A/N: Thanks all for the kind words! I've had some extra time to write recently, and have a few chapters mostly ready to go beyond this one. Stay tuned! ^^

Chapter 7

Despite Claire's fears, Erik did in fact return that evening. His arrival was signaled by an electric bell which buzzed piercingly through the small house before being interrupted by the loud grinding of stone on stone. Claire stared unblinkingly as the wall opposite her spot on the lounge slowly recessed and swung outward, but she could see no mechanism by which it opened - she would have to have Erik show her how to operate it, if he even would. She got the impression that he preferred to keep his secrets extremely close to the chest.

As it turned out, he had run several errands while out, and as he entered the house once more Claire saw that he was carrying a small collection of parcels. Noticing Claire's curious expression, he spread the string-tied packages across a low table a few feet away from the lounge, nodding as if to indicate they were intended for her.

"Clothing," he said in response to her puzzled silence. "It would seem that clothing is… simpler in the future than it is now. These outfits may not be fashionable, but should be more to your liking." Claire felt an uncomfortable heat creep into her cheeks. She must have looked more out of place in this musty old dress than she realized - and, of course, she hadn't even asked.

"Thank you," she replied, staring at the ground in utter embarrassment. "You really didn't need to."

"Believe me, mademoiselle," he responded, almost scathingly, "I really did."

Unsure whether to laugh or cry, Claire snatched the packages from the table and escaped to the Louis-Phillipe room to tear them open. Inside were an assortment of what she would call blouses, and thick, floor-length skirts, none of which seemed to need any extra layers to wear properly. They were elegant in their own right, though nowhere near as extravagant or voluminous as the dresses stashed away in the wardrobe - it made sense, surely not everyone could afford such luxurious outfits, to say nothing of the hassle that would come with carrying around so many layers while going about one's daily work.

Slipping out of the musty blue dress and corset, Claire breathed a sigh of relief. After a few minutes of experimenting, she found herself comfortably dressed in an off-white blouse with a high neckline and a tiered blue skirt. She was fairly certain things weren't quite right - the skirt hadn't draped quite right at first, but she found a pair of long, rather puffy pants in the wardrobe that helped fill it out, and while she dispensed with the corset in favor of her own bra, the blouse was too rough to wear without a chemise.

This era was going to be the death of her.

However, as she patted down the clothing and made sure it was arranged correctly, she felt immediately more comfortable and authentic. Yes, she thought, this would do nicely.

The next few days settled into an odd routine. Claire spent much of her time alone, as Erik seemed to prefer either composing in solitude or wandering off to who knows where for hours at a time. Claire, for her part, had never felt so bored or lonely in her life, and tried to make the best of it by passing the time reading, practicing the piano and singing - when alone of course, her rusty skills were too much of an embarrassment to showcase for Erik again - and playing with the cat, whose name she learned was Coralie. She reveled in every game of hunt, chase, or fetch Claire came up with, and quickly became a beacon of light in her suddenly very solitary life.

To Erik's credit, when he was around he started to spend some time helping Claire sort out the intricacies of living in the small apartment under the opera. At Claire's request, he explained which of the numerous vials in the bathroom were best for bathing, which were for using in one's hair, and which were merely perfumes - Claire was relieved to find that the lemony scented oil she had previously used was in fact an exquisite bath oil Erik had acquired in one of his travels. He also showed her how to use the kitchen, which ended up being a bit of a learning curve after years of relying on easy electrical stoves, refrigerators, and dishwashers. The one thing he seemed reluctant to teach her was how to work the front door - but he did promise that should she ever want to venture out, he would be more than willing to escort her out into the bustling streets of Paris.

Still though, the days were wearyingly dull, so when Erik emerged from his solitude with a flourish a few days into Claire's stay, laptop glowing with life in his arms, Claire nearly screamed in delight. He had jury-rigged a strange contraption to the plug end of the charger, which fitted neatly into a lamp's socket when the bulb was removed. It seemed haphazard, but it did the trick - and once Claire had daisy-chained her phone into the laptop via the USB charger, everything seemed to just fall into place.

While she couldn't sate her need for validation on social media, the contents of the laptop were enough to keep her busy for nearly a lifetime. A frequent flyer for her job, Claire had long since loaded the computer with dozens of movies from all genres and eras, thousands of hours of music, and a solid library of games, both time-wasters and serious RPGs alike. As she nestled into the chaise lounge with her earbuds in and let the opening chords of her "Relax" playlist wash over her, she felt herself settle into a contentment she hadn't felt since her last night in modern Paris.

It was then that she felt the looming presence of her host behind her.

Startled, she turned to see Erik standing just a few feet away. He had been sweeping back and forth across the house as she was setting everything up, and now Claire understood why. Though she couldn't see his expression under the black silk mask, she could sense both how insatiably curious he was, and how reticent he was to approach her. She would have to be the one to extend an invitation.

"Yes, Erik?" Claire asked, trying to sound as friendly and inviting as possible. She had learned over the past few days that Erik could be hypersensitive to the slightest tone of annoyance or hostility - even perceived. If the fictional story of his life held any weight, it made sense - Erik must be carrying around a veritable boatload of trauma and emotional baggage, to say nothing of a lifetime of starvation from human contact.

He gestured at the laptop, his thin, pale hand shaking almost imperceptibly. "Show me," he said. Claire fought herself from drawing back in shock - he sounded as if strangled.

Instead she stood, pulled the low table toward the lounge, and set up the laptop where they would both be able to see it. Then, tucking her skirt neatly around her legs as she sat back down, Claire gestured for Erik to sit next to her. "Alright, join me," she said.

Erik hesitated, then stiffly walked around the lounge and sat at the edge, putting as much space between the two of them as possible while still being able to see the screen. Claire sighed internally, but simply pulled the laptop closer to the edge so it would be easier to work with while maintaining her distance - interacting with Erik could almost be like living with a feral cat.

"Well," she said, "what would you like to see?"

Erik hesitated as though he had expected her to take the lead. "How-" he stammered, "how does it work?"

Of course! The first question he asked was going to be the most impossible to answer. Claire was by no means uncomfortable with computers, whether it be using them for basic work purposes or digging into the software to fix issues, add mods to games, or break the default settings because they were interfering with a program. But when it came to the actual hardware - the memory chips, the motherboard, hell, the basic coding language - she was almost as much of a beginner as Erik.

"Well…" she began slowly, "you should know first that I'm not a computer engineer. I've never really looked into how to build these things or make them run, but I know a bit of the history. You're familiar with a Jacquard loom, yes?"

"Of course," Erik replied confidently. "Most of today's more exquisite fabrics would be impossible to create without it."

"Right!" Claire said. "And are you familiar with Charles Babbage and his, uh… Analytical Engine, I think he called it?"

"Yes, though less so than the Jacquard loom."

"Well, it worked on the same principals - that one could use punch cards fed into a machine to perform calculations without the use of a more analog tool, like- like an abacus, I guess?"

"Or a slide rule, I imagine. We do have tools more sophisticated than those used for simple counting and addition."

Claire felt her cheeks warm slightly in embarrassment. "Of course. I'm not very familiar, though - in my time, we mostly just use computers, unless you have a more specialized job I suppose."

"I see," Erik responded cooly. "In any case, I didn't see any punch cards that you would use with this machine. Are they stored inside of it?"

"Well… sort of." Claire frowned, unsure how best to explain the computer's memory to him. "Basically, over time, computer engineers figured out how to store memory on smaller and smaller cards, in different formats, and how to automate the whole process once the computer was put together. I mean, that's a super simplified version of what actually happened, but the too long, didn't read is that the first computers were the size of this entire room - or bigger. My computer is far more powerful - like, millions of times more powerful - and it fits into this nice compact case."

Erik reached toward the machine and ran one spindly finger down the edge of the screen. "I'd be very interested to see how everything is put together," he mumbled.

Claire pulled her laptop closer to herself. "Oh no you don't. This baby has my entire movie, music and book collection stored on it, not to mention dozens of personal art projects. You take her apart, I will kill you."

Erik's gaze snapped from the computer to meet her eyes, startling Claire slightly - it was the first time he had held eye contact with her for more than a brief flicker, and she could just barely make out the golden hue of his eyes behind the dark mask. "Music?" he breathed reverently. "This device contains music?"

Claire smiled, slightly amused at his sudden wonder. "Well yes. I was just about to listen to some Cranberries - you want to listen?"

"Yes!" The excitement in Erik's voice sounded almost unnatural coming from such a morose figure, and Claire wondered how infrequently the man had experienced anything beyond pain and loneliness. She also noted how quick his emotions could swing and made a mental note to find her ebook copy of Leroux's original novel - certainly Andrew Lloyd Webber's phantom had had some violent mood swings, but it wouldn't hurt to suss out exactly what she might be dealing with if she had to stay here for an extended period of time.

No matter for now, however. Claire smirked and unplugged her headphones, letting the music fill the room. As the opening strains of "Linger" started back up again, she felt Erik shift next to her from nervously excited to awestruck.

"It's so… simple," he breathed. "But so different, so captivating. This is what music from the future is like?"

"Well, some of it. This is on the more gentle side, but there's a whole range of different types of music out there - Jazz, rock, metal, show tunes, pop, rap - I could go on for ages. But I don't need to tell you this, there's plenty of different musical styles in your time as well, it's just easier in the future to find so many different types of music."

"I want to hear all of it," Erik demanded. "I need to know more about these different styles."

"Well, I can't play all of it for you, I only have my own collection, and even that would take ages to go through. But I can certainly take you on a musical tour of the 20th century. If you're going to be joining me in my own time, you might as well know a bit about our music. Movies too, come to think of it."

Before she could react, Erik had gripped her hand in his own in a vice-like grip. "Please," he rasped, staring at her with a terrifying intensity. "Please show me."

Claire chuckled nervously. "Okay," she quavered. "I guess we can start with some early Jazz. But uh, Erik?"

"Yes?"

"You're squeezing my hand a bit too tight, and I need it to use the computer."

In response, he dropped her hand and stared at his own as though he hadn't realized what he was doing. Shaking it off, Claire turned her attention back to the computer and started going through her music library. Then, Erik at her side as her unexpected pupil, she began to teach him about life over the next 140 years through music, movie, and literature.

As could be expected, Erik was an extremely quick study. While Claire herself was no slouch, books which took her a few days took Erik a few hours. A song he heard only once could instantly be repeated both vocally and on the piano instantly - Claire quickly grew to regret introducing him to the works of Britney Spears after several hours of variations upon "Toxic." Upon introducing him to visual media (and going through another lengthy explanation of how film turned into silent films and later full color, full sound movies), Erik quickly started binging through as many films and TV shows as he had time for - Claire was almost glad they couldn't get Netflix. It was like watching a snowball chaotically gathering mass and speed as it rolled down a sheer mountain face.

Somehow, in all this, he still found time to devote to quietly slipping off with no explanation, though he only left for an hour or two at a time now, preferring to stay in and surround himself with more song and story. The awkward routine they had established over the first few days living together quickly shifted, finding Claire and Erik spending more time together, discussing life in the 1880's vs the 2010's, sharing films and stories and technology.

After a few days of this new routine, Erik emerged from his room one evening visibly buzzing with excitement. He had a large satchel with him, as well as Claire's own clothes, cleaned and ready to wear. He handed them to her, receiving a blank look of confusion in return.

"I have made the necessary preparations for an excursion tonight," he explained. "When you are ready, I have a carriage waiting to transport us to the catacombs. Should we find a path that leads back to your own time, I believe you'll be more comfortable in your own clothing as well.."

Claire gaped at him. "I mean, you're not wrong - I just didn't expect we'd be making the trip quite so soon."

"The longer we wait, the more likely it is you'll forget the path you took through the catacombs on your trip here. Though I'm certain I have much more to learn about the future, it only makes sense to strike while the iron is hot."

Claire shrugged and nodded in agreement, then retired to the Louis-Phillipe room to change. It was strange, she mused to herself as she slipped into her own clothes. She had only been here a little over a week, but it seemed so much longer. If they really could find their way back, it was going to be disorienting to come back to a world of lights and chaotic noise after these last several days in the hushed cavern that belonged to her eccentric hermit of a housemate.

Sadly, the best laid plans of mice and men do often go awry.

They made their way across Paris under cover of darkness, Claire reveling in the cool fresh air after days underground. When they arrived at their destination, Erik paid the coachman a generous sum and sent him off, allowing the two of them to slip unseen into the tunnels beneath their feet. At her direction, Erik led Claire to the main entrance - the one she had emerged from several nights before, and then fell behind her as she began to retrace her steps.

It wasn't long before she realized that something was wrong.

It hadn't been a long trip from the odd, narrow tunnel she had originally hoped would lead her back to civilization to the staircase which had led her into 1880's Paris, but as they passed the staircase now, she could see that, in fact, there was no tunnel - only the outline of a narrow archway in the stone wall, bricked off with yet more stone that by all appearances had been there as long as the tunnel itself. She reached out to it in dismay, willing the wall to melt away and let them return to Claire's own time, but her hand met only cold, unyielding stone.

Erik stared at Claire as tears began to well up in her eyes and splash over her cheeks. "It was here," she wailed softly, letting her hand fall back to her side. "This is the tunnel I went through, I'm sure of it… and now it's gone. I… I don't know what to do!"

Erik shifted awkwardly - he had no idea how to comfort a crying woman, let alone one who was in such an odd predicament. Instead, he extended a hand forward and rapped on the wall - it sounded oddly solid behind the bricks, considering how much it looked like a tunnel had once existed here - and peering further down the hallway, he could see no indication of other passages like this one. His insides bubbled with frustration and sheer disappointment - he would have to return to his original, far less than perfect plans.

He cleared his throat, interrupting Claire's sobbing. "Well," he said at last, his tone carefully measured, "it seems that whatever mechanism led you here is no longer functioning. There may yet be another way to return you to the future, but I suggest we return to my house before someone discovers us here."

Claire looked at him, unsure. "I can still stay with you then? Even without a way to bring you to the future?"

"Of course. I told you when we first met that my morals would not allow me to see you on your own in the streets of Paris. And…" He trailed off and looked away, unsure how to continue.

"And?" Claire prompted, her tears slowing to a halt.

"And I have come to enjoy… learning of all the wonders you have shown and described to me. I should miss that greatly were you to leave."

Claire nodded, smiling slightly. Unless she were very much losing it, that was about as close to Erik admitting he enjoyed her company as it got. And though he remained cool and aloof on their journey home, she was sure she could also sense the beginning of a rapport forming between them.