Chapter 8: Insomnia

"Alright kids, check in the lobby for your room numbers!" Stew yelled. The front drive of the inn was filled with people, each moving every which way, unloading luggage from cars, and going in and out of the building. Where there wasn't a person there was a costume rack, or a piece of a set.

"Find your rooms, have breakfast, and get ready for rehearsal. We start right after breakfast!"

Erik and Raoul were standing on the front steps, giving out directions for confused individuals around.

"Look," Raoul said, nudging Erik and pointing towards the driveway.

Arthur was driving towards them in a jeep, looking confused as to why so many people were outside.

"Destler! What's the meaning of this?" he called as he climbed out of the jeep.

"We decided that, business is slow during the holidays season, instead of letting habits die, we should continue to rehearse," Erik explained.

"Why here?" Arthur asked, gesturing around them.

"Well, sir," Raoul said. "It just so beautiful up here, and we thought it would be a nice break from the studios in the city. There's a nice big lodge, perfect for rehearsal. Everyone could get some fresh air in the off time."

Arthur looked unconvinced, so Erik jumped in again. "We thought, this lodge was just ideal for rehearsal. Didn't we, Raoul?"

"That's right!" Raoul said, with a big smile. "That the word we used too- Ideal. We looked at each other and said, 'isn't it ideal?' It really is ideal, sir. Right?"

"Ideal," Erik said.

"Alright, now that we've established that this lodge is in fact ideal," Arthur said wit a touch of impatiences in his voice.

"I've been struck by inspiration lately, must be in the water here, and we have the perfect opportunity to test the new material," Erik said. Raoul's smile grew slightly. He knew exactly where the inspiration was coming from. They'd been at the inn for two days, and he and Meg had been trying to figure out how to get Erik and Christine to stop hovering on the edges of affection with one another, and dive right into romance.

"Test the material? On who?" Arthur asked.

"The audience of course!" Raoul said. "They're like our guinea pigs."

"I'm sure we could find you some pigs, but I don't know about people."

"No offense, sir, and with all due modesty sir, but Whitefield and Chagny have never had too much trouble getting an audience," Erik said.

Arthur thought for a moment before nodding. "Do whatever you want, then. I suppose there's very little I understand about show business."

The next few days passed, rehearsing a couple new numbers. One day right after a dress rehearsal that featured Meg dancing and Christine singing with Erik and Raoul, the four of them sat around the piano in the makeshift orchestra pit. Christine sat down on the bench.

"Is the tempo alright for you right here, Meg?" She asked, playing a section of the song and singing along, playing it slightly under tempo.

"Well you have to drive it there," Erik said, coming up behind her. He put his arms around her to reach the keys, so her back was brushing against his chest. He played the same part, but much brighter.

"Oh yes that's much better," Christine said, looking up at him. She wasn't expecting his face to be so close to hers and her voice faded a little at the end of her sentence. "Much better."

"That's much better," Erik agreed, turning his head slightly so he was looking at her. He decided that she was even prettier when she blushed. Her dress for the number left her arms and shoulders exposed, and he could see the blush creeping down her neck from her face, and the heat of the lights.

Raoul and Meg exchanged a glanced at each other and exchanged a sly smile.

"Much better," Raoul said and Meg nodded in agreement.

That night at 10:30, Meg was sitting in a study at the top of the stairs in her bath robe, pretending to read the evening paper. Across the hall she was Erik's room, and beside his was Raoul's. Her and Christine's rooms were down the hall a little ways. The door to Erik's room opened and he emerged. She crept across the room and peered out into the hallway and watched as he disappeared down the stairs. Raoul was leaning in the doorway of Erik's room.

"All clear," he whispered. "He went to compose in the lodge."

"Great," Meg whispered back. "I think Christine said she wanted a snack."

She winked and Raoul chuckled softly before going back to his room. She knocked on Christine's door and went right in.

"I could have been naked," Christine said from where she was sitting in the window seat. It was her usual room, as they were staying in main house where the family stayed.

Meg laughed. "Have you taken to lounging about in the nude. What if I had been Raoul? Or Erik?"

Christine turned a dark shade of red and put her forehead against the glass to cool herself down.

"It's late," Meg said, changing the topic. "Shouldn't you be asleep?"

"I can't," Christine said. "I don't know. I'm just restless, I suppose."

"Huh. Are you thinking about anything… or anyone?" she asked, sitting down on the bed.

"No," Christine said quickly. "I'm just restless."

"Do you want a snack?" Meg asked.

"I'm not hungry," Christine said, coming over and sitting beside her.

"Lillian said there were some sandwiches in the lodge," she said.

Christine tucked herself into bed and shook her head. "Go to bed Meg."

"There's some milk too I think," Meg said.

"Good night," Christine said in a sing song voice.

"They say that if you eat right before you go to bed, it helps with your circulation, and clears your head, incase you are thinking of anything, or anybody, or anything."

"Okay. Fine. Alright. Swell," Christine snapped, standing up. "You're not going to give up till I eat something. Did Lillian put you up to this?"

"No!" Meg insisted.

Christine rolled her eyes as she stuffed her feet into her slippers and pulled on her bathrobe over her blue cotton pajama set.

Erik didn't hear the door to the lodge open. His focus was solely placed on the music in front of him. He had been trying to capture her voice, but nothing he played seemed to match the melody she embodied. He heard a crash and a curse from the other end of the room and stood up quickly, turning towards the sound. In the dim light he could see a small figure kneeling on the ground. He nearly jumped when her eyes met his, arresting him with their icy blue tone.

"I'm sorry," Christine murmured, leaping up. "I didn't know anyone else was in here. It's very dark. You should turn some lights on."

He nodded dumbly, taking in the scene before him. A ceramic pitcher was shattered on the floor and its contents, milk by the looks of it, was pooling around it. Christine stood in a pair of silk slippers and blue pajamas, covered by wool bathrobe. Her hair was down and hung to her waist. He hadn't realized how long it was before, and gulped at the sight. He had only ever dreamed of what her curls would look like hanging freely. It was even more becoming than he had imagined. He blushed when Christine cleared her throat and he realized that he had been staring.

"What are you doing in here?" He sniffed, more harshly than he meant to. He winced slightly and glanced at the mess on the floor.

Her gaze drifted to a plate of sandwiches on the counter and then to the spilled milk.

"I couldn't sleep," she explained softly, twisting the ivory tie of her robe. "And Meg told me that it helps if you have a snack before bed. She said someone had left a plate of sandwiches and milk in here."

Erik turned and went behind the bar. After rifling through a few drawers he found what he was looking for. Two dish towels in hand, he walked back to the spilled milk and handed one of the towels to Christine. Whether by accident or on purpose he didn't know, but her hand brushed his as he handed it to her. They made eye contact for a fleeting moment before he pulled away and knelt down to clean up the mess.

"You shouldn't do that!" Christine explained, twisting the towel anxiously in her hands. "I disturbed you. I can clean this up. You can go back to- to whatever you were doing before I came and ruined the peace."

Erik chuckled at her anxiety. Sitting back on his heels, he looked up at her doe-eyes and was surprised to see them brimming with tears.

"Don't cry!" He said quickly, standing up as he did. "There's no need to cry over… well, over spilled milk. You presence is never a disturbance, my dear." She froze and he realized that he was cradling one of her hands in his. He pulled away, but not before letting his thumb swipe over the soft skin on back of her hand. He knelt down to clean up the milk and she did the same.

They finished cleaning and Erik motioned for her to sit at the bar. He went behind and began to pour himself a drink.

"Would you like something?" He asked. Christine shivered and nodded.

"I spilled the milk. I would like something to wash one of these down with," she said, gesturing to the plate of sandwiches. He chuckled and handed her a tumbler of whiskey. She took a small sip and smiled. "You were at the piano before I came in. What were you doing?"

"Composing," he said with a shrug. He had an inner war going about whether or not he should say it was for her.

"For the show?" She asked and he shook his head. "Would you play for me?"

"Oh no, it's dreadful," he insisted, shaking his head. "Your ears would bleed."

"You've heard me sing. It can't be worse than that," she said with a laugh that sounded like wind chimes stirred by a breeze. A line of sixteenth notes ran through his head, mimicking the sound and he drummed his fingers on his thigh. The sound made him want to smile, but her words caused him to frown.

"My dear, your voice is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. My ears bleed hearing you discredit yourself," he said, suddenly impassioned by her harsh self criticism, however joking it was meant to be. Watching her blush from his praise, he moved out from behind the bar and walked towards the piano. "Come here."

Christine followed, padding softly across the room. She stood beside him, fidgeting with a stray curl and shifting from foot to foot. Erik noticed and scooted over so she could sit down. She stared at the bench for a moment before sitting down beside him. The bench wasn't meant for two, but they were both thin enough that they fit rather comfortably. The only thing that caused Erik any discomfort, was her knee and shoulder brushing against his. It wasn't a bad feeling, he decided, it just was unusual for him to have a woman this close to him who wasn't getting paid to do something unsavory or who wasn't his dance partner for a show. Annie was his regular, and she didn't seem to mind the mask. He only prayed that Christine would be the same.

"I was writing an aria," he explained.

"That doesn't seem like your regular genre," she teased and he shrugged.

"Unfortunately, the average American audience is not a fan of classical music. I prefer opera exponentially, but I have been forced into a box of simple melodies and 'catchy' tunes," he said with a dramatic sigh, causing Christine to giggle.

"I like your music," she insisted. "It is catchy. I always have your records on in the dressing room before shows."

"A fan, I see," Erik said, his smile growing. "Well, this is the trip of a lifetime for you. First I saw your act, and then we argued, and now you've interrupted my work time."

He was teasing and Christine knew it, but her brow wrinkled with guilt regardless. Erik noticed and allowed his hand to hover over hers for a moment.

"Don't worry. Would you mind lending your ear for a moment? I want to run a little thing I've been working on by you," He said, running a hand over the keys.

"Of course," she said with a smile. "I could listen to your voice forever and ever."

They looked at each other for a moment before Christine realized what she had said and stared intently at the creamy sheet of paper.

She glanced at him through her lashes and saw him looking at her in a way no one had ever had. Different than boys on train platforms or at clubs watching her and Meg perform. No, this was something else. It felt much nicer than the lusty sneers of those boys. The corners of her lips upturned slightly and she pretended that she hadn't noticed. Erik cleared his throat and looked away. She watched him as he shuffled through a stack of sheet music before setting a piece on the stand. It was a simple melody, a lullaby of sorts.

It was the kind of music that he said he didn't like writing as much, but the kind she said she liked to hear. He paused and looked at her.

"How was that?" He asked.

"Lovely," she murmured, then louder she said, "I've been meaning to say this for a while, just for the record. I think what you're doing for Artie is the nicest thing anyone could do for someone."

"Not shallow and self absorbed?" He asked, causing her to smile. Oh, how he loved that smile.

She grew serious and continued. "I'm sorry for being so rude in New Orleans. I'm just used to being presumed to be the innocent maiden. I like that part. I'm waiting for my knight in shining armor."

His expression darkened and she quickly continued, "I don't need a dashing prince. Just someone to defend my honor, you see. Make sure I'm taken care of. Sometimes I'm so busy worrying after Meg, I forget to take care of myself."

"Being a knight is dangerous work. What if he was wounded?" Erik asked. "How will you know he isn't too damaged beneath all his armor?"

"It won't matter," she said quickly. She didn't know what was under the mask, but she didn't think it was pretty, based on the way he always touched it to make sure it was in place whenever she entered a room.

Feeling inspired, she sang the lullaby he had been singing, fitting it to her voice and not breaking eye contact. His voice met hers and her breath hitched. She kept going, suddenly too aware of her state of relative undress and how sloppy she must look. As soon as the song was done she stood up.

"Goodnight," she whispered, pulling her robe tighter around her. "Thank you for the help. I'm sorry again for disturbing you."

She practically ran across the lodge, scurrying around chairs, tables, and stray set pieces.

"Christine!" He called and she came to a halt, nearly colliding with the door. Her hand gripped the knob and she didn't need to turn around to know he was right behind her.

"Christine," he murmured, gently running a hand up her arm.

"Erik," she whispered. He tentatively set his hand on her shoulder. She turned slowly to face him, and looked up at him, her eyes wide. He was so much taller than her. Christine rested her hands on his chest and he bent down slowly so he wouldn't startle her. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling herself up to meet him halfway. The leather of his mask was softer then she had anticipated and she carefully kissed him around it. Fortunately it was cut so his lips were visible.

"Christine," he whispered again as he slowly set her down. She hadn't even realized he had picked her up.

"Ahem…" Someone cleared their throat behind them and they both looked and saw Arthur standing and smiling at them. It was hard to tell who looked most embarrassed. Christine murmured a goodnight and slipped out the door, leaving Erik with the grinning general.

"You know," Arthur said. "I kissed my wife for the first time right where you're standing."

Erik didn't say anything, only nodding before going back to the piano to gather up his music.

Raoul and Meg were pressed against and window, bundled in coats and gloves over their pajamas, trying to watch the events between Erik and Christine despite the lack of light.

"We did it!" Raoul cheered softly.

"We did," Meg said, grinning. "Goodnight, Raoul."

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and hurried off to her room.