Christine breathed in a deep breath of the Parisian air and smiled. Being back in France made her heart feel full, even if a number of her memories here were bittersweet. She missed her Papa and she missed Mamma Valerius, but she felt closer to both of them when she was here. She couldn't wait to see her old friends from the Opera Populaire once more. Being away from the for so long had caused her to lose contact with some of them, growing apart from others. But Meg had always faithfully answered her every letter, and the two were still close.
She spent the cab ride over to Madame Giry's office thinking about all the friends she'd left behind in England, about which ones would turn out to be the Megs of that portion of her life and who would fall away over the years, busy with their owns lives. She pulled herself out of that reverie as she realized that the traffic was heavier than she had remembered. She fretted over the time, she should have left earlier.
When they finally pulled up to the office it was just past noon - and if Madame Giry still kept to her schedule, as Christine assumed she would, that meant she was out at lunch. She knocked on the door and tried the knob. It was unlocked, so she opened it.
"Madame?" she called out.
Silence.
She must have just missed her. Christine cursed her poor timing and sat on the couch with a sigh. She would wait here until Giry returned. She had lost contact with so many people in Paris that she had no where else to go - the only friends she could visit instead where busy with practices for the auditions coming up. Meg was hoping to become lead ballerina, and Christine was hopeful that she would. She loved the idea of the two of them up there one day, she the lead soprano and her friend the lead dancer, just as they had plotted and planned when they were teens.
She pulled a small mirror out of her bag, taking in the state of her hair after her travels. It seemed to fall more on the side of frizzy than curly, as she felt it often did. She bit her lip and began to comb her fingers through it before rolling and twisting it into a bun, sticking pins into it to hold it in place. She checked it in the mirror once more, sighing at the loose pieces that were somehow shorter than the rest and had found their way out of the bun and insisted on sticking out at odd angles or hanging annoyingly in her face. Still, it was the best she could hope for, she assumed and tucked the little mirror away.
She got up off the couch and began to glance over some of the papers on the desk. When she had lived in Paris before Madame Giry had often told her about cases she was working on, and Christine had especially loved hearing about the ones where everything had turned out well in the end. She looked over the files, careful not to disturb the order they were in, wondering about how close these people were to being found and reunited with their loved ones. She smiled to think of the work that Antoinette did. She thought perhaps if she hadn't fallen in love with the opera that she might have liked to work for her here. Christine had never told anyone so, too embarrassed by the thought, but she had always pictured Antoinette Giry as a kind of superhero, the type one would read about in the novels or comic strip stories, and even though she was no longer a young girl with a head full of dreams who looked up to her best friend's mother as though she were magical, she still held the woman in very high regard.
Well, if she must wait in solitude, then she might as well make good use of the time.
She began to sing softly, practicing the words to song she was planning to use for her audition. She knew the song quite well, but that still didn't keep her from being terrified that she'd get on stage on suddenly forget the words. So she sang as she examined the knickknacks on the bookshelf and wondered at the setup of the room which she thought was different but couldn't be certain - perhaps Giry had remodeled it since Christine had been here last, or perhaps it simply been so long since that her memory was fuzzy.
She let her mind wander, and as she did, she ceased to control the volume of her voice, letting it get a little louder.
She was more than halfway through the song when suddenly there was another voice - a man's voice - singing along with her.
She stopped. So did he.
Her face flushed a bright red. She had no idea someone was in here or she never would have been singing. Why hadn't he said something when she called out for Madame? Had he not heard her? She had forgotten that the office contained an upstairs. She buried her face in her hands and groaned, then turned around with the intent of calling out to whoever was up there.
What she hadn't been expecting, however, was that the man would already be standing at the foot of the stairs when she turned around. She hadn't heard him come down - he moved as silently as a ghost, she thought afterwards.
Since she hadn't been expecting the man to be standing there, and she most certainly hadn't been expecting someone so tall with such piercing eyes and a white mask that covered most of his face - Christine Daae did what was only natural, if somewhat impolite, in such a surprising situation.
She screamed.
She certainly hadn't meant to, especially since the man's reaction to that was to wince and flee back up the stairs, but it was an involuntary action on her part.
Christine was overcome with embarrassment. The only way that could have gone worse, she berated herself, is if she had fainted right in front of him. She had no clue how to go about introducing herself to someone after she had screamed upon seeing them, so she took the only option that seemed viable in that moment - she ran out the door.
Erik paced back and forth in his room. He had scared her quite badly! The poor thing was terrified of him! He certainly couldn't go back downstairs again. He was angry at himself for scaring her so, and he was embarrassed for not realizing that it was a flesh and blood human downstairs and not the blasted radio. He never would have began singing if he knew he was in the presence of another person - he hadn't sung in front of anyone in ages, and he certainly hadn't intended on doing so ever again. Not after Persia.
He bit his lip in frustration. Whoever she was, she was a beautiful singer and under other circumstances he would have liked to get to know her - but that was certainly out of the question now. He cursed his foolishness and carelessness when he should have known better not to sing and sneak up on people, he cursed his damned face that necessitated such a mask that still managed to frighten people senseless, he cursed Nadir for insisting Erik couldn't spend the rest of his days living in an abandoned basement and instead needed to attempt to integrate into society. Erik had, yet again, doomed another acquaintanceship before it had even begun simply by virtue of being Erik.
Christine hurried down the street as fast as her feet would carry her without drawing attention to herself. Her face felt like it was on fire. He must think her horribly rude! And surely running away had only made it worse! But she could not help it, she couldn't bear to face him again after that. She prayed Madame Giry would hurry back from her lunch and be able to soothe things over. Christine wouldn't blame the man if he never wanted to see her again.
Finally Erik heard the door open once more. He waited. Sounds of soft footsteps and a coat being slung over the coatrack drifted up to him.
"Antoinette?" he called out uncertainly.
"Yes, Erik?" she replied.
He stormed down the stairs.
"Who was she?" he demanded.
"Who was who?"
He scoffed.
"The girl who was in here, the singer."
"Singer?" Giry paused for a moment. "Oh, it must have been Christine. I told you about her, remember?"
"Well why didn't you warn me she was coming here today?" he was aware of the petulance in his tone but was unable to contain it.
"I simply didn't know, Erik," she shrugged. "Why, what happened?"
"I scared her half to death, that's what happened!" he snapped.
There came a loud and insistent knock on the door, despite its being unlocked, as though whoever it was outside wanted to make their arrival very known.
Erik could see through the frosted glass enough to tell the figure knocking was the same height as Christine. He turned away and faced the bookcase, still peeved at how the situation had turned out earlier.
Antoinette opened the door and wrapped the smaller woman in an embrace.
"Christine! Darling, I've missed you so! Do come in!"
Christine smiled nervously, glancing over to the tall figure by the bookcase.
"I missed you terribly, Madame. How have you been?"
"Busy," Antoinette sighed. "But otherwise quite well. I'm sure Meg will be thrilled to see you again."
Christine couldn't help the continual dart of her eyes over to Erik, and Antoinette noticed.
"Christine, I'd like you to meet my business partner, Erik," Antoinette motioned over towards him.
Christine nodded. Madame had mentioned a partner she worked with occasionally over the years, but Christine had never met or even seen him before, and Madame had certainly never described him or made mention of his mask.
Christine took a step towards him as he slowly turned to face her. She held her hand out to him and hoped he wouldn't notice how it trembled slightly.
"How do you do, Monsieur?" she tried to smile.
His gaze dropped to her outstretched hand. He clasped both of his own hands behind his back. He wasn't wearing gloves, as he hadn't been expecting to have to touch anyone, and he was aware that his hands held a perpetual chill to them. He didn't want to startle her yet again by placing that icy grip around her own small hand which was probably quite warm.
"Mademoiselle," was his only reply to her, and he desperately hoped that blush he knew was coloring his hidden face wasn't also creeping down his neck.
Her smile faltered and she let her hand drop. Was he still mad at her, then?
"When is your audition, Christine?" Antoinette saved her from her own thoughts.
Christine turned and walked back over to the couch.
"Tomorrow, actually."
At prompting from Giry she began to tell stories about what it was like in England. As she spoke her eyes drifted over to Erik every so often. He seemingly wasn't even paying attention to her or anything she said, instead opting to focus on the case file he had picked up, studying it with his mouth set in a firm line.
She let her eyes wander over him as she continued talking. He was so tall, Christine didn't think she'd ever known anyone that tall. She herself was barely five feet, Erik practically towered over her. She could tell that the mask must be hiding some sort of mark or scar, judging from the skin around the edges of it. She longed to ask him to sing once more, she had only heard his voice for a moment, but she was almost certain that he was incredibly skilled. But she couldn't ask that of him - she could barely even address him.
"Do you - do either of you - mind too terribly if I stayed here until the ballet auditions are done? I don't really have anywhere else to go, you see."
"Of course you can, dear," Antoinette nodded.
Christine looked over to Erik, who let his gaze linger on the file for a moment longer before glancing over at her. His cool demeanor sent a chill through her.
"It makes little difference to me either way," he looked back down to his work.
Christine nodded and pulled a book out from her tote bag, leaving them to their work. In truth she got very little reading done, instead listening to their muted conversation over the case they were working on.
Erik stole glances at her from the corner of his eye. She spoke French quite fluently from what he could tell, but every so often she'd lapse into an accent which sounded almost Swedish. Her golden hair was twisted and pinned up, with a few elegant curls left out. Her nose, with a delicate scatter of freckles running across it, crinkled in concentration as she read her book and Erik found this awfully endearing. He found himself wishing he could hear her singing voice again. Perhaps- perhaps she would be onstage at some point, the directors would be fools not to have her sing onstage, and perhaps he could sit in the audience and hear her sing and-
He shook himself. It would not do to think of her so, she was clearly uncomfortable around him, and Erik was too much of a gentleman to force his presence into someone's life that clearly didn't want him there - imagine how terrible it would be for her up there on stage and for her eyes to drift across the audience and catch sight of his deathly white mask staring back at her - no, no he couldn't do that to her. He probably wouldn't even see her again after today.
So when she finally took her leave to go see Meg, Erik thought that was the end of it. However, it was most certainly not.
She returned the very next day, bursting into the office as Antoinette was getting ready to close up, and announced that she had landed the understudy for Marguerite in the upcoming run of Faust. Erik, who had already retired for the evening, could hear her excited new being conveyed to Antoinette.
Bafflingly enough, she continued to visit the office over the next several weeks, preferring to spend her breaks from rehearsals lounging on Antoinette's couch. Most often Erik would find excuse to go upstairs or out - it was easier that way, he thought. He found he would hang on her every word about the opera rehearsals, form questions in his mind that almost slipped out of his mouth, found his eyes would wander from his work to where she sat. On some of those occasions he would find that she had been looking at him as well, only to turn away from him quickly. Had he been any other man, perhaps he would have taken these moments in a more flattering light, but he knew the most obvious and likely reason she was looking was to get a better glimpse of what was under the mask. He had experimented with different styles of masks in the past, hoping to find one that managed to cover it completely, but any that did so ended up impeding his vision or ability to speak and eat - so he was stuck with this one that left areas around his eye and chin visible even though he would much rather have them covered. His neck, at least, could be covered by a cravat. But that gaze on him, even for a moment, made him uncomfortable. It felt like being judged, like being on display once more - like childhood memories he'd much rather forget. So it was easier to simply leave.
Leaving was not always an option, however, and that's how he was there to hear her excited yet conflicted delivery of news to Antoinette one day.
"Oh Madame, you aren't going to believe this - I have such news to tell you!" Christine bounced on the balls of her feet.
"Is it good news?" Antoinette stopped her writing to look up.
"I think that depends, you know - I'm sure it's awful to take joy in someone else's bad news but oh-! La Carlotta is ill!"
"Christine - congratulations! Do you know how long she'll be out?" Antoinette was pleased.
Christine shook her head.
"A week, at least - I'll be doing four performances for certain!" she beamed.
Christine did feel guilty about being so happy to hear that the diva was sick, but all of the hard work she had put into learning her understudy role was finally about to pay off. Marguerite in Faust! She could scarcely believe it. It was a dream come true.
Erik paused and looked over at Christine.
"Congratulations, Christine. This will be a wonderful opportunity for you, indeed."
"T-Thank you, Monsieur," she was surprised at being addressed so directly, and so sincerely.
Erik thought about Christine's news for the rest of the night. Faust was one of his favorite operas... And Christine was a wonderful singer. Perhaps it wouldn't be too odd, in that case, if he were to go see the show, just maybe.