A/N—Sorry about the frustration with the last chapter. ;) These two? Communicate? Are you kidding me? What can you do when Erik is convinced he is unlovable and Christine is reluctant to push anything?

Peanutpup and HC247, welcome to the story!
Stormaurora—I think you're correct, and I'll most likely rework that one of these days.
Mominator—Done and done, thank you for your eagle eyes, as always!
Guest—This story is a WIP, a work-in-progress. Chapters come out 2-3 times a month. :)

Someone will get to be the 400th reviewer with this chapter! Whoot, I'm excited! I didn't think I'd ever have anything with that many comments!

The Measure of a Man

Chp 21 New Year's Eve and a Warning

2017, 2018

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The university's annual holiday bash was well underway. Always held off-campus at The Landing, no one knew which group within the College of Fine Arts had really begun the tradition, but it was the social affair of the winter for the Art, Media, Music, and Theater departments. Over the years university faculty from other departments began to be included. Everyone arrived bearing food, liquor, and their significant other.

Erik's tolerance for loud parties was low to begin with, but Jules Reyer had provoked him into attending. He'd been uncomfortable with the idea but driven out anyway. The Landing was located near the lake, about eight miles northeast of town, a weathered grey sprawling ranch-style building. He'd sat in the car for some minutes, watching couples strolling across the gravel lot into the building, before giving in to Reyer's pointed text messages.

Mercifully, no one noticed his arrival. Erik contributed a bottle of Scotch to the open bar and went to peruse the buffet. The food was the usual amalgam of cheese trays, crackers and dips, chicken wings, meatballs, salads, rolls, canapés, fruit, and desserts. A sports program blared from a flat screen TV in one room, a replay of some earlier event, and music and laughter spilled out from another room with flashing lights.

A smattering of people from the music department and school of architecture said hello as he wandered, glass in hand. He nodded at a few old acquaintances and shook the hand of the Dean, whose hearty "How are you, Erik?" seemed more forced than natural. The crowd ebbed and flowed, drinking and talking, women wearing sparkly holiday apparel and men in suits or garish Christmas sweaters carrying plates laden with food. A sizable pile of gaily wrapped gifts were clustered under the artificial tree, awaiting the inevitable Dirty Santa game. He stifled a shudder at the thought.

The faculty party was getting increasingly inebriated, and Erik, standing aside in the vast vaulted room, suddenly felt old and tired, and very much out of place. He took one last swallow of the liquor and set his half-finished glass on a tray, doubting very much if they'd notice his absence. Quietly he made his way through the noisy throng toward the back of the building, wondering where they'd taken his overcoat. Finding it, he slipped out the door.

Breath hung in the air, a white mist against the black sky and sparkling stars. It would be another cold night. For a moment he stood looking up at the heavens, then turned up his collar and opened the car door.

He'd not had enough to drink to have any influence on his thoughts or actions, but once again found himself taking the route that went by her apartment. Christine had not been home, due to her ski trip, but there was just the slightest chance she'd be back tonight.

She'd texted him a couple times during the past few days, the first a photo of a narrow trail framed by trees, and another of a vast snowy expanse, captioned "The view from the top of the lift." He never been skiing himself, never had the time, money, or inclination, but thought he understood what she saw in the still, white scene.

The second time was a photo. "The crazy ski crew!" it said, and he scanned the image avidly, looking for her face. And there she was, on the end of the group, arms around each other and each with a leg propped up on a ski, balancing in the snow. Her long brown curls were pulled back in a ponytail, under a white stocking cap. She was wearing a blue ski jacket, grinning at the camera. He saved and cropped the photo, the only image he had of her. Pathetic as it was, he could pretend the smile was for him.

There was a light on in the window of her condo. Swiftly Erik swung the Mercedes through the gates, entering the code she'd given him some time back. Her Honda sat under the awning in its assigned space, with no other cars around. He paused, looking up at her flat. The porch light was off, but the living room and bedroom lights glowed dimly through the curtains. She was home and still awake. Perhaps he would go up for just a minute and wish her a happy new year.

Erik tucked the Mercedes into the spot beside her car and paused long enough to loosen his heavy silk tie, then climbed the snow-covered stairs carefully and knocked. There was a brief pause, and then she stood shivering in the frosty air.

"Erik?"

"I was driving home and saw your light." It sounded lame even to him. "I thought I might wish you a happy New Year."

Christine opened the door wider. "Come in, you'll freeze out there."

She was wearing a pale blue knit t-shirt with flannel sleep pants, blue with fluffy white lambs, and sheepskin slippers. Erik froze. "I'm so sorry-were you about to go to bed?"

She shook her head and it was then he noticed the TV, volume turned down, showing the New Year's Night festivities in the capital city. "No, I was just watching." She stepped into her bedroom and returned a moment later, belting a soft fleece robe. She'd had little on beneath her nightclothes, he realized with a suddenly dry mouth.

"When did you get back?" he managed. Through the open door he could see her bed, two bags on the floor beside it.

"A couple hours ago. Haven't even unpacked yet. Would you like some cocoa?" Christine held up her mug. "You're welcome to stay and watch the ball drop."

"Please. I'd appreciate that." Erik shrugged out of his heavy overcoat and hung it in the entryway and followed her into the kitchen.

She poured steaming milk from a pan on the stove into a mug, added cocoa powder, and stirred. Erik hitched his bad leg up on a stool, watching, then she handed him the mug and silently pushed a tray over bearing vanilla and caramel syrups, cinnamon and nutmeg, a can of whipped cream, and tiny bottles of peppermint schnapps and amaretto. She poured a finger of amaretto into her own mug and raised it. "Cheers."

Erik frowned. Christine was not much of a drinker. He added a dollop of amaretto to his own cup, thinking. She leaned against the counter, arms folded, sipping from her steaming mug. Her eyes were tired and her long hair hung loose for once, curling down her back. He wondered how it would feel against his fingers.

"How was your trip?"

She shrugged. "The trip itself was great. It was good to see old friends and catch up on the news. Breckenridge is beautiful, the weather was perfect, the food was good, I had my own room, nobody got hurt."

"Then what?" She blinked at him and he smiled wryly. "I know you well enough by now. What's wrong?" He gestured at the alcohol on the tray and she blushed.

"I'm having one of those 'rethink your life choices' moments tonight. New Year's and all, you know?"

"Ah. Yes, I do know," he said ruefully. "I left the faculty party early tonight, myself, as you can see."

"Let's go sit." He followed her into the living room area and selected the high end chair he'd used on his last visit. Christine curled up on the couch, tucking her feet under a festive throw. Erik stretched his long legs out, crossing them, and Christine smiled inadvertently, tears prickling her eyes.

"So tell Dr. Erik all about it."

Christine tangled her fingers through the long fringe of the woolly throw and sighed. "It's silly, now that I'm back here."

Erik raised his good eyebrow. "But it upset you at the time." He took another sip of cocoa, patiently waiting.

"I don't think I'd realized—and Ann never mentioned it—that I'd be the only single person there this time. Everyone else on the trip was married or with someone. It was just occasionally awkward —table numbers off, everyone together at night—that's all."

She took another drink. "I miss them a lot, you know. We were a really tight faculty. They kind of took care of me for a while there, after my parents died. Sometimes I just feel so isolated back here."

He was silent a long minute, debating with himself. "I thought your young man might go with you, since he had asked you to marry him." There, it was out, the words lying between them.

"Y-yes…" Her eyes were staring unseeing at the television, and then she shook her head slightly. "But I've told him no."

Stunned, Erik stared at her. She had said no? "Why, if I may ask? He seems perfect." His voice was a little bitter, but she was too preoccupied to hear it in his tone.

Christine ran her hand through her loose curls. "Raoul is perfect…but not for me. His family is so uptight…everything has to be just so. And I'm not. I'm 'just a schoolteacher.' His mom wants him to marry someone brilliant with a business degree or marketing or something that could 'benefit the family.' He wanted me to quit grad school and move back to Seattle, to become a corporate wife. I know he's lonely and he needs someone who's not part of that scene, but it's not me. I don't…love him enough in that way. I'd be bored and miserable. And I know I can't think only of myself…I have to think of him, too, but I think we'd be unhappy pretty quickly. He's a great guy and I enjoy being with him but we don't like the same things. It just…it wouldn't last."

Erik stared down into his drink, thoughts whirling and paralysis seizing his heart and lungs, nearly giddy with relief. She was not...

"Oh, look!" She gestured at the screen before he could say anything. The great glittering ball had begun to glow and twirl in preparation for its descent. The crowd on the television began chanting a countdown as the enormous orb dropped, ending with fireworks, whistles, bells, and sirens. The old year had passed; a new one had begun.

"Cheers!" Christine raised her mug toward him.

"Cheers," he echoed, and drank the last of the cocoa. Reluctantly he rose. "You're tired, and I had best be heading home. Thank you for allowing me to join you."

They walked together to the front door. Christine looked up into his face, a long silent moment, then stepped forward and put her arms around him, holding him closely, an embrace that quite took his breath away. "Thanks for listening. Happy New Year, Erik," she said softly, raising her face, and gently touched her lips to his.

Erik froze, then his arms came hesitantly around her. She had kissed him. He searched her blue eyes for any sign of regret or disgust, but found only a shy hope. Better to die a fool than a coward. He pulled her closer, acutely aware of the press of her body against his lean form, and kissed her back.

"Happy New Year, Christine."

Christine rolled over on the bed, hugging herself and resisting the urge to giggle like mad. She'd kissed him.

Erik had been on her mind a lot during the ski trip. She'd wanted him there, thought about him waiting back at the lodge, maybe wearing an Irish fisherman's type sweater and wool trousers, his dark hair soft and messy. He wouldn't ski, no, not with that bad leg, but he'd have come with her, would have been sitting in that big comfy chair by the fire, a mug of coffee and a book in hand, his violin nearby. He'd meet her at the door and pull her into an embrace, his lips against her own, those callused musician's hands warm on her back, her neck, moving under her sweater, and then…

She'd returned from the trip determined to do something about the dreams and idle fantasies. Perhaps she'd invite him to dinner again, wear a new dress and bewitch him with her brilliant conversation and culinary skills. He'd be unable to resist and sweep her off her feet.

Yeah, right.

Of course it hadn't worked like that. Erik had shown up at her apartment. She'd been tired and depressed, wearing her sloppy pajamas, no makeup, and her hair down and curly. He'd looked like a Joseph Banks catalog model as usual, long and lean, crisp dark hair brushed back, that seductive voice doing terrible things to her imagination. The only thing she'd had to offer him was a mug of hot cocoa. Real sophisticated, there, Christine, her mind had sneered.

But he'd listened to her awkward problems and sympathized, hadn't mentioned that she looked like a wreck. Instead his eyes had watched her with a wistful, lonely expression. She'd planned on just walking him to the door, but he'd looked tired and drawn himself, getting ready to go back home to that big empty house, and suddenly she couldn't stand it anymore.

She'd kissed him, and pulled back, embarrassed. Erik had stared at her, so still and stunned Christine had wanted the floor to simply open up and swallow her on the spot. But then his arms had tightened around her, tightened like a desperate, drowning man, and he'd pulled her close, tilting her chin up and brushing his lips against hers, so soft and tentative, as if it had been a very long time since he'd kissed anyone.

Maybe it had.

They'd held each other for a moment, bodies pressed tightly together. She'd sensed he'd wanted more, and she'd wanted to do something, say something profound, but then he'd pulled back gently and let go. Happy New Year was all he said.

But he'd walked off like a man in a daze, a man that had turned and looked back up at her window. She'd waved at him, then fallen into bed, unable to sleep for the longest time.

She'd kissed him.

It was sheer chance he'd seen the couple walking together into the Little Theater that evening. He'd been on his way back from the gym but had to cross campus to where he'd left the car.

There was no mistaking them. Raoul caught a good look at her face as Christine turned, laughing at something the other man said. The tall thin man in the black coat, carrying a cane, could only be that Dr. Martin. So she was still seeing him. It was her business, he thought irritably, but why the secrecy? She certainly hadn't gone out of her way to mention that fact.

Raoul's eyes narrowed as the man put a hand on her back, escorting Christine into the building, watching until they disappeared into the crowd. There was an indie film tonight, he knew, something about a girl and a fishman during the Cold War. She'd mentioned going to see it in the theater last fall and he'd shaken his head, bemused. "It doesn't sound like my kind of thing," he'd said honestly, and she'd nodded. Apparently she'd found someone to go with anyway.

Raoul sat back, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. True, they'd never actually formally discussed their relationship, but he'd thought he'd made clear his interests. Despite her refusal last autumn, the Chagny men did not give up quite so easily.

Christine was the best thing to happen to him in some years. She was calm, kind, stable, smart, sweet, and funny. And cute, too. She was a fantastic kisser, and he'd be willing to bet she'd be good in bed. He'd never had complaints himself; they'd be good together. Phil had let his mother ruin his chances with more than one woman. Raoul was not about to walk down that same path.

He pulled out his phone and keyed in a text.

Classes weren't due to resume until next week, but the campus was hosting a winter basketball camp for high school kids and a workshop for teachers. He'd arranged to meet Christine for lunch on Wednesday and quickly gave up on finding a seat in the crowded Commons. They ended up carrying their trays across the hall into one of the student lounges, under the disapproving eyes of a passing Provost. Christine eased her backpack to the floor and perched on the edge of a sagging sofa, awkwardly balancing the tray on her knees, and unwrapped her chicken sandwich.

"Were we this clueless as teenagers?" he grinned, poking a straw through the lid of his drink. The high school students were excitedly chattering and wandering about the building in groups.

Christine shook her head, amused. "I know I wasn't. I was terrified of being on a campus for the first time when we visited." She took a bite and tapped the printout on his tray. "Been to drop and add already?"

"Switched sections. I am not taking anything from Kelly ever again; the man's a horrible instructor. Last semester and I'm done, though, thank god, then it's back to the grindstone." He regarded his burger with a sigh. "I should probably begin looking for an apartment."

"You won't live at the ranch?"

"No, too far of a drive. The family has a block of flats in one of the townhouses I can use, but they're kept for visitors, mostly. I don't know who all has a key, and a man needs his privacy." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and Christine laughed.

"Yes, I can see that. What all are you taking?"

They discussed class schedules and their respective ski trips. Raoul let her get most of the sandwich down before bringing up the subject. "So, I saw you at the Little Theater movie night, the other night."

Beside him she stiffened, and he went on, keeping his voice gentle and compassionate. "I also saw who you were with." She started to speak and he held up one hand. "I know, it's not any of my business who you are seeing. You've made that abundantly clear." He couldn't quite keep a note of bitterness out of his tone. "But what do you know about this guy? I mean, really know? Has he told you about his background or anything?"

She took a sip of iced tea to organize her thoughts. "Yes, some of it. I'm sure not everything. Why?"

Raoul winced. "That's what I was afraid of. Back when we...back last fall I did a little Internet searching on him, and then...because of what I found...I asked our family lawyer to do a little more digging."

"You had no right," she said heatedly, and Raoul put his hand soothingly over hers. Christine snatched it away, eyes blazing.

"At the time, I didn't know you were seeing him. You never mentioned it," he said reasonably. "All I knew is that the woman I wanted to marry was working with a man I knew nothing about." She took an outraged breath and he sighed. "OK, I was wrong about that, but I still think you should know." Raoul took another bite of his burger and waited, a technique he'd learned from watching his father and brother broker deals. Shut up and let the other person sweat. Don't do all the talking.

Christine sat there, thoughts whirling, turning over his words. What did she know about Erik? Only what he'd told her. She could Google him herself when she got home….should, in fact, only it felt like such an invasion of privacy, and Erik was such a very private man, only just now beginning to open up to her. What if there was something in his past that only a lawyer could find?

Grudgingly, she nodded. "What."

Raoul smiled inwardly. Bingo. What did they say about women and curiosity? Pandora something. Keeping his voice quiet and sympathetic, he went on. "You know he used to work here, at the university? He was a full professor in the music department. Really good, from what I could tell. He got married to some famous singer and apparently it was a mess. They didn't get along well. There was a charge of domestic assault against him. Charges dropped later, but it was there."

Beside him Christine had gone utterly still, her blue eyes locked on him. "Go on." She felt frozen.

"And there was a plane crash. You knew about that, right? It really messed him up. There was an NTSB inquiry afterwards. He was accused of deliberately trying to kill her and him both. He was in and out of alcohol rehab, and at one point he assaulted a reporter. Assault and battery charge. There was some sort of community service deal on that, a plea bargain. But the worst is that his wife, the singer...she turned up dead later. They found her in a car. There was some thought he might have...Christine, I'm sorry. I'm surprised you didn't know any of this."

Her face had gone utterly white and she took another sip of her drink mechanically.

Raoul's eyes were genuinely upset. "Christine, I'm sorry. I know you like the guy. But he possibly killed his wife and has a conviction for assault. He's not stable. There's a reason they won't let him teach here anymore. You can't see him again."

She logged on to the Internet, typing in search terms. The same articles from the crash came up, the ones she'd seen earlier and only skimmed. Now Christine took the time to continue reading. It was all there, as Raoul had said, the NTSB investigation, testimony from a man named Joseph Buquet about how Erik had threatened to kill Carla, Buquet's testimony of threats made against him, and a trial and conviction for assault against a reporter. Oh dear god.

Further search turned up more articles on Carla's death. A car found in a parking garage, drugs and alcohol in her system. How had she not seen these before? Because she hadn't been looking for them, only about the plane crash.

She sat back, sickened, her thoughts whirling, feeling the growing metallic clammy sense of nausea. Her Erik, the gentle musician she knew, the man who also had a sharp and biting temper, had possibly killed someone and assaulted another. Christine buried her head in her hands, rocking back and forth.

After a few minutes she stood, gathering her coat. There was only one person who could answer her questions, and even though it might be a foolish, fatal mistake, she would ask him.

She drove to his house blindly, not seeing or registering the traffic or icy roads and arrived unannounced, knocking sharply on the door.

Surprised at an interruption to his peaceful afternoon, Erik snatched the mask and irritably snapped on the porch camera, but the snarl died from his lips seeing Christine. She looked cold, clutching the panels of her open coat around her body, visibly upset. Frowning, he opened the door. She looked up at him. "Erik, we need to talk."

Those words were never a good sign. Silently he beckoned her in, shutting the door behind her and locking it.

Christine turned around, hearing the steady snick of the bolts sliding shut. Oh god, what had she done; maybe this was not a good idea, confronting him here in his home, the door locked and no one knowing where she was. Raoul would guess, though, she thought miserably, and raised reddened eyes to him.

For his part, Erik could only wait, hands suddenly cold and pulse elevated. "My dear," he said softly, "What is wrong? I can see something has you upset." He reached for her hand but she subtly shifted, stepping back, and he felt a trickle of fear when she shook her head. "Let us get you warmed up," he murmured, turning away and walking into the kitchen. She had not removed her coat.

Erik filled the kettle and spooned tealeaves into a pot, then leaned against the sink, waiting. Whatever it was, he would give her time.

Christine slowly lowered her purse to the kitchen table, and twisted her hands tightly together, watching him, this man she had come to care for so deeply. "Erik…I need to know about the plane crash. And about...the trials." There, it was out, she'd said it.

He had not moved, though her words impacted him. His black eyes were opaque, emotionless, staring down at her, the white mask cold and impersonal. He had never looked more distant and unapproachable. A muscle twitched in his cheek and he turned away, staring across the snowy yard. She did not miss the tension in his shoulders. "Just what is it you wish to know?" His voice was cool.

Christine stepped forward. "I know there was a plane crash, and there was a trial. Someone accused you of doing it deliberately, to try to…to kill your wife. And that there was another trial, later, where you," she took a deep breath, the words choking her, "where you were convicted for assaulting a man. And there was a ..a ...domestic violence charge as well."

He turned. "And just who told you this?" When she raised her chin, lips compressed, he snorted. "That boy, probably. No matter. Yes. It's true, all of it. I assume you've read it all the sordid details online." The kettle whistled and he reached for it, pouring the scalding water over tealeaves. "Oh, take off that ridiculous coat and sit down."

With shaking hands, she loosened the shoulders and slipped the offending garment off, laying it across a chair but continuing to stand. "You never told me."

He dragged a hand tiredly through his dark hair. "I suppose it's because I didn't think it relevant. It was years ago."

"Relevant to you or me, Erik?" she said softly.

He folded his arms. "To me." In the silence that followed he brought down two mugs and filled them, setting one in front of her. "What would you have me say?"

"The truth."

"Then yes, I killed her." The emotionless words fell between them, brittle and cold.

"But I thought you loved her," Christine whispered, and he spun around.

"Loved her? I hated her! And she hated me!" His eyes blazed.

.

Well...not quite what Christine was expecting, I think. Next up, confession time.

Thank you for reading, and please review!
~R