How quickly things can change, Christine thought to herself as she closed her eyes that night. She prayed that her dreams wouldn't replay that awful scene she had lived through just hours ago. She chose to focus instead on Erik.
Erik. She surely hadn't imagined it, had she? The gentleness of his touch, as though she were something precious and fragile. The concerned anguish glowing in those odd eyes as he searched her face for injury. She sighed. What she wouldn't give to go back to two and half months ago when so she could redo their unfortunate introduction. Perhaps she'd been wrong about him this entire time - perhaps he thought she didn't like him. How awkward, she mused.
She was glad that Madame Giry had made him stay the night. She knew he was a formidable opponent, and that he carried weapons (to think, there was a noose up the sleeve of the arm that held her so softly, and who knows what else in that long coat of his) but he was still only a man, and the scuffle that evening had proved he could be distracted and quite possibly overcome. Those men might still be out there, looking for revenge. She would have worried for him walking back so late all by himself, and Madame Giry probably had that same worry herself. She wondered if perhaps Erik had a shadow of that worry in his own mind, though he would never admit to it - but he had agreed very quickly to stay, after all. Whether that was a testament to his own fear or to the insistence of Madame, she couldn't say for certain.
She knew he was just downstairs on the couch, and she knew it was rather unseemly of her to even think about it, but she wondered if he was sleeping in the clothes he had been wearing earlier or if he had changed into pajamas, and wondered at what on earth could be in that giant suitcase of his, if it was stuffed full or merely the only one he owned. Was he wearing his mask? Did he always wear his mask to sleep, even when he was alone? Surely not. Was his face going to hurt in the morning after wearing it all night? She sighed. It probably was unseemly to be wondering about his current state of dress, but she was trying to avoid nightmares, after all, and if she had to think unseemly things about him to keep those nightmares away - so be it.
When sleep finally did visit her, her dreams were of those strong, kind arms around her, of being held against that broad expanse of his chest, of the scent of incense, and when she woke and remembered what her dreams had consisted of, she was suddenly quite glad that it was Madame Giry's day to watch her instead of Erik.
Breakfast was an odd thing. Erik once again tried to insist he wasn't hungry, and Antoinette once again commanded him to eat anyway, and of course he complied.
Since having to stay with the Girys, those breakfasts with them both every morning were the closest she'd felt to having family around her after Mama Valerius had died. She was surprised at how easily Erik seemed to fit into that family. Perhaps, she mused, it was a product of how many years he and Antoinette had known each other - seeing the two of them interact reminded her of herself and Raoul, a bittersweet memory that warmed her heart while making it twist.
"Where are you off to today, Erik?" Antoinette asked as they headed to the door.
"I'll be speaking to some friends and associates of the Vicomte. That reminds me, Christine - I need to speak to you tomorrow as well."
Christine nodded solemnly.
"I'll be at the office all day if you need anything," Antoinette told him. "I'm terribly close to finding that little boy, I know it. The thread is there somewhere, buried in all my notes - I just have to find the end of it and pull. Just a few more days, I should think."
Erik parted ways with them halfway to the office. True to her word, Antoinette had an enormous stack of notes and files that she grabbed out of a box and placed on her desk with a resounding thud.
"I'm sorry that today will be a little boring for you, my dear," she sighed as she got to work.
"It's alright," Christine assured her. "Sometimes boring can be good..."
Her thoughts wandered too close to the previous day's events and she shuddered.
She amused herself with a magazine for a little while until her interest waned.
"Madame," she started, hesitatingly. "Would you mind terribly if I practiced my audition piece for the newest production?"
Antoinette gave it a thought.
"Why don't you practice in the basement? It's almost soundproof down there after Erik redid the walls. I do love your singing, but - work demands my utmost attention, you know."
"Of course, Madame," Christine nodded.
She went down into the basement, only a little nervous of the thought of the spiders which almost certainly would live down there. She was so focused on the thought of spiders that the sight of the organ up against the wall stopped her dead in her tracks. What on earth was an organ doing down here? She remembered what Madame Giry had said about Erik trying to soundproof the walls and assumed that it belonged him - she certainly couldn't picture Madame playing that thing.
Her intent to practice her singing melted away as she found other things to catch her interest. The large bookshelf was a sight to behold. She tilted her head to read the titles, and was surprised to find that less than half of the titles were in French. She recognized a few of the other languages - English, Russian, Italian - and a number of strange languages with letters she couldn't understand at all. These had to be Erik's as well, as Antoinette only knew French. Could he really speak so many languages?
She pulled an English title off the shelf, a language that she could read. She flipped through the pages, finding it to be a book of poetry. She was about to place it back on the shelf when something behind the books caught her eye. It looked like wrinkled papers. She reached back and pulled them out, careful to not mess them up any more than they already were.
They were staves, with handwritten music on them. Her heart leapt. This music looked like nothing she'd ever heard before. On closer inspection, there were lyrics to go along with the music, but the words were written so small and sketchy that she could only make out half of the meaning - but she could read enough to know that these were love songs. They were beautiful - and they all seemed to be within her vocal range. She felt her face grow warm. But, surely he hadn't known, had he? It had to be a mere coincidence. Right in the corner of the compositions he had written the date he presumably wrote each one, and they were all from around a month ago. He had only heard her sing quite recently - hadn't he? Her mind wandered to that night at her dressing room door, when she thought she had caught a glimpse of his mask in the crowd.
She bit her lip and carefully placed the staves back where she had found them, replacing the book in front of them. She could only imagine what it would be like to actually perform those pieces - the mere thought gave her chills. Suddenly she no longer had any interest in practicing her old audition pieces.
With one last glance to make sure she hadn't left anything out of place, she made her way back upstairs and sat on the couch, her mind working overtime.
"Madame Giry," she began with as much nonchalance as she could manage. "Did Erik ever come to any of my performances in Faust?"
Antoinette looked up, apologetic.
"I don't think he did, dear. I wouldn't take it personally, though, I don't think he goes to the Opera House at all, you know."
Antoinette paused.
"Why do you ask?"
Christine ducked her head, picking at her nails.
"No reason, really. Just curious."
She felt rather silly. Just because they were in her vocal range didn't mean they were for her - why, Carlotta had nearly the same range and so did several other singers at the opera. She chided herself for letting her imagination run away and for thinking that the world revolved around herself. Erik wouldn't be writing love songs about her any more than Raoul would be writing love songs about her - Raoul. How silly she was to let her mind run away with her like that! Just the other day she was imagining that he hated her with a fiery passion, and now here she was fantasizing that he was secretly in love with her... What utter nonsense she came up with sometimes, she shook her head.
She spent the rest of the day attempting to read a book in between worrying for Raoul and fighting the urge to go look at those compositions of Erik's again. They might not be written for her, but that didn't stop her from wanting to sing them. She fervently wished she had taken a few moments to try to memorize at least parts of them so that she could sing then if she wished. Why had they been hidden away so? She certainly couldn't bring them up to Erik and ask about them, then he would know she was snooping in his room and he surely wouldn't appreciate that even if he truly didn't hate her.
It was late in the afternoon and Christine was nearly nodding off on the couch when the door flung open and caused her to jerk awake.
"That damn Comte," Erik growled, bursting through the door and pacing the room.
"What's wrong now?" Antoinette murmured, not bothering to look up from her work, too used to his moods.
"All of his infernal friends and associates are just as stubborn and elusive as he is, I couldn't get a straight answer from any of them," he fumed. "It's almost as if he doesn't want to find the boy."
He sat heavily on the couch, chewing on his nails. Christine was a mere two feet away from him yet he paid her no mind as though she weren't even there.
"Mark my words, Antoinette - this will require unorthodox methods," he proclaimed darkly.
Christine suppressed a shiver at those words, unsure of what they meant. Antoinette had to turn away so he wouldn't see her roll her eyes.
A knock came at the door, followed by Nadir.
"Is this a bad time?" he glanced around.
"You are right on time, Daroga," Erik said as he stood and began to pace once more. "As I was just discussing with Antoinette, this investigation is going nowhere thanks to that ass of a Comte. I'm afraid, dear Daroga, that I must use unorthodox methods in this one, presumably sometime tonight."
Nadir put his face in hands and groaned.
"Why do you tell me that, Erik? Why do you always tell me that? I don't want to know that," he sighed.
"Because," Erik sounded offended, as though he were insulted that he had to spell out the simplest of ideas to Nadir. "I merely wish to not be accosted by your lackeys should some imbecile assume the house in question is being burglarized."
Nadir sighed deeply.
"But I don't like having that knowledge," he insisted. "I don't want to know when you're breaking the law, Erik, it places me in a terribly uncomfortable position."
Christine raised an eyebrow. Goodness - was Erik planning on breaking in to Philippe's house?
"Daroga, Daroga, my dear old friend," Erik placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "How many years have we known each other now? Practically brothers, aren't we? After all this time, Daroga, you should know by now - I don't care about your comfort."
"Well, hopefully we can make something of this case - as a matter of fact, the police chief from the neighboring district has taken quite an interest it," Nadir offered, trying to forget what Erik had mentioned about his planned breaking and entering.
Antoinette frowned.
"Why would he take an interest in this?" she asked.
Nadir shrugged.
"They're having a slow time over there, apparently. And the districts are so close together, he seemingly feels there's enough overlap to warrant his looking into it as well."
"Odd," Erik offered, but his mind was already turning with plots about how to get in the Comte's house.
Nadir stayed and chatted a while longer before taking his leave. A silence settled over the room, Erik lost in thought and Antoinette lost in paperwork. Christine squirmed, unsure of how to bring up what she so desperately wanted to say.
"You're- you're breaking in to Philippe's house tonight?" she finally managed.
Erik looked at her as though noticing her for the first time.
"To look for clues, Christine," he sounded aghast. "I'm not breaking in for fun."
Antoinette snorted.
"Not this time, at least,"
Erik protested. "Besides, he brought this on himself."
Christine took a deep breath.
"I want in," she said firmly.