It was still an odd thing to see a motor car, an invention that had been around for a little while but still wasn't a terribly popular mode of transportation. Erik couldn't see where this one was exactly, but the hum of the machine's engine was an unforgettable sound and he recognized what it was immediately.
Uneasy with the thought that someone might drive up and grab her from the street, he moved to walk on her side between her and the street. The hum continued somewhere in the distance.
Suddenly it revved to life behind them, tires squealing and swiftly approaching lights blinding them. Erik spun around, and the instant he did, Christine screamed.
He made to turn back to her to make certain she was okay, but as he did he was suddenly shoved into the wall. Too close for the lasso, Erik swung a punch which was narrowly avoided by his attacker.
From the corner of his eye he could see the form of a man struggling with Christine. Panic like he'd never thought he'd know again bloomed in his chest and raced down his limbs. He pressed forward as thought trying to push off the wall, the man holding him there tried to muscle him back. Erik suddenly grabbed at the man's shirt and pulled him towards the wall, using the man's own momentum against him to cause his face to collide with the bricks. His grip on Erik broken as he staggered backwards, Erik sprung forward to assist Christine.
She had barely had time for her mind to register the loud noise behind them and Erik's quick movement when suddenly she realized that someone had been hiding in the darkness of the alley they had paused so briefly by. A strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her backwards while a hand tried to snake over her mouth. She managed half a scream before the fingers were attempting to muffle it, a task they failed at due to her instinct to bite them.
Over the pounding in her ears she could vaguely hear the sounds of Erik scuffling with his own attacker. If they managed to incapacitate Erik, or even just delay him enough, she knew it would all be over. It was a thought that terrified her, but she strove to let it fuel her her own fight instead of weaken her.
The man drew his hand back with an angry, surprised hiss. She took the opportunity to jam her elbow backwards, just under his ribcage. The man doubled over but still held tight to her.
Erik couldn't risk using the lasso or the knife he had hidden in another pocket - any minor slip up and he might injure Christine. He chose instead for a swift kick to the side of the man's knee, finally causing him to release his hold on her.
Once free, Christine turned quickly, swinging her purse around to strike the man squarely in the face. Erik was surprised and paused for the briefest of moments. He had expected her to run, not to keep fighting. His lasso hung limply in his hand, having missed his opportunity to use it on the man in the wake of the shocking amount of fight Christine had in her.
She had wound up her arm for another smack to his face with her deceptively heavy little purse, but the blow didn't have time to land as man had crawled as fast he could towards the car that was waiting in the street. Inside the car sat the man who had attacked Erik and one other man besides the driver. They both reached down and helped to haul him into the car before it sped off into the night.
Christine let her purse drop from her hands. It was over. It was over, and she had survived.
Erik spared a only quick glance at the retreating machine before swiftly dropping to one knee in front of Christine. His hands fluttered over her, unsure of if she had injuries anywhere, his eyes desperately examining her in the light of the street lamp.
"Christine, Christine, are you hurt? Did he hurt you?" he choked out, finally letting one hand gently and cautiously cup her cheek.
Two thoughts dominated the mind of Christine Daae in that moment.
The first was surprise that his gloved hand was cool to the touch. She would have expected some amount of warmth to radiate through the material, but there was none.
The second, as he let his thumb caress her delicate cheekbone, that golden gaze staring into her eyes so full of concern, was that this was not the touch of a man who hated her.
Since he had started working with Antoinette, Erik had been the security guard of dozens of people - people of all ages, both women and men. There were assassination and kidnapping attempts on many of those people. None of them, not a single one, had scared him as much as he had been scared tonight. He hadn't felt that level of fear since he was a very young man attempting to flee for his life from the Shah of Persia. But the thought of losing Christine, of any harm coming to her - it was the very same fear he felt once more.
The rush of adrenaline was quickly fading, taking with it the strength she had found to fight back and leaving her with only the crushing realization of how close she had been to being kidnapped or worse.
It was that gentle touch of Erik's that undid her. She threw her arms around his neck, leaning against him for support because her legs simply couldn't hold her up anymore. The day had been too much - too many scares, too much excitement and emotions in the worst of ways. Buquet in her storage room, Carlotta's friend stepping on her foot, near disaster in the streets - she just couldn't anymore.
Erik froze as she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, so unused to anyone touching him. He quickly recovered and placed one hand between her shoulder blades, pressing her lightly into him, letting the hand that had been on her face now cradle the back of her head. He could feel how heavily she was relying on him for support. He let them both stay there like that for a little while, his half kneeling position letting them finally be on nearly equal level, before he swallowed against the lump in his throat and broke the silence of the nighttime air.
"We can't stay here," he whispered in her ear. "It isn't safe. Can you walk at all?"
She shook her head. She didn't trust her legs to be able to carry her.
Erik made a quick calculation in his mind. Antoinette's house was still quite a distance away, but their office was just down the street.
"Christine," he said softly. "If you can't walk, I'm going to have to carry you - is that all right?"
"Yes," her voice against his shoulder was muffled.
He nodded.
"Okay. I'm- I have to put my arm under your knees," he explained.
He paused for only a moment to pick her purse up off the ground, draping its strap over his own shoulder before looping his arm underneath of her legs and lifting her off the ground.
She stifled a squeak of surprise - she hadn't been expecting him to be able to lift her quite so easily or quickly. She was short, yes, but she certainly wasn't as thin as she had been when she was a dancer - and even then she hadn't been as thin as some of the other girls. But Erik seemed to have to no problem at all lifting her up and rising to his feet with her in his arms, setting a quick pace down the street.
"I'm taking you to the office, it's much closer and we'll be safe there," he said. "We can't risk the walk to Antoinette's with the possibility of those men still out there and you like this."
She made a noise of agreement.
She was surprised to find that the rest of him was only marginally warmer than his hands were. This man was full of surprises, it seemed. She took a deep breath. Now that she was so close to him, she could tell that he smelled of frankincense and spice. It was a scent that would always remind her of incense in churches - especially of funerals in churches, she had been to so many, all heavily laden with that scent in the air. She shivered.
When the office building was in sight, she realized her legs were finally regaining their normal feel. She thought she could probably make it the rest of the way on her own, but they were almost there, and he really didn't seem to mind carrying her, so she held her tongue and let him continue. Besides, her foot still felt bruised from earlier, she justified it to herself.
He set her down briefly in front of the door that led to the little hallway that ended with their office door, fishing for a key ring in his coat pocket. He retrieved it, unlocked the door, then picked her up once again to carry her down the hallway, briefly freeing a hand to quickly secure the lock again. She couldn't stop the little noise that left her when he picked her up that time - she hadn't been expecting him to do so.
When he set her down on her feet in front of the office door, unlocking it, she hesitated. She knew what was likely coming now - and she was perfectly capable of walking on her own, she had been for a little while now. If she simply pulled away from she could walk into the office before he stooped to hoist her up again. But if she pulled away, would he think it was because she was afraid of him, or that she didn't like him? She didn't want to give the impression that she couldn't wait to be away from his touch. So she stood where she was, hands lightly on his shoulders, and sure enough as soon as the door was unlocked and the knob twisted, he scooped her up again and carried her over the threshold - almost like a man carrying his bride to their new home, she thought with the slightest of blushes, almost like.
He kicked the door closed with his foot and laid her down on the couch, locking the door and then grabbing a pillow to place under her feet. He placed her purse on the floor next to the couch.
"Put your feet up, Christine, it'll help you feel better," he fussed over her, making sure the pillow behind her back was at the right place and pulling a blanket over her lap.
"I'm fine, Erik, really," she found all of his attention after so long of him barely looking at her was overwhelming and a little embarrassing.
"How long has it been since you've eaten?" he asked, realizing he hadn't seen her eat all day.
"I had breakfast earlier with Madame Giry. I often forget to eat on show days," she explained.
He frowned. How had he not realized sooner? He was so used to going without food himself that he sometimes forgot it was thing that other people needed. He cursed himself - he wasn't taking very good care of his charge, letting her starve half to death.
"Stay there," he said firmly before disappearing upstairs.
When he returned he had a plate of various foods - cold cut meat and a sweet roll, a piece of cheese and a few iced cookies - and in the middle of plate were slices of green apple. She sucked in a breath when she noticed them, looking over at him. He was in the corner of the room, preparing a cup of tea for her, his back turned.
Had he bought the apple because of what she said?
"I wasn't hinting that I wanted you to buy me an apple, you know. When I mentioned it in the store earlier."
He set the tea on the table next to her, suddenly too shy to meet her eye. He had intended to give her the apple after her performance, a small gift - something thoughtful, more personal than just flowers - but he never envisioned giving it to her like this, and dearly regretted that it had to be this way.
"I know," he hovered near her, hesitating, as though he didn't know what to do with himself. "Are you certain that you're okay? How do you feel?"
"I'm fine," she pushed herself up off the couch. "What about you, though? I saw he had you up against that wall..."
She looked up at him, concerned.
He rolled his eyes.
"I've seen far worse, trust me. A minor bruise, at most. I'm going to call Antoinette, she must be worried sick about you when we didn't show up on time."
He sat at the desk and dialed her number. Christine took the opportunity to begin eating her food, saving the apple for last. He had been listening to her after all, she realized. Buying apples wasn't in his job description, and people don't buy apples for people they don't care about.
"Antoinette? It's Erik, Christine is with me and she's fine," he paused. "On our way back from the Opera House some men accosted us, but I - we - dealt with them. They escaped in a car, however, so they're still out there. Is everything fine on your end?"
He was silent, listening to her reply. He looked surprised, turning to stare at Christine.
"I don't know, we haven't discussed it," he placed the receiver against his shoulder, attempting to muffle it before he addressed Christine. "Christine, do you feel up to making the trip to Antoinette's tonight? After you finish eating and have rested, of course."
He left off the part where Antoinette had asked if Christine would prefer to spend the night at the office with Erik instead.
"Yes, I can make it, I think," she frowned. "What about you, you'd have to walk all the way back here again by yourself."
He waved a dismissive hand.
"Don't worry about that," he returned to the phone call. "She wants to go back to your house. Oh you heard her? What do you mean she's right?"
Silence.
"Antoinette," he whined. "Are you serious? Are you-"
He held the ear piece away from him, and Christine could hear Antoinette's voice echoing loudly from it.
"Alright! Alright! It's the most asinine thing I've ever heard, but I'll do it."
He slouched dramatically in the chair, rolling his eyes and sighing.
"Fine," he conceded. "I'll see you shortly."
He sprang up from the chair and headed upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.
Christine finished her meal alone. The green apple was just as good as she remembered it, crisp and sour and just right.
When Erik returned he was carrying a large briefcase, which he set by the door.
"Let me know whenever you're ready to go to Antoinette's," he told her before settling in behind the desk.
She nodded, taking her time to finish drinking the tea he had made for her. She appreciatively noticed the sugar bowl that he had also set on the table for her, another thing he seemingly remembered. When she finished both her food and her tea, and had sat and centered her breath for a little while, she stood up.
"I'm ready," she said.
He looked up from the papers on the desk, nodding.
He grabbed the suitcase with a sigh and locked the doors behind them, stepping out into the night once more.