Disclaimer: In this chapter, Erik may seem completely out of character. I know that. But I have the sense that he would be kind to children, identifying with them or seeing them as innocent, thus undeserving of his temper. As you can probably tell, it's a very tight balance and I'd appreciate all the opinions I can get on how to make it work. Hopefully, what I had in mind will translate into the text.

His phone buzzed in his scrub and he removed his gloves to check on it. He never got any texts, save from those obnoxious ones when Nadir complains about the lack of food or something domestic. Even though he was 26, that Persian booby acted like a crazy old woman. It was not Nadir. It was Christine. And time suddenly seemed to freeze in place, while he stood looking at the screen in awe.

I just left your place. Thank you for everything.

He wanted to smile, but a feeling of anxiousness had washed over him. He remembered her boy knew something was off about her lessons and he would not stop until he learned the truth, a truth that could prove exceptionally embarrassing and incriminating for him. No, unless he wanted to be found red handed, he had to act fast and set his plan in action. The holidays were not that far off anyway, so the pest would be soon leaving to join his blissful and rich family in Paris, leaving Christine behind in their small and miserable flat. But he would make sure Christine had the best holidays this year. What time was it? Almost noon. Tonight he would come through with his plan.

"Monsieur Dauverne?"

He did not want to answer, but did nonetheless.

"Yes?"

"They need you in 12D. Craniotomy for hydrocephalus."

He had already started walking towards the operating room, as the little man rushed behind to keep up with his large steps.

"Age?"

"Five. Reported dizziness, fainting and vomiting. The pressure is rising."

He entered the room to get cleaned and dressed.

"Thank you."

The nurse nodded and hurried elsewhere.

It would seem his plans for Christine had to be pushed aside, now this little girl required his attention.

He walked inside the surgery room with that feigned air of supremacy he had struggled to cultivate over the years, in a useless attempt to cover up the endless scars life had imprinted on him since a very young age. He did not like the people surrounding him at the moment, even if he had to admit they were some of the most promising surgeons in Europe. In a court, cold voice he gave orders and no one bothered to talk while he was around. That was another thing he had got used to over the years, seeing conversations die once he entered a room. Now, he was practically leading the operation with his professor by his side, ready to jump into action in case something went downhill in the hands of what were practically med students.

However, everything went smoothly and the girl was expected to lead a full and relatively active life, as long as her family and the doctors took care of the little tube inside her hair. Despite his usual bitterness, he caught himself feeling back for the child, who hugged him a few hours after finding out he was her doctor. It actually hurt him having to sit her down and explain she would have to take precautions for the rest of her life if she wanted to have a chance at one(he made sure to paraphrase it and avoid unnecessary wailing). While he talked, Amelia interrupted him every two seconds, asking all sorts of questions; about the little tube, if he had friends, when did he know he wanted to be a doctor, if he had a girlfriend...The inquisitive child both inspired a pure admiration towards childish curiosity and an endless irritation he struggled to hide. So he played along, deciding it would be best to keep her happy. The little tube eased the pressure inside her head-no, she mustn't try to move it-he had a few friends and they watched football together on Sundays, he wanted to be a doctor since he was thirteen, before that he had wanted to be a firefighter and yes, he had a girlfriend, Lucille, who was a fashion designer in Paris. He thought a little girl would like the idea of fashion, with those dolls and whatnot. Dreadful little lies, of course, all of them, but it wasn't as if he had anything better to do with his time and he should try and finish explaining the rules of play time to the five year-old. Trying to coax her into returning him his stethoscope and letting him leave, she groaned in frustration before glaring him with those deer-like eyes that glimmered with youth.

"Monsieur?"

It was the first time during the whole ordeal that she actually seemed willing to talk in a civilised manner, without tugging or playing with something on his person.

"Amelia?" he mimicked her tone and she giggled.

"Am I disabled now?

He had to admit that was an incredibly mature and thought through question he would have never considered coming out of a child's mouth. She sniffled and he realised she was getting increasingly sad at his prolonged silence, so he kneeled next to her bed to look at her in the eye, his bony hand resting against her tiny back in an attempt to comfort her, as he'd seen many others do. It was a question he could still hear himself voicing when his mother had denied him exit from the house because of the mask. He must have been Amelia's age.

"No, Amelia. This is simply a thing you will have to live with and will have little effect on your life."

She did not seem to understand him. He sighed and tried again. "What do you want to be when you grow up?

She bit her thumb. "A teacher. Like Mrs. Anderson."

"Well, would anyone have noticed if Mrs. Anderson has something inside her hair? Would that make her any less of a great teacher to you and your friends?" Ugh, children were so out of his talent range.

"No...But she wouldn't run with us after lunch break. And others could be mean to her.

"She would have to run a little slower, nothing less," she pouted, "And, listen to me Amelia and do not forget this, if anyone, no matter how much you think they love you, ever tried to tell you you can't do something because of a piece of plastic in your hair, you will shove that golden hair of yours in their stupid face and show them how good you are."

She smiled and rubbed her face with her tiny fists. For a kid who underwent heavy surgery only five hours ago, she was extraordinarily upbeat and awake. "But I will still have it." Her giddiness again disappeared and fresh tears pooled in her eyes. How the hell did this child's mood change so quickly?

Clever thing wouldn't let him go easily.

"Look, girl. Do you see this thing I am wearing?" His patience was running low. She nodded. "I , too, have it and everyone always told me I could never do anything good because of it. But here I am now, the doctor of beautiful little girls like you."

"Can I take it off?" Her chubby hands reached out towards the dark material and he swallowed the urge to throw her across the room in blind defence.

"Nonono, we don't touch that. Like we don't touch your tube, alright? These things keep us alive, you and me. It will be our little secret."

"Pinky promise!" She shrieked and extended her tiny finger for him to shake. Awkwardly, having never had the best relationship with minors, he curled his long finger around her small one and gently shook it. He decided he liked this kid.

"The nurse will stay with you until your maman returns, alright? Rest, Amelia." He shuffled her blond bangs and stood. He hated having to run away from patients' families, knowing they'd be instantly untrusting.

But this child was waving at him behind the door, with full confidence that he was her fairy godmother and he returned her gesture. When he was finally alone in the corridor, he took a deep breath and rubbed his temples. He had to remember to identify less with sick children in the future, his already shattered mentality could not take it.

"Well, that was beautiful," a soft soprano voice noted next to him.

In shock, he turned to face Christine, who leaned against the wall and her sipped cafeteria orange juice noisily. He became more timid than a dumbfounded toddler and cleared his throat in an attempt to somewhat regain his self control.

"What are you doing here?" He demanded in a low voice, the pale skin under his collar burning up.

Instead of an answer, she lifted a cup of coffee and a pastry box she held with one hand and smiled broadly. "Think of it as a thank you for last night. You really didn't have to sit through my whining."

He looked down at her tiny figure with utter coolness, despite himself. "Nonsense. It was raining outside and we don't want you to lose your voice."

He regretted his words the moment they rolled off his tongue on their own accord. Please don't notice, please don't notice...

"My Voice? How do you know about my voice?"

He shrugged and started walking down the hospital aisle.

"You told me. You said you're taking voice lessons."

She eyed him suspiciously, but not for the reason he anticipated. She was merely afraid that she had embarrassed herself by telling Erik she was taking voice lessons by a disembodied voice she believed to be an angel. "Nadir told me you were here." A faint idea crossed her mind at the last minute. "He said you play as well? Piano, is it?"

The way she put it would have made him angry, but it would appear Christine was rubbing off on him and his spontaneous anger had started for surface less and less.

"No, actually, it's castanets," he replied dryly.

It took her a second to comprehend and then smiled at her own silliness and his cockiness. She didn't know what to do with herself, so she supported the box on a bench and opened it to reveal an array of pastries.

"Come on, choose one. They're for you after all."

He did not want eclairs, nor chouquettes. The mere idea of their texture in his mouth made him gag, because it wasn't as if he could enjoy their taste. The only think he felt was the mushy feeling and an overdose of sugar that almost made his teeth hurt.

His silence put Christine on edge. The mask gave away zero emotion and she constantly felt like talking to a wall that often did not find the right words to say back, save for sarcasm and mysterious, unfinished answers.

"Thank you, Christine, but I'm afraid I don't eat pastries." She looked at her feet, in a mix of embarrassment and disappointment and he rushed to fix the situation. "Don't worry, I like them very much, but I don't believe I can have so much sugar this early. But I'll take the coffee."

Her previous mood was thankfully restored and she sighed in relief. She was so easy to see right through. "Well, take them for later. I'm sure Nadir would appreciate some."

"Of course."

Again she did not know how to keep the conversation going and felt she was the only one trying to at least relieve the awkwardness between them. He always stood there, towering above her, always observing but barely speaking. Maybe he just did not like her that much.

"So, um...yeah. I just came in to say thank you for last night. And I think what you said to that little girl back there was beautiful. You will make a great doctor, Erik."

Her last comment made him choke on his coffee and he rapidly swallowed to avoid any...well...unfortunate leaking from areas on his face he severely lacked. She was still blushing madly and compulsively scratching her palm, waiting for any reply.

"Thank you very much. And consider last night's dues payed," he lifted the cup and she smiled, waving awkwardly before turning to leave.

He watched her turn around the corridor and leaned against the wall, turning his eyes to the ceiling. The whole affair was a very close call to him getting found out, but thankfully Christine was still ignorant of the fact that her ethereal teacher had in fact no angelic qualities whatsoever. Every time he saw her, he reminded himself there was no serious reason to keep doing this, but still found himself anticipating their next lesson. He always made sure everything was perfect; he left her sheet music on the piano, had prepared vocal exercises to strengthen any skills she might need for each piece they worked on. He had to admit she was making tremendous progress for someone who had had no experience with professional opera singing before and the possibilities seemed endless. Every so often, he decided to stretch her further as a test, just to see how far he could take her, but he had still not found the bottom of her talent. Of course, she was very insecure and despite his reassurances that she would one day bring the world to its knees, she still feared failure and trembled at his extreme propositions. That is, until she succeeded. Then he always made sure to remind her why she should never doubt her abilities. He had to proceed with caution now that the time for his final proposition approached, for if she agreed, the stage of Paris would be hers.