"I'm sorry," she said quietly through her silent tears. "I'm sorry. I spoiled everything."
He shook his head sadly, and reached his hands out for her.
"Can you walk?" he asked softly. "Do you need me to carry you?"
"No," she cringed away from him.
He pulled his hands back, hurt. He had no way of knowing, of course, that she was too embarrassed over how she'd made such a mess of things to have him help her yet again - he merely thought he had caused her to be upset with him (had he pulled her arm too hard? Had he walked too fast and caused her to stumble?), and that she was, perhaps, repulsed at his touch.
She turned and limped awkwardly back towards the building they had just left, wincing with every unsteady step. She knew she should simply ask him for help, but couldn't bring herself to do so. Hadn't she been enough of a burden on him already? He'd lost Philippe at the party because of her, he'd lost the strange monkey man because of her - he quite possibly had lost his only chance of finding Raoul because of her. She couldn't bear the pain and humiliation of it all, tears streaming down her face.
He paused for a long moment, terrified that with each step she'd topple over, but once he sprang forward he caught up to her quickly enough. He kept his distance from her, but tried to stay within an arm's length, ready to catch her just in case. He didn't know why he felt so apologetic to her - after all, she wouldn't have gotten hurt had she stayed home like he asked her to - but she was hurt all the same and it made him feel like he had failed.
It wasn't until she had limped past the building of the the party and out towards the street did Erik suddenly realize something.
"How are you going to get home?" he asked, trying to not sound accusing.
She sniffed hard, her hands clenching into fists.
"How are you going to get home?" she shot right back.
"I was going to walk," he replied.
They were both quiet as she continued her trek down the sidewalk.
"You can't walk all the way back there," he finally said, incredulous.
"I'm not planning to," she still couldn't look at him.
She reached a payphone and he watched, mouth agape, as she pulled a few coins from a pocket along with a scrap of paper and dialed the number that was on it.
"Liam? This is Meg's friend... Yes... Yes, could you? I'm-" she leaned over to look at the street sign. "I'm at the intersection of Rue de Rivoli and Rue du Renard. Thank you!"
Erik stared at her long after she hung up. She could feel his yellow gaze boring into her but she refused to make eye contact.
It was a feeling that only increased as Liam drove up with a cheerful wave and opened the car door for them.
They both sat in the backseat, Liam glancing back at them. His eyes went from Erik to Christine and back again, slowly taking in that something was off - the tension between them was nearly tangible.
"I am sorry," Christine muttered.
"I heard you the first time," Erik replied, and she dabbed a finger at the corner of her eye - she didn't feel forgiven.
"Well," she finally said, looking at him miserably. "What's your costume supposed to be?"
Of all the nerve! Galavanting around, having strange men drive her to forbidden parties, directly disobeying him, putting herself in immense danger - and she wanted to know what his costume was.
"I'm Red Death," he said, not knowing how to say anything else. Her audacity took his words away.
Her lips turned down.
"I don't get it," she pouted.
Erik gestured helplessly towards himself.
"Red Death... Like the story."
"What story?"
"You don't read Poe?" he was feeling flustered now.
Liam glanced back, a big smile on his face.
"Oh! I love his work! Have you read the one about the-" Liam suddenly stopped talking, a single glare from Erik enough to frighten the normally chatty young man into absolute silence.
They rode the rest of the way in silence, and Liam dropped them off right where he had picked Christine up earlier that evening. As soon as they were out of the car, Erik leaned over and hissed a question at her.
"Who the devil was that?"
"Meg's boyfriend!"
"Meg doesn't have a boyfriend!"
"No," she protested. "That's just what she tells people. She's being seeing Liam for years now!"
Erik paused.
"I thought she liked that fellow in the opera chorus."
"She does."
"But-but you just said Liam is-"
Christine shrugged.
"Liam is okay with it..."
Erik put his hands on his hips, considering. He furrowed his brow. This wasn't what they were supposed to be discussing!
"Regardless!" he gave her a stern look. "Do you realize how dangerous what you did was? Do you truly?"
She lowered her gaze, picking at the fingers of her long pale purple gloves.
"Yes," she whispered.
"Do you realize how many opportunities you could have been kidnapped this evening? How many times you could have been killed? How many times you could have been-"
He sighed.
"I am not trying to control you," he said softer. "Anything I ask you - or tell you - to do is for your own safety. Do you not realize this? I am not denying you fun at a party because I'm your overbearing father, it's because-"
"I wasn't looking for fun at a party," she interrupted, her voice breaking even as she stood up to him. "I was looking for Raoul."
Erik was about to retort that it was his job to look for Raoul, but he remembered that he was doing a rather poor job of finding him and held his tongue. He couldn't blame her for getting impatient and trying to take the matter into her own hands. Suddenly he remembered something she had said a little earlier.
"You said you heard Philippe talking?"
She nodded.
"I-"
"Not here," he rushed to say, glancing about them at the darkness. "Tomorrow. Tell me tomorrow. We need to get you home before Antoinette finds out."
She ducked her head. Of course he had realized that she had gone behind Madame Giry's back as well. If she found out... Surely she'd be upset at Erik as well.
They walked back together, slowly but more steadily this time - her ankle ached but she didn't feel in direct danger of falling again. They were both mostly quiet, concerned about who might hear them.
He paused at the edge of their backyard, wanting to reassure her somehow.
"Put your ankle up on a pillow tonight," he whispered. "Keep it raised, that will help it to not swell."
She nodded, but didn't move to leave.
"I'm sorry," she said so quietly that he almost didn't hear.
"I know you only wanted to find your boy, Christine, it's alright," he said gently. "Just try to remember everything you heard Philippe say, and tell me everything tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay... Erik?"
"Hm?"
"Your costume is great... Even if I never read Poe," she smiled a little. "It's quite... Impressive, and a little intimidating!"
He gave a low chuckle.
"Those are two qualities that come naturally to me, my dear," he straightened his red jacket.
She giggled quietly.
"And your mask! This one is so spooky!"
"Oh?"
"Especially in the dark... Why, if you turn your head just right, it makes it look like you have no nose at all!" she shivered. "Ooh! How frightful!"
His smile faltered and he took a step back, looking away from her.
"Goodnight, Christine," he murmured.
"Goodnight, Erik," she said, a little wistful. Why had he pulled away from her?
He disappeared into the shadows, but she knew he was still watching as she carefully unlocked the back door and crept inside.
The house was quiet as she made her way upstairs, but instead of this being a comfort, it only felt like another harsh judgment.
Meg was awake in her bed when Christine entered the room they shared, and she looked up at her with wide, inquiring eyes. Christine only bit her lip and shook her head in reply, quickly changing out of her costume and wanting nothing more than to curl up under a blanket and forget everything.
She still felt moody the next morning when Erik came by to escort her to the opera house.
"How's your ankle?" he asked immediately after the door was closed behind them.
"It's better," she said truthfully. "It's still sore, but I can walk."
She paused, taking in his his sharp eyes were roving over her as they walked to her workplace.
"What is it?" she asked, her face coloring just slightly.
He reached out as though he were going to touch her hair, and her breath hitched at the thought, but instead he only hovered his hand a few inches away from it, caressing the air as he moved his hand in a soft motion around down the side of her head.
"This color suits you," he said warmly, decisively. There was a little smile on his lips.
She lifted an eyebrow.
"You don't like me as a brunette?" she teased.
"No! That's not what I meant!" he looked uneasy for a moment, and it made her want to laugh. "It's just- well, you look lovely either way, but I prefer this, that is all."
you look lovely
Her heart felt warm and full at the words, and she couldn't stop her grin.
"Thank you," she said sincerely.
"So, what exactly did Philippe say? Tell me everything."
Her brow furrowed, thinking hard.
"Well, I saw him from as soon as he came in to the party - or at least, when he came back in to the party, I suppose - anyway, he came in through the door, and he went right to one of those little rooms at the back of the building - I think they used to be offices, when the factory was still up and running - he went in there and tried to close the door, but I guess he was flustered because he didn't even notice it didn't close all the way. I could see through just a little!"
He nodded.
"Who was he talking to?"
"I couldn't really tell," she frowned. "His back was to me the whole time, and it was rather dark..."
"Was he wearing a costume?"
"Not that I could really tell... He had a suit on, a pinstripe suit."
"What color?" Erik tried to remember all of the men he had seen at the party.
"Dark... Blue, maybe? Or brown... Or black," she said sheepishly. "I couldn't tell. I'm sorry."
"It's alright," he shook his head. "What else did you notice about him? What did they say?"
"He was about Philippe's height... Dark hair. Nothing out of the ordinary, I suppose. It was he said that I remember most."
She paused a moment, gathering her thoughts.
"He said it was his party - he must have been the host, or one of them, at least. Philippe owes him money. A terrible lot of money, it seems. And he's the one holding Raoul captive," she looked away, an expression of pain crossing her face before turning hopeful again. "But he's alive, I think. Philippe said it's going to take him five months to finish paying his debt - he's having to sell family heirlooms to afford to do so."
Erik pulled his notebook out of his coat pocket, writing a few notes before flipping through the pages and frowning.
"I didn't know they were so hard pressed for money," Christine added. "They've always seemed to be able to afford anything."
"A gambling debt," Erik muttered, looking at his notes. "And he can't pay it back because-" he flipped the page and raised eyebrow. "Because Raoul put all their money into the opera house."
"What?" Christine's face fell.
"That makes sense, doesn't it?" he waved his notebook. "He owes an inordinate sum to a man who hosts a gambling den, his little brother is being held as ransom, and- said little brother recently invested a surprising amount into the opera house as its newest patron."
Christine placed a hand on her chest. She felt oddly guilty over this - she had encouraged Raoul in his grand plans for the future of the opera house. But she hadn't any clue that the de Chagny's were strapped for money. Apparently, neither did Raoul - she couldn't picture him spending that much money if he knew Philippe had large debts.
"Christine-" he looked at her oddly, tilting his head. "I bet that's why you're involved."
"Why?" her heart was pounding now.
"This man wants his money from Philippe - money that's now being used by the opera house. What better way to get the opera house to pay up than to kidnap their rising star, their big crowd-bringing?"
She shivered and scooted closer to Erik. She didn't like to think of this. The opera house didn't just leave that money lying around - it had already been used up. Much needed renovations and commissioning new writers and directors, the next season had a number of smaller galas coming up that were funded by this money too. If she were to be kidnapped, she'd be in the same position as Raoul, languishing away somewhere for months and months... Or until their captors got tired of keeping them and decided the money wasn't coming anyway. She felt chilled to the bone.
"This changes everything. We're so close to cracking this case now. If you hadn't been there, if you hadn't heard that conversation, Christine-" he stopped walking and turned to look at her. "You might have just saved Raoul's life."
Tears welled up in her eyes at his words.
"Who knows how long it would have taken to discover this otherwise," he mused. "Thank you, Christine."
He reached a hand to squeeze her shoulder in a friendly manner, a gesture he was not familiar with performing. He stood there awkwardly, his hand on her shoulder, and tried to smile before nervousness overcame him and he moved his hand away.
Christine stifled a laugh. She was touched at his gesture, at the effort he had clearly put into it. He was trying, for her, and she appreciated it greatly.
"You'll make a fine detective one day," he chuckled as they resumed their walk, and this time she let herself laugh as well.
She looked up at the blue sky with the occasional puffy white cloud and smiled. All seemed right with the world again. Or as right as it could be without Raoul, at least. She wasn't frightened anymore, but she chose to stay close him anyway, despite being the only two people on the sidewalk.
"I do feel bad that I made you turn back, though," she said after a moment. "You might have actually caught that man last night had I not twisted my ankle."
"Made me?" he stopped again. "Christine, you didn't make me do anything. Turning back was what I chose to do. That's not on you, my dear."
"Well it's not like you had much choice..."
He hummed and started walking again.
"Did I ever tell you," he mused. "About the time I was guarding a man who had to accompany me on my walk to the police station to meet with the Daroga, but the man broke his toe on the way there? He made quite a fuss about it. He made quite a fuss about it for the rest of the walk to the police station, too - and the walk back."
"Erik!" she sounded scandalized but she was smiling. "You made him walk the whole way on a broken toe? That's wicked!"
"He was an annoying ninny, Christine," he waved a dismissive hand. "You'd agree with my decision too if you knew him!"
"I bet you didn't even offer to carry him," she teased, shaking her head.
"Decidedly not," he huffed, then gently added- "That is only for you."
She looked away lest he see the insanely happy grin on her blushing face. In that moment, she didn't care about any of the questions that swirled in her head about their odd relationship. It didn't matter if they ever had anything more than what they had right now - walking together and laughing, sharing stories and each other's company. This right now was enough. They were friends, it seemed, and she hoped they always would be, even when all this was over. It didn't matter if he loved her in the way she'd expect a man to love her, not as long as he kept making her laugh and smiling at her like that.
"Perhaps, ahh, perhaps Antoinette need not know just yet that you were at the party, however," Erik said cautiously.
"Oh! I entirely agree!" she was reluctant to have to face Madame's disappointment - facing Erik's had been hard enough, even if it had turned out well.
"I'm not ask you to lie, of course," Erik added. "I merely believe that unless she asks specifically, there is no need to offer this information."
"Oh, I'd never lie to Madame!"
They both glanced at each other and she broke out into laughter while he chuckled.
"I can't believe I'm encouraging this," he smirked. "As though you needed someone to enable your- your sneakiness."
She gasped.
"I'm not sneaky!"
He huffed a laugh.
"You are, my dear - you're quite sneaky, I'm afraid."
"No, no! I'm not sneaky... I'm stealthy, and there's a difference!"
They worked on the blocking of their newest show that day, Erik following her about on stage while the director and the choreographer glanced nervously at him. If asked, Erik would insist it was for her own personal safety, but she knew at least half of his reason for staying so close was to whisper remarks and opinions on the show to her and to see if he could make her giggle by copying the poses the choreographer put her in. She always had fun at her job, but she couldn't quite remember when she had last had this much fun on stage.
Back at the office, the phone rang.
"Antoinette Giry, Private Investigator," she intoned to the receiver. "How can I help you?"
"This is Police Chief Edwards, is Erik there?"
Antoinette was not in the habit of telling Erik's location, particularly when he was guarding a client, but she saw no reason to keep this information from a law enforcement agent.
"He's at the opera house, why?"