you at the perfect moment.

Erik sighed. It was no use hiding the truth from her. He had to tell her how he felt. "Christine, I wanted to ask Antoinette to remove me from the assignment. But not because of you, because of me…"

Christine stiffened and snatched her hand back. "I know what you mean. You're going to say, 'it's not you, it's me' next, right?"

Erik shook his head as he frantically tried to find the right words. He was going to lose her! "Christine, you don't understand. It's for your own—"

"Alright, we have a rack of lamb, cooked medium rare, and the tilapia with asparagus… Oh! Your soups are still untouched. My apologies! Would you like me to bring out warm—"

Damn his timing. Erik growled in frustration and his chair screeched against the floor as he stood up abruptly, and glared at the waiter and snapped. "What I would like for you to do, sir, is to bugger off and let this lady and me have a bloody conversation!"

The dining room quieted as everyone turned to look at the eccentric composer. The waiter's face was pale, uncertain of what to do in this scenario—the manager had never trained him for problems like these. Christine was red with embarrassment at the amount of attention they were getting. Sooner or later someone was going to recognize them, and Firmin would have their head with any bad publicity.

"Actually, if we could just have our dinners to go, sir, that would be wonderful," Christine said, and flashed a flirtatious smile at the startled waiter, who thankfully recovered, gave a worried smile of his own and moved as quickly as he could with the two meals.

As if that had snapped things back into reality, the other diners turned around to their own tables as if nothing had happened. Giving her masked companion a pointed look, Christine waited a moment longer for the waiter to come back with their wrapped meals. Thanking him again, she pulled out one of Firmin's contact cards and gave it to him.

"Just call this number, and tell the man that Cat gave you this card. Just tell him who you are, and what happened. Make sure you say 'thirty' and 'Mr. Destler's fault', and he'll take care of you, alright?" Eagerly, the waiter nodded, relieved—at least the other member of this party was kind. Telling her the customary 'have a nice evening', the poor waiter disappeared into the kitchen once more. Not that Christine blamed him.

Turning to the masked composer, Christine looked pointedly at the entrance of the noteworthy Balthazar, before glancing back at him. Erik understood immediately: Leave or die. Following the baritone outside, Christine moved over to the street in order to flag down a yellow cab.

"What are you, insane? Did you miss the course on 'How to act around civilians in order to not blow your cover'?" The soprano snapped. Erik winced—he knew that how he had reacted to the waiter was wrong, he just couldn't stop himself.

"Look, I'm sorry. I just became frustrated—I need to make you understand the truth about me."

A yellow cabbie's attention was caught by the soprano's hand, but as it halted in front of her, the brunette's attention was once more on the assassin before her.

"Well? What's the truth, then?"

"Lady, are you going to get in or not?" The cab driver snapped, annoyed that he hadn't gotten the passengers he had stopped for.

Christine turned around to the driver and gave him a pleasant smile. "Sir, if you could be patient for just a few moments? You're more than welcome to start the meter now, and I'll be happy to pay the standing fare amount as well."

Turning back toward Erik, her impatience came back at the sight of the man before her. "The truth?"

Erik ruffled his hair, his dark mask giving the impression that the man was worn out and tired. Better now than never.

"She died, Christine, because I killed her. That's why no one else will work with me, and that's why I need to be replaced by someone else. One of these days, I might just kill you."

Christine stared back at him unimpressed. "That was it? Get in the bloody cab, Mr. Destler. I still haven't eaten, and I'm rather grumpy at the moment." Turning away from the composer Christine climbed into the cab with their meals, giving the driver directions, as Erik stared at her for a moment before climbing in after her and closing the door.

"I don't understand," Erik said quietly. "Why is it that you are so calm and unfazed by everything I am? I'm a killer, a monster… " He motioned to the damaged side of his face. "I just don't get it." Christine turned to look at him coolly before giving her response.

"It doesn't matter what is shown on the outside—that isn't by choice, Mr. Destler. What is a choice is the way you show others how to look past that in order to see who you are. I wasn't lying when I said that you were one of the most attractive men out there. While you might see yourself as one of the Organization's tools, I can see potential for other things from you as well. Take your own advice to heart, Mr. Destler: feel the good in the 'depths of your entire being—that is where your true potential will lie'." Christine glanced outside as the cab slowed to a halt, noticing that they were outside of Antoinette's apartment building before getting out.

Christine's words hit him straight in the heart, as he stared after the woman had already left. Feel the good. Was there any good in his body? Is that what she needed?

"Hey! Are you going to sit here all day, or are you going to get out?" The driver snapped, itching to find new passengers—he did have gas to pay for after all.

"Sorry," the composer mumbled, as he got out of the cab and entered the apartment building, all the while mulling everything over. So he would try to be pleasant and less cold. Less cocky, the face he had been showing to all of the public, and more… emotional? Understanding? Human? If that's what she needed, then he could try that.

He could.

Sighing, Erik gave the doorman a brusque thank you for calling an elevator for him, before he winced at the way his gratitude had sounded.

Act human? He was doomed.