Just as the evening of car attack had changed their dynamic with that simple gesture of his hand on her cheek, so too did that duet and it's aftermath irrevocably change them and how they interacted.

Gone was the aloofness he had so carefully cultivated, gone, too, was her uncertainty about how he felt towards her. She began to look forward to her days spent in his care, days she knew he would often drop everything to sing with her and to help her with her own singing.

It made her feel a little guilty sometimes, that he would neglect whatever it was he supposed to be doing simply so he could sing with her, but one time she caught a glance of what she had previously assumed were notes on case that he was copying to a notepad and instead saw that he had been sketching what appeared to be a skeleton wearing a ridiculous getup that included puffy sleeves, a cape, and a large brimmed hat with a feather in it. Perhaps he wasn't so very busy, after all, and she took comfort in that.

It felt very different going to the opera house with him, too. She was no longer being followed by an ominous man who was being paid to stand there - she was being watched over by her friend.

They approached the building for the evening of her show, and for once she was so focused on something else that she didn't even spare a thought for any anxiety over who she might see backstage.

And how she could not focus on someone as endlessly fascinating as Erik? She glanced up at him as they walked to the room she liked to practice in. He seemed to know so very much about so very many things - and when there happened to be something that she knew that he did not, he did not think it beneath him to ask her to tell him about it. Just the previous day she had remarked on an incorrect sign for some flowers in a little vendor cart on the side of the road - dahlias, she had said, not peonies like they were labeled - and he had asked her to show him how to tell the difference. It had lead to a long conversation on the subject of botany, which was a hobby of hers.

She found she loved talking with him almost as much as she loved singing with him. It had only been a handful of days since they had connected over music, but during that time they had had a number of long conversations. It was easy to open up to him, though, she supposed, it really shouldn't be - it was hard to read his emotions (though she thought she was getting better at it), and he seemed to be a good deal older than herself, and, all things considered, he really was practically a stranger - but there was something about him, once she got to know him a little more, that made her feel secure, made her feel as though he wasn't judging her for anything she might say. Perhaps, she thought, it was because he knew what it felt like to be judged, knew how heartrending it could be.

She had told him about England and her music classes and had lamented her seeming lack of ability to connect to the other singers.

"I don't get it," she had tried to wipe inconspicuously at her watery eyes, smiling as though the thought didn't hurt her. "Maybe there's just something wrong with me!"

She had laughed a little, trying to play it off as a joke, but Erik hadn't laughed at it.

"Perhaps they are intimidated," he had murmured. "Who would not be, in the presence of such talent?"

He had told her stories about his work with Antoinette, and then, because those didn't seem personal enough yet he loathed the idea of telling her about his life before Antoinette, he told her about his compositions and played some of them for her.

It was only a few days, but it was enough for everything to change, she thought.

Once in her practice room, he guided her through her a new set of warmup exercises.

"You're quite ready, I believe," he finally told her. "Do you feel ready?"

"Yes," she nodded decisively.

"Good," he stood and opened the door, then paused. "When we go backstage, would you prefer I stay quiet, or do you not mind if I talk?"

She thought about it a moment, pleased that he was considering her and what she might like.

"You can talk, it's alright," she told him.

They bypassed her dressing room altogether, since she had dressed at Antoinette's house before coming to work. She couldn't help the little smile that formed as they walked backstage together, at how he stayed closer to her than he usually did, at how she felt safer with him there not only because he wouldn't let any harm come to her, but because she had been able to tell him her worries and he hadn't dismissed them.

They stood together in the wings, awaiting her turn to go on. A tenor was currently onstage, and then a duet up next, and then Christine - and then Carlotta.

Carlotta came and stood near Christine, leveling an icy stare at her. Erik put his hands on Christine's shoulders and moved her to other side of him, returning Carlotta's stare. It was diminished a little by the mask, but still unsettling. Carlotta tried to glare at him, but his unblinking yellow eyes proved to be too much for her, and her scowl faltered, a brief look of fear passing over her countenance. She turned and walked a few feet away from them.

Erik could feel Christine fidgeting and he knew she was nervous, even though she'd tried to ignore Carlotta. Wanting to distract her somehow, he placed his hands on top of her head before resting his chin on his hands. She giggled at this, and he smiled a little.

"Just like we practiced, Christine," he murmured softly as the tenor took his bow and left the stage.

She nodded, his own head made to move in tandem, then she glanced up.

"Erik," she whispered. "You're going to muss up my hair."

He stopped leaning on her and removed his hands from the top of her head, only to suddenly bring his hands up to the sides her face, spindly gloved fingers wiggling and threatening to invade her hair and pull it from its carefully coiffed style, tapping and patting her hair all over.

"Erik!" she nearly shrieked with laughter, despite their closeness to the stage and the two singers who were performing.

Erik put an arm around her and pulled her back towards himself, his other hand coming up to rest just in front of her mouth, but careful not to actually touch her face.

"Get ahold of yourself, Christine," he stooped to whisper in her ear, the smirk evident in his voice. "You are being far too loud, my dear."

Her heart raced at the term of endearment that fell so easily from his lips.

Carlotta narrowed her eyes at the two of them, at how oddly chummy they were suddenly acting. Clearly something had happened between the two of them.

Christine's turn on stage arrived. He walked her to the very edge of the curtain, stopping just before he could be seen by the audience. She glanced back at him one last time and he gave an encouraging nod. He wouldn't let anything happen to her.

She stepped into the spotlight, smiling that radiant smile of hers, and began to sing.

Erik didn't think he would ever cease to be enthralled by her voice. It was every sweetness in life condensed into vibrations in the air that pierced his very heart. If he could only ever hear one sound, let it be Christine's singing.

A subtle motion in the wings on the opposite side of the stage caught his eye, and he tensed.

It was Buquet, he realized. The scene mover. But there was no scenery being used in this gala. What was he doing here?

Erik's eyes darted between Christine and Buquet, trying to mentally rehearse how he would need to run onstage and grab Christine out of the line of any danger (a gun? Some sort of rigged boobytrap from above?) and lasso Buquet at the same time.

But Buquet didn't move to aim a gun or even pull a rope and drop something from the flies. He merely stood and watched her sing, fidgeting nervously and eyeing something on the wall.

Erik looked at the wall on his own side of the wings to try to get an idea of what the man might be looking at. There were switches, mostly light controls as far he was aware.

Erik looked up, peering into the darkness, trying to make out any sandbags or the like that might come crashing down on her, but he could see nothing. His eyes fell to the stage itself, and he suddenly noticed long lines around the center of the stage, practically where Christine was standing. He traced them in his mind, connecting the thoughts of what they could be, when he realized - a trap door.

The stage had a trap door.

His breath constricted in his throat, but Buquet made no motion to flip any of the switches.

Christine's song ended and she curtsied to enormous applause from the audience and also Erik. She had sung every word, every note to absolute perfection - far better, even, than she had in any of her practices.

She was beaming as she left the stage, and stifled the urge to throw her arms around Erik and hug him.

"Bravissima, Christine," he told her, his voice quiet but just loud enough for Carlotta to hear it as she passed them. "I would hate to be the singer who had to follow up to that."

Christine blushed.

"Do you wish to stay for the rest of the show?" he asked, and she shook her head.

"I'd rather go home, I think. If you don't mind."

"Whyever would I mind? The best singer has already performed."

They left the wings and prepared to go back to Antoinette's.

"We should celebrate your success tonight," Erik said as they stepped out into the night air. "Do you want to go somewhere? Dinner or even just a dessert?"

Christine's smile faded a little.

"No, I'm afraid not," she hesitated. "I always used to go to dinner with Raoul after shows, you see..."

"I am sorry. I didn't mean- I'm sorry," he said quietly.

He hadn't mean to make it sound like a date, to make her feel like she was cheating on her fiancé. He didn't want a date, not really - he just wanted to be around her, to celebrate with her. Was that so wrong? He didn't think so - he hoped it wasn't so - but he felt in the wrong all the same.

They continued to Antoinette's house in silence for a while.

"Christine," he asked presently. "What's on the other side of the stage, on the wall? More light switches?"

"Oh, that's the side with the trapdoor," she said.

"There's a switch to open the trapdoor on that side?"

"Yes, why?"

"Does Buquet often show up to shows he's not working in?"

She hesitated.

"No, I don't think so-"

"You were standing directly over the trapdoor when you were singing, weren't you?"

She became very still and quiet.

"Yes," she finally said.

"I think Buquet was going to open the trap door. He had no other reason to be there-"

"But he was working tonight - the final act is a pianist who brought her own piano. He's there to push the piano on stage for her," she fretted.

Erik paused. That did change things, he supposed.

"Besides," she wrung her hands. "What- what reason would he even have? What have I ever done to him?"

There were tears starting to collect in the corner of her eyes.

"What reason could he have to hurt Raoul like that?"

Erik felt guilty for upsetting her so. He rubbed a hand on the back of his neck, trying to think of a way to calm her down, trying to remind himself to not be so straightforward with her. He was, perhaps, a little intense when he was involved with his work.

"Has he ever had any reason to be upset with anyone in the opera house?" he asked, his voice softer this time.

She shook her head.

"He keeps to himself, mostly. All he really cares about is drinking."

She stopped suddenly, and put her hands over her face.

"Christine? What's wrong?"

"It's too much," she whispered. It sounded like she was crying.

He stood close, and leaned down to hear her better.

"Thinking about how close I came to being kidnapped, again-"

"Oh, Christine, no - I would never let that happen," he tried to soothe her. "Do you think I'd let that drunk fool come close to hurting you? No. Never."

"But he could have flipped that switch in an instant and you wouldn't have had time to get to me," she insisted. "It could have happened."

"But it didn't. That's all that matters," he paused. "I was wrong about him, I think. He had no reason to not flip the switch, if he was looking to kidnap you. You must forgive me, Christine, I did not mean to upset you. My mind gets carried away, sometimes. I should not have said anything. I was wrong."

She wiped at her eyes.

"You think so?"

"Of course. The only thing I'm very certain of is that I won't let anyone hurt you. If you had fallen down that trapdoor, I would have gone right after you and killed whoever was waiting for you at the bottom."

She blinked a few times at that. The words had been said tenderly enough, but she wasn't entirely certain how she felt about him killing someone for her. If it was to protect her - if it was her own life at stake... She sniffled and rubbed at her nose, her makeup smearing a little.

"Thank you, Erik," she sighed.

They both quiet for much of the walk back after that, but it was no longer the kind of silence that had permeated their walks in times past - it was a comfortable silence, one that didn't feel awkward or laced with fear of judgements.

When they arrived, Meg was there to greet them and handed them each a glass of sparkling apple juice.

"What's this for?" Erik asked immediately.

"For drinking, silly," Meg raised a playful eyebrow.

Christine took a sip of hers.

"Why, though," Erik eyed his.

"Also for celebrating!" Meg added. "Maman found him!"

Christine choked on her juice, sputtering and coughing.

"She found Raoul?! Is he okay?" her hands were shaking so that she nearly dropped her glass.

Meg's face fell.

"Oh- oh, no- I'm sorry, Christine, I didn't mean Raoul... I meant she found the little boy who had been missing," she lowered her gaze and bit her lip.

Christine bit back a sob.

"Is the little boy okay?" she finally asked.

Meg nodded.

"He's just fine. I'm sorry, again, I didn't mean to-"

"No, it's alright," she smiled weakly. "I'm glad she found him. That's good."

Erik downed his juice, feeling conflicted. He was glad the child had been found, but it hurt to see Christine so hurt.

"Has any progress been made in Raoul's case?" she asked hopefully.

Antoinette, who had just walked in and heard her question, shook her head.

"I'm afraid not, my dear - not yet at least. I have a few leads I'm following up on, but - it's slow work, unfortunately," she sighed.

"The masquerade is coming up in two weeks," Erik added. "I'm hoping that it will prove useful."

Christine was very quiet at the mention of the masquerade. She had made mention on several occasions that she would like to go, but every time she brought it up, Erik insisted that she was not allowed to go. Why shouldn't she go? Wouldn't she be more likely to recognize any of Raoul's associates? Erik was just being stubborn about it.

"Do you want to stay for dinner, Erik?" Antoinette asked.

Erik hesitated, about to turn her down, but then he caught Christine looking at him hopefully.

"I suppose I could stay for a while," he conceded.

Dinner was nice, and the conversation was interesting enough, though it wasn't exactly the private affair he had been hoping to have with Christine and himself at a restaurant. But perhaps it was for the better - why subject her to the stares they would undoubtedly receive if they went out?

It was after dinner that Antoinette retired to the living room, sitting down with her feet up - a much deserved rest after a case closed. Christine tried to shoo Meg out of the kitchen so she could talk to Erik alone and received a raised eyebrow and a smirk from her before she finally left.

"You know, Erik," she started shyly once they were alone. "I don't think I've ever sang as good as I did tonight."

"You were magnificent," he agreed, and she smiled and blushed prettily.

"And I've never felt so... not nervous before a show," she added. "Especially considering all of the stress going on right now... And I think- I'm certain that that's all thanks to you. So thank you, for that."

"You were the one singing, Christine, I didn't really do anything-"

"Did you know," she furrowed her brow. "Did you know that I had been considering quitting the show?"

Erik paused, uncertain how to respond.

"But not just the show, Erik," she continued, her voice quiet and her eyes studying the floor. "I was considering not singing anymore until whoever sent that letter about me was found."

"Christine- the Populaire would cancel your contract- they wouldn't- they wouldn't hire you again after that-"

"I know," she nodded, meeting his eye. "I almost did that. But... Then you were there. That day in your office, I had told myself that if I couldn't get through my practices without messing up by the end of the day, I was going to let the managers know I couldn't sing anymore. But you helped me, and I sang, and now- thank you."

He swallowed hard. He had had no idea at the time, of course. It was mind-boggling to think of what might have happened had something been different - if he had had a headache at the time and asked her to please not sing, if he had sent her down to the basement to practice, if Antoinette had been watching her that day instead, if he had held his tongue and said nothing as she struggled through her practice-

They might not be here together now.

She fidgeted with her hands a little and looked up at him shyly.

"But could I really expect any less from the Angel of Music?"

The Angel of Music. But- but that was her! Perhaps not quite the story her father had told her, but if there existed any sort of angel in human form, of course it had to be her. He shook his head.

"You are the Angel, Christine," he said quietly, inching closer to her. "Your voice- it's like nothing else."

Her eyes were wide as she gazed up at him. If he were almost any other man, she might think he was preparing to kiss her.

"Sometimes I can't tell which is more beautiful - your voice, or your soul," he whispered.

She sucked in a breath, staring into his golden eyes. She placed a hand over her heart.

"Oh, Erik-" she breathed.

He was about to continue speaking when suddenly he caught a glimpse of Antoinette coming down the hall and towards the kitchen. He quickly turned from Christine, putting an ample amount of space between them. Christine remained rooted to where she stood, unable to leave it, but she turned her head so Antoinette wouldn't see the color on her cheeks.

"Don't mind me," Antoinette said, glancing between the two of them. "I'm just here for more water."

She poured herself another glass of water, looking at Erik's back as he pretended to look inside of the pantry. Everyone was so terribly silent, she thought to herself. What the devil had gotten into these two? She stood and sipped her water, staring innocently.

Presently Erik turned, looking rather aloof.

"I suppose I will see you both tomorrow at the office," he said coolly.

"We'll see you then," Antoinette nodded. "Have a good night, Erik."

"Goodnight Antoinette," he nodded towards her, then let his eyes linger on Christine a moment. "Goodnight, Christine."

"Goodnight," the word practically came out as a squeak, and she put her hand over her throat, embarrassed. Goodness, what was wrong with her?

"And goodnight, Madame, I'll be going up to bed now, I think," she said after Erik had left.

"Goodnight dear."

She climbed the stairs and drew a bath in a bit of a daze, replaying the entire day over in her mind. She sunk down into the bubbling scented water as deeply as she could go, until the water almost touched her nose.

He thought her soul was beautiful.

She wanted to scream. Who said things like that?! It was unbelievable, almost. It was- it was romantic. She tried to push the thought away. He was just being nice, being kind. He wasn't like that. It surely didn't mean anything more than when Raoul would kiss her cheek or hug her, and it surely wouldn't do to go imaging something where there was nothing.

And yet-

No matter. They were friends, she felt she was absolutely certain of that now, and she was pleased that they were friends. It felt wonderful to have him as a friend, she thought as she lingered in the bath. They were definitely just friends, and she was definitely okay with that.

Meg looked up as Christine left the bathroom, freshly washed and wrapped in her dressing gown.

"Why are you smiling like that?" Meg wrinkled her nose.

"I'm not smiling!" Christine nearly screeched, both hands flying up to cover her mouth, horrified, and Meg laughed.