Nadir threw his keys on the table and glanced around the kitchen. No dinner and no Ava. For the second night in a row. He walked into the living room and stood undecided- hungry, yet having no particular interest in making himself something to eat. The place was so damned quiet; he could hear the humming of the fridge and the soft tick of the star burst wall clock over the sofa. The muted rush of cool air from the air-conditioning vied with the faint rumble of a lawnmower on the west side of their apartment complex. It barely intruded into his thoughts as he sank down on a chair.

And tried to force away a feeling of helplessness.

He ran a hand through thick, dark hair and tried to ignore a sudden longing for the life he had given up. The stability with Christine that had begun to stifle him, he now had a yen for. He wouldn't even mind the kid anymore; her and her endless questions. Really, he'd had it pretty good before giving in to the inevitable desire for a change in ladies, followed by chasing a bit part in a series clear to Florida. Must not forget that. His name would no doubt be banned in the de Chagny household- wherever it was.

He let out a sigh of frustration. Ava was attractive in her own right, but the restlessness that usually hit him not long after entering a relationship, was working on him now. For years he had flitted from woman to woman, like a bee darting from flower to flower, sipping from the cup of nectar and moving on.

No one could ever take her place.

But Christine had managed to fill some of the hollow places in his soul that had been left when she died; had given him a measure of contentment, although love had never been mentioned, let alone felt. Khan could never find forever with any woman, but Christine had come closer more than any other before restiveness had set in, and leaving was the only thought in his head.

His part in the series was over with, having been killed a number of times, each one more gruesome than the last. He chuckled outright. Min would have been fascinated by it all- becoming a zombie had elevated his status in her eyes. The girl would probably have enjoyed Florida and its heat; the amusement parks and spun sugar beaches. He felt a momentary twinge of shame that he had run out on Christine and therefore on her little girl.

He found himself wondering how they had fared since he left. Erik would have claimed the apartment, and Christine would no doubt have moved in with Louise Sorelli for a time, stubbornly refusing to inform her ex-brother-in-law of the change in her situation. She was fond of him, but insisted on going her own way as much as possible. Phil de Chagny had always taken an interest in Christine and the girl, more so than Min's father had ever done, but the lawyer had looked down his patrician nose at the likes of Nadir Khan.

The man had been very astute when it came to assessing Khan's character.

The twinge of shame had grown to a dull ache, his over-active imagination picturing mother and daughter wandering aimlessly from street to street virtually homeless, the girl panhandling on busy corners for spare change. He snorted in disbelief at the absurdity of this vision. As if Christine would allow her little girl to beg, and he was quite certain that Erik wouldn't have tossed them out with nowhere to go. Even so, he had still left them in questionable circumstances and his self-loathing grew.

He had a sudden urge to talk with Christine and at least offer her his apologies for being such a self-serving bastard. But perhaps a better way would be to contact Erik first. After all, he had not run out on Girard. Merely left him holding the bag, so to speak. Erik would perhaps know where Christine had gone. It had been months since his friend left that ferocious message on his phone, and Erik was never one to harbor a grudge for long.

With most people anyway.

He could think of one that Girard held in relentless enmity. Erik and his mother had butted heads since the very first time Nadir had been unlucky enough to be in the same room with mother and son. Her, and half the student body where they had attended school, had been held in utter contempt by his friend. That was shortly after Waseem Khan moved his small family from Glendale, Ca. to Hartford, where Nadir had begun middle school as the shifty-eyed foreigner.

He had been singled out as the newest, round-peg-in-a-square-hole kid, that schools everywhere seemed to have ready made, but a tall, painfully thin boy with a covered face, seemed to be the target of choice. Even as the other kids kept their distance, Khan could hear muttered insults as Erik passed clusters of fellow students sitting and standing in small groups in the courtyard. The Persian watched with mild interest one afternoon, as a sturdy blonde boy stuck a foot out and tripped the bag of bones. Nadir would have kept out of the ensuing battle, having no wish to make enemies, but for a twinge of empathy, when the hunky instigator was joined by two others. The ostracized boy put up a good fight, but three beefy specimens ganging up on one scrawny twig was not even odds.

It was a massacre.

The masked boy had struck first, his fury at the unprovoked attack, giving him the initial advantage as he planted a left hook in a convenient face, but the numbers were too slanted for him to keep it up for long. He soon went down in a tangle of flying arms and legs, and with a resigned sigh, Nadir set his books on the ground and waded into the brawl, pulling the blonde off the skinny dude by the back of his shirt. The fight was engaged with a more satisfying two against three, and at one point the inscrutable masked face, a little worse for wear, swung around and stared hard at Khan.

"Who are you?"

"Well, I'm not with them, if that's what you're asking," he had panted, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at two of Erik's assailants, before a painful blow to his right kidney was followed by a foot connecting with his ass and giving him a hard shove forward.

A shrill scream had cut across the fighting and Nadir's head whipped up at the hysterical sound of it. "Allah," he whispered at the sight before him, the Twig's uncovered features now bared for all to see. The boy had scrabbled for his mask, snatching it from the cobblestones, and covering the pitiful wreck of his face in a matter of seconds, but not before more than a few had seen his ravaged features. That one brief look, only managed to make the remainder of his school years that much harder. Deeply ashamed, he hunched in on himself as the other combatants backed away from him in disgust.

The blonde haired boy looked from the crowd and back to the Twig with smug satisfaction, giving an exaggerated shudder. "Whew, man. You was hit over the head with that ugly stick more than once!"

A few of the students tittered nervously at this; some were even looking at the blonde with disapproval, but the majority were ambivalent to what had just gone down, the average thirteen year old not brave enough to stand apart from the herd.

A male teacher had finally arrived and begun restoring order as he grabbed at whatever flesh presented itself to him, hauling the combatants to their feet and separating them. Nadir had given a sigh of relief, and after a moment of hesitation, stepped forward, holding out a hand to the scrawny boy. After observing it as one would a live bomb, the Twig finally took it.

"Who started this?" Neff, the seventh grade math teacher had asked. He glared around the circle of blank faces, until a slender girl with straight brown hair and a mouthful of braces, looked fleetingly at the silent, now masked figure with a cut lip and torn shirt.

"H-He did, Mr. Neff," she told him, still rattled from what she had seen. "Erik Girard. He attacked Will for no reason at all, and he," pointing a purple tipped finger at Khan, "was beating Ethan on the head!"

Nadir glanced once at the boy named Girard expecting a denial, and was stunned when he said nothing at all. He simply stood there, wiping surreptitiously at his bleeding lip.

"Erik?" Neff demanded. "Did you attack Will first?"

A sullen shrug was all the answer Girard would give, and Neff then turned and looked at Nadir with surly impatience. Eying the other three boys, all members of the football team, Khan had decided he wanted to live a little longer, and therefore remained silent as well. Of the five involved, Erik and Nadir were the only ones to receive a detention.

"Get your asses to the nurse's office," Neff had snapped at the three troublemakers standing together nursing various minor injuries. He broke up the knots of remaining students then, until the courtyard was empty save for himself, Nadir, and Erik.

"Girard! Have that lip attended to first, then you and Khan here, get your sorry butts to the principal's office," the teacher barked, before leaving the two boys awkwardly standing there.

"Why didn't you say something?" Khan had finally asked Girard.

Erik turned a pair of oddly colored eyes on him. "Why didn't you?"

"I wanted to live without pissing blood." Nadir rubbed at his back. "That punch hurt like hell."

"There is your answer," and Erik held out a long fingered hand. "This isn't the first time I have been separated from the herd, but a first that anyone has ever taken my side," and after a tiny pause, "Thanks."

Nadir considered that pale hand for a fraction of a second. He had never seen a face like the one Erik Girard hid.

And hoped to never again.

But after a stilted introduction, they had gradually become friends as they navigated the mine field which passed for education. After ascertaining that they had both been singled out for their differences, the two misfits had banded together. The fights had followed them sporadically from middle school to high school, and even though Erik had never initiated one, he was more than willing to end it, often by devious means.

Sometimes they won.

Sometimes they didn't.

Through the years, they had remained friends, even when Erik skirted very real trouble the year they had turned sixteen. After school, their friendship had continued, despite their lives having taken different paths, but eventually, events had unfolded that would change them forever. In the end, they had drifted apart, only occasionally keeping in touch.

With a start, he remembered what his intentions were, and before he could change his mind, he punched in Erik's number and prepared to end the call if he got nothing but voicemail.

"Hello," and the dulcet tones of his friend were suddenly in sunny Miami, sounding familiar and alien at one and the same time. Erik was a child of the night, not glaring hot days with half-naked people seemingly everywhere, like breakers rolling endlessly along the sandy shore. He couldn't quite picture Girard in Speedos and a muscle tee, working on his tan as he lolled on the beach.

"My friend. How have you been?" Nadir said in a hearty hail-fellow-well-met tone.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the finest two-bit actor on the silver screen," the voice said in a much friendlier tone than Khan had expected. "And what can I do for you?"

"Can't an old friend touch base for no reason, Erik?"

"Only if that old friend doesn't have an ulterior motive."

"You never answered my question."

"Which was?"

"You son of a bitch! How the hell are you?"

"Doing well, Khan. Thanks for caring- finally. Better late than never," Erik said with amusement.

Which made Khan very curious.

"Yes. How did that go? You sound very content, but I'll bet Christine wasn't thinking kind thoughts when you showed up that day."

"Something like that," the tone dry, like a sip of sand. "Did you want something?"

Nadir paused, wondering how to state this. "Christine, Erik. I feel bad about ending things the way that I did. I'd like to apologize for being such a..."

"Asshole," Erik added helpfully.

"Why, yes. Crudely put, but no doubt true. Do you know where she went?"

"I might," Girard replied mildly.

"All right, now we are getting somewhere," he said bracingly. "Where did she go?"

"Nowhere."

"Nowhere? Well then, where are you?"

"Here."

"Where is here, Erik?"

"My apartment, Khan. Where else would I be?"

It began to dawn on him. And he knew he wasn't going to like it one bit. "You and Christine are living together?"

"You have a problem with that?" Erik said, his lazy amiability suddenly gone missing.

"Does she know about you?"

"That's none of your business."

"That's a no, then."

"I would love nothing better than spending more time talking with you, Nadir, but I'm a little busy right now."

"Doing what?"

"Picking out floor samples for the kitchen, but thanks for calling. Keep in touch, old friend."

The Persian held a now silent phone, effectively put in his place. Christine was completely in the dark as to whom she was shacking up with this time. Just the thought of Girard with his former lover raised all kinds of red flags.

Where was Christine's sense of decency? The bed they had shared would hardly have been cold when Erik moved in. Worse yet, was the fact that she knew nothing of Girard's history.

Or perhaps even his face.

Maybe someone should enlighten her.

Someone like him.


"Um...tell me again why you are mad for turkey?" he asked, adding the plastic bag with Christine's frozen birdy treasure to his others.

She bit into her apple and thought about it. "Well, Raoul was a vegetarian, so we had tofu turkey for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Nadir abstained from anything porky, and didn't care for animals with feathers, so roast beef was usually on the table for holidays." She shrugged. "This year was all about what Min and I wanted." She eyed him suspiciously. "You do like turkey, right?" and at his nod, she grinned. "Yep. I pegged you for something fowl."

"That would be with a W, I trust?" he returned dryly, and looked askance at the bag containing the six pound turkey breast. "It is too bad that finding a turkey big enough to satisfy you was out of the question. Will we have to guard our plates from your roving fork?"

"Maybe. Who would have thought everyone decided at the last minute to stay home this year?" she complained.

"I told you we should have gone further afield."

Christine took another bite of apple. "Not necessary. It'll be plenty for the three of us and lots left over."

"You are sure of that?" he asked, knowing how plans had a tendency to go balls up at the last minute.

"Oh, sure. Phil is probably at this very minute sending Louise into cardiac arrest just by showing up at her door after two friggin' years. She'll probably be wearing something slinky and gorgeous, and faint dead away from excitement."

"Sounds dangerous," he replied, slowing his gait as Christine did a skip and a hop to keep up with his sidewalk eating strides.

"Could be, I guess. Especially if he doesn't catch her," she grinned. "But once Phil's done reviving her, he's going to ask Louise to join him for Thanksgiving dinner at the uber swanky Columbus Room."

"There you are then. You will only have to fight off two people," Erik teased.

"You are fortunate though, I don't usually go for seconds of anything," he added.

"Gee, I hadn't noticed," raking her eyes up and down his lanky frame, not a bit of extra padding anywhere that she could see.

They were shopping for their holiday dinner, Erik having been given the evening off after an exhausting week. They had dropped Min off at Angie's for a while, and Christine didn't look too closely at why she was enjoying this shopping expedition; compared to their first, this one was a walk in the park.

They had separated the other night, each going to their respective rooms, having drunk their tea and managing to keep their hands from straying back to each other. She cut her eyes up at her companion, wondering yet again, what strange chemical reaction kept them coming back for more.

What kept her coming back for more.

Erik was not a man to inspire lust in any woman. Well, that wasn't exactly true. His voice alone could do that. But it should have ended there for her.

It hadn't.

For two people who had sworn off any type of relationship except for the friendly variety, they were having a hard time following it through.

"Soo...tell me again about your conversation with Nadir. He's sorry for screwing us both over now, is he?"

"Yes. That would be Nadir Khan. It takes a while for any remorse to kick in."

"No kidding. It's a little late for apologies."

"Yes," he agreed, glancing down at her, admiring the sweep of dark lashes against her pale skin, the bow of pink lips slightly down-turned in disapproval. Lips that were soft and welcoming, warmly pressed to his. His face reddened beneath the mask.

Don't go there.

In a sudden onset of camaraderie, Christine tucked her hand through his arm. "How 'bout burgers from Randy's Cafe for supper tonight? I'll buy."

"That is an incentive if I ever heard one, de Chagny. The words, I'll buy coming from your mouth, is seduction to the nth degree."

"Flatterer. I'm truly surprised no one has snapped up a prize like you, Girard."

"I have often wondered that myself," and held the door open for her as they entered Randy's, the air redolent of frying meat and fresh brewed coffee. An old fashioned jukebox squatted in one corner, a Kenny Chesney tune blaring from it. 'She thinks my tractor's sexy. It really turns her on...' The place was packed with diners, and they waded in to the counter to place their order.

"Who let the freak in?" A short hatchet faced man sitting at the counter looked Erik up and down before calling to the owner himself, who stood at the cash register ringing up a check. "Hey, Randy! When you start lettin' goths in here?"

Christine stared at the speaker sitting at the counter with another man, whose flat eyes were the color of dirt. Both stared unabashedly at her companion, while those around them sat and watched, their curious faces a pale blur as she focused on the man doing the talking.

She opened her mouth to give a withering reply, when Erik said firmly, "Ignore them."

She looked from him and back to the two men, having decided to give them a large, angry piece of her mind anyway, when Erik grabbed her arm. Amid unpleasant laughter, he propelled her ahead of him and out the door.

"That's right! Skip on down the street and scare the shit outta someone else! Ugly lookin'..." the other man yelled before the door cut him off.

Once outside, she ripped her arm from Erik's hold and turned fiercely on him. "Again, Girard? What the hell is wrong with you besides doing your level best to avoid confrontations? Why are you so willing to let neanderthals like that, say and do whatever they damn well please?"

"Sticks and stones. Ever hear that? Except for a lack of functioning brain cells they didn't do anything, Christine." His eyes had widened when he realized what she had dragged into the conversation. The purse snatching. "Ah. Yes, I see. We have arrived back at our first shopping expedition, have we? Proving my worth to you by leaping into the fray and beating those two imbeciles into submission. That would do it for you, would it not?"

"It's called manhood for a reason," she blustered, having the sinking feeling she was about to lose this particular argument.

"Last time I looked, there was no question that I fit that particular criteria."

"Oh? Not missing anything?"

She nearly gasped at the flash of hurt in his eyes, and instantly was ashamed. "Hey, look...I'm-"

"Forget it," he interjected, his mouth thin and sour. "You have made your point quite well. You require a pit bull, not an undernourished lapdog."

The walk home was the extreme opposite of the warmth and friendship with which they had first set out, and Christine cringed at the sullenness radiating off of him in waves. She snorted. What could he do to her anyway? He was incapable of fighting back.

Yet the knowledge didn't make her feel any better.

Only more miserable.


Their dinner of franks and beans was quiet except for the non-stop chatter from her daughter, which as usual was aimed almost entirely at Erik. Whether Min's hero worship was a balm to his wounded pride, or he was just too tired to stay in a bad mood, he seemed to loosen up more and more as the evening progressed.

While Christine cleaned up in the kitchen, Min further entertained him with one of her movies- this time Hocus Pocus. Erik was sprawled on the couch, feet on the floor, his head resting comfortably on a couple of throw pillows. Min sat below him, her back against the couch, making sure he knew what was going to happen next. It was a wonder he didn't stick a sock in her mouth.

"See, Erik. The three witches have come back. I told you they would, didn't I?. And the cat? It's really Zachary Binx, the boy at the beginning of the movie. Remember him? The mean witch cursed him! " Min sighed in admiration. "He's so cute, but wait 'til you see Billy Butcherson," and she giggled. "He keeps losin' his head!" She turned and looked up at the silent man stretched out on the couch.

"Erik?" Min turned to her mother who was nearby, sweeping the floor, and put a finger to her lips. "Shh. He's sleepin', Mom."

"Yeah, I can see that. You probably talked him there, so be quiet and let him rest." The little girl nodded, her hand creeping out and patting a lock of his hair.

Christine went over her food list for their Thanksgiving dinner, and was able to check off everything on it. She would make her pumpkin pies the next day; the bread for stuffing was in a bowl on the counter, and the turkey breast was thawing in the fridge.

Her head snapped up when she heard the faint giggle coming from the living room. It was Min's ornery snicker which alerted Christine. Something was amusing the child and she was trying to be discreet about it; that in itself was a dead giveaway. She threw her pen down and got to her feet. Not that Min was an evil little girl, but her sense of humor definitely came from her mother. Her father didn't own one.

When she saw what her daughter was doing, she clapped both hands over the snort of laughter fighting to get out. Min was busily braiding Erik's black hair in neat little pig tails that stuck out on both sides of his head. She had just finished one, and had industriously begun another.

He opened one eye and growled at the girl, "Did your mother put you up to this?"

Min giggled and kept braiding. "Uh uh. I thought of it all by myself," she stated proudly.

"Thank God you didn't paint my nails pink while you were at it."

"That was my job," Christine said with an easy grin. She stood above him, hands on hips. "You look kinda cute like that."

"Who knows? Except for Arons, it might work for the rest of the band," he returned mildly. He had tensed when the girl's hands had busied themselves with his hair. Long practice had taught him that curiosity was a powerful motivator, and often led to over-stepping boundaries, but eventually he had relaxed again, her little hands soothing.

Min sat back on her heels and surveyed him critically. "You're pretty with braids, Erik," she whispered, admiring her handiwork. She was wearing the club's latest promotion, a pink tee shirt with a pair of red lips above the city skyline, the words LipSync below. He had presented Christine with one, and also Min's friend Angie.

Christine had to cover her mouth yet again at her daughter's choice of words. Of all the things she had noted about Girard, pretty wasn't one of them. "Now now, Min. We don't need that enormous male ego of his getting any larger, do we?" and fought the urge to laugh when Erik shot her a death glare.

"No chance of that with you around, Christine," he said peevishly.

"Go take your bath now, Min."

"You wanna talk to Erik, don't you?" the little girl replied sagely.

"Yes. Which means you need to listen to me and go do it."

"Why?" Min asked, poking a button or two on her mother's patience reserves.

Christine put a hand against her daughter's back and gave her a gentle push. "Cause I'm the mommy, that's why," she said in a light, girly tone.

"Ohh," Min breathed, nodding her head. "That's a really good reason."

"I thought so." She went to her knees beside the couch, resting her forearms on Erik's narrow chest as she leaned closer.

He looked away, and she placed an uncompromising finger beneath his chin, turning his head back toward her. "Hey. I'm sorry," she said softly.

He gave a curt nod. "Forget it," his dignity remaining unruffled despite the tiny braids poking out of his head.

She smiled in spite of herself. "Oh, Girard. You are a treasure," lightly tugging on a braid. "I was upset on your behalf. They had no right to be so rude. They don't know you."

"And you do, Christine? You thought I should react, and when I refused to be baited by a pair of lug-nuts, you turned your anger on me!"

"I know I did, and I was wrong," her thumb caressing the corner of his thin mouth. "Forgive me?" she entreated him, replacing her thumb with her lips in a feather light kiss. "Hey. We still tight?"

For an answer, he plunged his fingers into Christine's hair, pulling her head closer. His mouth nearly touching hers, he whispered, "And if we are not? What terrors will you enact on me?"

She brushed her mouth against his. "More of this."

"Count me in then."

Christine sighed in relief. "So what do you say? Are you my good buddy or not?"

"I believe I am," and to prove it, pressed his lips to hers.

She eagerly kissed him back, one hand resting lightly against his jaw. Getting up and stretching out beside him was looking better and better, until she recalled her daughter and reluctantly pulled away. She sat back, taking a deep breath. "Why do we always end up like this?" she asked lightly, licking her lips at the taste of him, her heart pounding right along with his.

"You started it, de Chagny," he was nice enough to point out. He grabbed her hand and held it within his own. "But keep going. I don't mind at all."

"Seriously, Erik. How often have you been verbally attacked?"

"How many days are there in a year?"

"The bastards. They have you by the short and curlies, don't they?" She pressed her chin into his chest, ashamed to look at him.

"They do try."

"I don't help much," she mumbled into his shirt. "Some friend." Christine raised her head and looked into his eyes. "What about physical attacks?"

"Verbal is preferable to physical any day," he stated, dodging her question for the moment. "A little more than a month ago, I was stopped by two of our city's finest while doing nothing more than standing on the street corner waiting for the light to change. My only crime?" One bony finger pointed to his face. He shrugged. "Some eyes are sharper than others. They decided a closer look was justified, demanding my ID and life history while they had me backed up against the wall of that florist shop on 2nd Avenue." He made as if to rub at his face, and dropped his hand.

Christine said nothing for the moment, not really knowing what to say.

"Fortunately, they were familiar with LipSync and permitted me to go on my merry old way. That's why limiting my movements out among average peeps is how I have kept myself relatively intact. I am more comfortable when the sun isn't underscoring my obvious defects, but my father explained to me a long time ago, that to hide myself away would be the very worst thing I could do."

"He was right, you know," she replied softly, feeling entirely lame for even suggesting that she knew what he went through on a daily basis. She turned her hand over in his, palm to palm and threaded their fingers together. "I wouldn't have you as my...as my good friend right now if you hid yourself away in a...a cellar!"

"Oh, I don't disagree, although simply traveling from the apartment to the club can be problematic."

She was seeing his existence in a new light. Erik himself had made it easy for her to take his deformity in stride. He was amusing, kind, and for a man with such a huge disadvantage, surprisingly normal. Takes some kind of balls to pull that off, and not go completely wonky, she realized, and once again, she felt deeply ashamed for lashing out at him earlier that day.

"Hey! Answer the damned question, you! How often has it become physical?"

"Often enough," he returned mildly, "but I learned from experience that the worse my reaction was, the more vicious went the attack. I developed an edge as I got older, and fighting back proved to be immensely satisfying... although," cocking his head in an attitude of uneasy recall, "it turned out to be a double-edged sword."

She heard the tang of old bitterness lacing every one of his words. "How's that?"

He said nothing for a moment as he played with her fingers, surprising her by raising her hand to his mouth and placing a tender kiss in the palm. He kept hold of her hand and stood up, hauling Christine to her feet with him.

"It's an excellent way to lose one's freedom."

She watched him walk away with narrowed eyes. What are you hiding from me, Girard?


Phil cleared his throat several times as he stood in the hallway outside of Louise's door. Clutched in one hand was a large bouquet of flowers; not sure of her favorite posy, he took one of everything, and had yellow roses jockeying for space alongside pink carnations and orange Gerber daisies.

An interior voice kept chipping away at his equilibrium; You really think surprising her is a good idea, Phil?

"I'll just tell her I couldn't wait any longer," he mumbled to himself, straightening the tie which was intent on strangling him.

Shit, that doesn't sound right, de Chagny. You've been gone for two years...not exactly fast in the action department, are you?

"I was waiting for Louise to come to her senses," he said stiffly, glaring at a woman passing by and giving him a wide berth.

Okay, Phil, but what if she's got a man in there?

"Don't be ridiculous," he said faintly to Inner Voice.

Me? Ridiculous? I'm not the one standing here holding a gaudy bunch of flowers looking like something from a Matisse nightmare and conversing with himself!

He straightened his tie and walked boldly up to the door.

"She'll be impressed by my thoughtfulness," and rang the buzzer.

All right, whatever, but I'm telling you, you're making an awful mistake. Ooh, I can't watch this train wreck!

"Shut the fuck up!" he muttered to the door as it opened.

"Phil?!"

"Louise?"

He stared at the woman standing in the doorway, the woman he hadn't seen for two endless years. His first thought was that she had changed quite a bit.

Starting with the hair.

It hung in greasy clumps to each side of her face, tinted an appalling...green? Her face was orange, her lips appearing to be an oasis in the middle of a tangerine landscape, and...his stunned gaze traveled below her neck, his blue eyes widening in alarm. She was wearing gray thermal bottoms, a shapeless brown sweatshirt which reached to her thighs, and the clincher- fuzzy pink slippers.

Louise gawked at the vision of Philippe de Chagny, handsome and debonair in a navy pinstripe suit, his hair a fashionable windblown tousle that was undeniably sexy. A Phil de Chagny who could not possibly be standing at her door, lobbing four letter words at her, and holding a technicolor bouquet of flowers.

He was a mirage.

Had to be.

She was about to test the point further, when she put a hand to her face, and it came away orange. Horrified, she remembered her girl's maintenance night- avocado deep conditioner on her hair, a Botanical Papaya mask on her face, and she groaned in abject misery...wearing her shittiest, most comfy stay at home clothing. She hadn't seen Phil in two bitchin' years- had dreamed of meeting him somewhere and wowing him with her beauty and poise- making him regret leaving behind all of her adorableness and sex appeal. And what did she get?

Reality.

She saw red.

"Go to hell!" and slammed the door in his face.


He found himself knocking on yet another door, pounding it really, the flowers he was to have presented to Sorelli, hanging like an unwanted appendage from one hand. She had slammed the door in his face.

Literally.

He rubbed at his sore nose, angry and despondent. When the door opened slightly, his mood collapsed completely as he regarded Girard through the crack. "Well? May I come in?" he asked with exaggerated courtesy.

Erik opened the door wider and stood aside, majestically sweeping an arm out while sketching a neat bow. "By all means, de Chagny. Do. I will inform madam," his voice deep and starchily correct in the board-up-the-ass intonation of an old family retainer.

Phil looked dubiously at the other man, deciding to ignore the sarcasm. He wasn't in the mood. "New look for you, Girard?" scrutinizing the tiny braids framing his masked face.

"You could say that."

"Well, lose it. It doesn't do a damned thing for you."

"I'll be sure to pass that along to my hairdresser."

Christine got up from the kitchen table, where floor samples were spread out. "Phil! I didn't expect to see you so soon." She eyed his glum face and the flowers in his hand with misgiving. "I thought you would still be with Louise."

"I never got in the door," he replied numbly.

"What? I'm surprised she wasn't waiting on the sidewalk in front of the building! She would have been over the moon hearing from you," and laughed. "Hey! Don't you dare tell her I said that." She looked closer at him, narrowing her eyes at his gloomy appearance. "What happened? Did she have company?"

"What?"

Christine realized her gaff, and hurriedly threw a name out. "Company. You know... um, M-Meg."

"Oh." He cleared his throat, managing to look ashamed and sheepish at the same time. "No. No, I uh, wanted to surprise her so," he stuck a finger between his collar and neck, "so I didn't call ahead."

"Oh, de Chagny," Erik said in amusement, "Not smooth. No, not smooth at all."

"What is wrong with you, Phil?" Christine cried, aghast. "You're not a newbie at this stuff! Why wouldn't you call and warn her you were coming over?"

"I was eager to see her?" he weakly replied, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Hell, I don't know!"

"I do," Erik said helpfully. "You are screwed five ways from Sunday, and you will have to crawl now."

"Did I ask for your advice, Girard?"

"No, but you should have," Erik answered smugly.

"Who died and made you a dating guru?"

"No one died, de Chagny. It's just common sense that any adult male over the age of twenty-one would have figured out by now."

Christine eyed him tiredly. "Erik? You're not helping here."

"Well then, allow me to remove myself from the room. I'll just go and cheer Araminta on while she decreases the zombie population." He nodded at de Chagny. "You have my sympathies," and ambled away, whistling Chopin's Funeral March.

"He's quite the comedian," Phil said irritably.

She couldn't stop a grin. "Oh yeah. He has his moments."

"You sure know how to pick them, Chris."

"I didn't pick him. I found him wet and abandoned on my doorstep. Min wanted to keep him, so I said sure, why not? It was an added bonus that he was housebroken."

"Very funny. Laugh at my misfortune," and held out the flowers to her. "Here. Nobody else wants them."

"Wow, Phil. So generous," she chuckled, accepting the dazzling array of flowers.

"Well, anyway, Happy Thanksgiving."

She looked dubiously at the bouquet. "Uh, thanks, I guess." She laid the flowers on the counter and pointed to a chair. "Sit." When he had done so, she got straight to the point. "She didn't know you were coming, so judging by your shell shocked appearance, Louise was having a maintenance night."

"A what?"

"Girl's night in. She was giving herself a facial and deep conditioning treatment," she explained patiently. "Was she sorta green and blue?"

"Green and orange," Phil corrected with a slight shudder.

"Okay, papaya."

"Christine, does it matter what color she was?"

"Nope. You're still in deep shit."

"I thought she would be curled up looking cute, while she read a book and drank tea." He was startled by the loud snort coming from Christine.

"You're not in England anymore, Phil. Sorelli might be drinking tea, but it would be laced with alcohol, and the only thing she reads are the rags which tell her who's boppin' who in La La Land."

He hung his head. "I really screwed up, didn't I?"

"Royally."

"Now who's in England?" he said miserably.

"Ha ha."

"How do I make it up to her?"

"You know that advice Erik gave you?"

"Crawl?"

"That would be the one."

"It might take a while."

"Oh, it will, Phil. It will."

"Christine?"

"Yeah?"

"Got room at the table for one more?"


Next chapter- Another mouth to feed. A phone call. A slight bump in the road.