The walk to Antoinette's house was fraught with tension, but nothing further happened. They arrived on her doorstep and were quickly ushered inside.
"Christine! I heard!" Meg threw her arms around her friend. "I was so scared!"
"Oh, I was too... But I'm okay," Christine hugged her tightly.
"What about you, Erik?" Antoinette asked softly. "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine. It's nothing much. I've had worse tripping over my own feet."
Christine settled on the couch next to Meg, telling her all about it.
Erik pulled Antoinette into the kitchen.
"They sent three men and a driver after her, Antoinette," he told her darkly. "Why? No one needs that much muscle to steal a tiny woman like her. They clearly knew beforehand that I was with her. They planned this."
"I'm afraid you're right. They must have eyes on her," Antoinette fretted. "Have you noticed anyone that you keep seeing around her?"
Erik shook his head.
"Everyone at the Opera House knows I'm with her. It's impossible to pinpoint just one person," he hesitated. "That Carlotta, she's terribly cruel to her, but I don't know what purpose it would serve to extort the Comte."
He snapped his fingers, suddenly remembering.
"That drunk, that Buquet, he was in her storage room."
"Storage room?" Antoinette was confused.
"She practices in a storage room. He was there today, but I don't know what purpose he would have, either."
Antoinette raised an eyebrow.
"I don't think Buquet knows his own purpose half the time, Erik. I don't think he even remembers his own name when he's drunk, and that's pretty often. I've heard about Carlotta from Meg, but I honestly can't think of what she'd want either. I know she dislikes Christine, but..."
"Regardless, she's being watched. They knew when she'd be leaving after her show, they knew the path she'd take, which means they know she's staying here, and they knew I'd be with her. Have you made any progress with the Comte?"
"No, none. He's being impossible."
"We should have Nadir arrest him for obstruction of justice," Erik growled. "If he keeps this up we may have to resort to unorthodox methods. I know he knows something."
Antoinette put her face in her hands and groaned. Heaven help them all when Erik had to bust out his unorthodox methods. She was almost afraid to even ask, not wanting to be liable as an accomplice should things go south.
"It's been a long night, Erik. You should get some rest and we'll regroup in the morning," she walked towards the doorway, calling into the living room. "Christine- we saved you some dinner, come and eat it, dear."
Christine was closely followed by Meg as she entered the kitchen.
"I ate just a little earlier, though," she told her.
"That was hardly a meal, Christine," Erik reprimanded. "You need more food than that. Sit and eat."
He pointed at the chair next to the kitchen table, and Meg pulled it out for her.
"You should eat something too, Erik - we saved some for you," Antoinette told him.
"But I'm not hungry," his tone bordered on whiny.
"Christine," Antoinette addressed her. "Did Erik eat anything today, besides that pitiful excuse for a breakfast?"
Christine glanced back and forth between their faces, Antoinette's stern and commanding and Erik's (what she could see of it, anyway) looking every inch the child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.
"He, ah, he did not - not that I saw, anyway," she said nervously.
Erik took a step backwards, placing a hand over his chest in mock indignation.
"Betrayed! And after all I did for you, Mademoiselle!" he gasped.
"Erik sit down," Antoinette rolled her eyes.
He obediently sat down across from Christine, who giggled at the somber look he gave her.
Antoinette placed a plate in front of each of them, which they dutifully ate while Meg and her mother idly chatted in the background.
"How was your show, Christine?" Meg asked.
Christine thought about it before answering.
"It went very well," she finally said.
Erik paused. Was she not going to say anything about getting stepped on?
"I was happy with how I sang, and the audience seemed to enjoy it," she continued.
"What about you, Erik?" Meg asked. "What did you think of Christine's performance?"
Erik nearly dropped his fork. What did he think of her? What kind of question was that? Who asks that?
A strange hush fell over the trio at the table. Antoinette was at the sink, blissfully oblivious to the sudden tension.
Christine fiddled with her food, pushing it around the plate with the fork as she waited for Erik's answer.
Meg leaned in eagerly. Too eagerly.
He glanced from Meg, whose gaze was practically boring a hole in him, to Christine, who was pointedly not look in his direction.
He looked down at his own plate.
"She did very well," he blurted out and quickly shoveled a forkful of food into his mouth, hoping there would be no follow up questions.
Meg grinned, and Christine looked up, surprised. Erik was already looking off in a different direction, desperately praying no one would notice the blush that was most definitely creeping down his neck and tinting his ears.
Well. The compliment was prompted, and practically a repeat of what she herself had already said, but still- Christine smiled.
Meg was rather pleased with herself. She knew that Christine wasn't treated the best at the Opera House, and compliments for her were few and far between - mostly out of jealousy, as far as Meg could tell. She had hoped that the man would have been able to muster up something better than 'she did very well', but it was a start, and Christine seemed happy.
Meg and Christine talked through the rest of their meal, and Erik watched, lost in his thoughts. Antoinette retired to the living room.
He had come so close to losing Christine. He didn't know how he would live with himself if something had happened to her on his watch. He had been so surprised afterwards, when she hadn't pulled back from his unthinking touch - and then when she had clung to him. At first he had thought little of it - she had been terribly frightened, and he was the most familiar thing in that moment, so it only made sense that she seek comfort from him.
But he had expected that any moment she'd come to her senses, try to escape his grip or demand to be put down - except she never did. She let him carry her the entire way, even once they were safe at the office. And she had seemed just fine on the walk to Antoinette's, so the adrenaline induced jelly-legged feeling must not have lasted that long. Surely she had recovered, or mostly recovered, on the way there, only she hadn't said anything. Perhaps that meant, after all, that she wasn't too afraid of him, didn't feel too uncomfortable near him. Perhaps she didn't think it was too horrible to be around him. He didn't dare hope for more than that, for anything else other than to not be repulsive to her. To befriend such an angel was simply too much to ask.
He was still upset over her treatment backstage. What had Christine ever done to any of them, besides work hard on her voice and make use of her talent? It was unacceptable to him. How often he had wished, during bouts of mistreatment, for a normal face and a normal life so that people would have no reason to treat him harshly, to mock or abuse him - and yet here was Christine, pure, innocent, beautiful Christine, without any physical or spiritual flaw to be seen, and yet still she had to suffer at the hands of others! It simply wasn't fair, and he burned with anger over it.
He watched as she carefully cut up the meat on her plate as she listened to one of Meg's stories. One would never guess just by looking at her the depth of fierceness in her, the amount of steely resolve. She looked like a fragile porcelain doll, but she had held her own against the man in the alley. The way she had turned off her own inner turmoil as she stepped on the stage, too, was impressive to say the least. What other secrets did she hold?
She yawned.
"Oh! You should go to bed soon, Christine, you must be exhausted," Meg said.
Christine glanced at Erik.
"I will. I just didn't want to go to bed while we still had a guest over," she said shyly. "It felt rude."
It took Erik a moment to realize she was referring to him.
"Actually, Antoinette has insisted - rather loudly, as I'm sure you noticed during my phone call - that I stay here tonight. You may retire whenever you wish."
"Oh?"
"She seems to think it would be safer for us all - while I'm sure you all are safer with me here, it's laughable to think any danger would come to me on my walk back to the office," he rolled his eyes and gave a long-suffering sigh. "But she insisted, so stay I will."
"I see."
Meg gathered up Christine's empty plate and silverware to take to the sink, and made to reach for Erik's as well. He pulled it back from her.
"I can clean my own dish, Meg, I'm not a child."
"No, no - you heard Christine- you are a guest here, I insist you let me do for you!"
"Come now, I'm perfectly capable," he insisted, firmly gripping the plate.
She pulled at it, undaunted.
"Let me take your plate, you great lout," she hissed at him.
He released it.
"You know, you inherited a great many traits from your mother. Did I ever tell you that, Marguerite?" he mused.
"Erik!" she pretended to be scandalized. "What a terrible thing to say!"
"I know, that's why I said it. Perhaps you'll let me clear the table next time, hmm?"
Meg shook her head.
"You are an insufferable man," she sighed. "Come on, Christine, let's go to bed. It's late."
Meg flounced out of the room, and Christine rose to follow her.
"Thank you, Erik," she said as she passed by him, uncertain of if she was thanking him for carrying her or for the compliment on her singing or for the apple, so she left it at that in the hopes that it would be for all three.
"Of course," he gave a nod.
"Christine," he asked suddenly as she was on the verge of leaving the room.
"Yes?"
"Are green apples still your favorite?"
"Yes, they are," she replied.
He glanced over his shoulder for one last look at her before she went upstairs, and she gifted him with a smile - the first real, actual smile he had seen from her that was directed at him, and his heart stuttered in his chest.
"Goodnight, Erik. I'll see you in the morning."
"Goodnight, Christine."