Erik shuffled downstairs early that morning, his neck stiff from the tension he had been holding there all night. He was determined to do whatever he needed to help this man find Raoul, and in turn, help Christine.
The phone rang. He winced and answered it.
"Erik," Antoinette's voice filtered through the headpiece. "I'm afraid we're going to be a little late getting to the office today - there's been, ah, a development that requires addressing."
"Is everything okay?" his brow furrowed.
Antoinette sighed.
"In the grand scheme of things, yes. In the mind of two young women, no, I'm afraid not."
Erik could hear Meg and Christine's voices in the background of the call.
"Meg, stop pulling at it!" Christine sobbed.
"I'm trying to get it out! Stop running away!"
"You can't get it out like that! I tried!"
"Why would you even try to curl your hair? It's already curly!"
Antoinette groaned.
"Anyway, once this delay is sorted out, we'll head right there," she told him before hanging up and turning to try and help Meg extract the curlers that were tangled in Christine's hair.
He sighed as he hung up, realizing this meant he'd likely to have to face Edwards alone. He always felt so awkward meeting new people alone. Had Nadir warned him about...? He touched the mask self consciously.
He was surprised, then, when he heard a knock at the door, and, after checking the time on the clock above the door, answered it to find that Nadir had come along with Edwards.
He exchanged greetings with Nadir as he looked the new police chief up and down, trying to ascertain what kind of a man he was. Edwards hardly seemed to notice he was being examined, instead focused on sizing up the room he was in. Erik felt a wave of annoyance at being ignored, but suddenly Edwards turned his gaze to him, and Erik began to regret not savoring the moments that he had not been the thing in the room being scrutinized.
Those eyes raking across him, lingering on the hints of his deformities that showed through the edges of his mask while his brow furrowed just slightly - his gaze made Erik feel like there were beetles crawling across his skin.
Was the room always this hot? This suffocating?
He wanted to shove the two men out the door and lock it behind him. Why the devil had he agreed to meet this awful man whose stare felt like needles? Why had Nadir done this to him?
"Is Madame Giry not in today, after all?" Nadir's cheery voice cut through the fog of Erik's thoughts.
"She's been delayed," Erik found himself saying, glancing at the clock.
Edwards had only been in the office for ten seconds.
"Nadir showed me all his files on the case," Edwards said. "May I see what you have?"
"Of course," Erik turned to the filing cabinets behind him. "I don't know how much of it you haven't already seen, though - we gave all of it to Nadir previously, as well."
Edwards took the file and flipped through it.
In the ensuing silence, Erik's nerves began to settle. Surely Edwards hadn't meant to upset him so, it was merely his own insecurities that tainted every first meeting with someone new. At least, he thought wryly, no one had screamed this time.
"I've already seen all this at the police station," Edwards suddenly said, placing the file on the table. "Don't you have anything else?"
Erik hesitated.
"I'm almost certain that's everything. You can see why we've been at a bit of an impasse."
Edwards nodded, staring down at the file. Erik was about to mention the masquerade - had he put the note about that into the file? - when the door opened.
All three turned to see who it was, expecting Antoinette.
It was Philippe, eyes red from crying but his face stoic. He entered the room with an air of determination, steely blue eyes locked on Erik's yellow ones. He opened his mouth to say something to Erik but suddenly noticed the two men standing next to him. His resolve seemed to melt out of him, face going white.
"How can we help you, Monsieur le Comte?" Erik asked.
He tore his eyes away from Edwards, looking at Erik with all the hurt in the world. His eyes flickered rapidly between the three men, his hands fidgeting.
"I just- I just-"
Erik rolled his eyes.
"You came here for something, what it is?" he huffed impatiently.
Philippe stared down at his feet, eyes watering again. He clenched his hands into fists.
"Is there any news about Raoul?" he grit out, shamefaced.
"My apologies, good Comte, but we have nothing new as of yet," Erik softened his voice just slightly - he wasn't a fan of Philippe, but something about the way he looked inspired either compassion or pity, he wasn't sure which. Perhaps both.
Philippe nodded tersely and turned to leave. He hesitated just a moment at the door, glancing back at Erik mournfully before leaving.
Erik looked to Nadir, confused, but Nadir looked just as puzzled as Erik. He looked to Edwards, but found no answers there either, as he was simply staring at the door.
"The older brother?" Edwards mused, and Erik nodded.
Edwards ran his hand through his hair, turning back the file and looking through it one last time.
"Are you sure this all there is?"
"Quite. That's everything."
Edwards frowned a little.
"Well, we'll do our best over at our department. It's been slow in our district - a good thing, really. Occasionally we can take over a case from a neighboring distract when that happens."
"Take over?" Erik repeated.
Edwards nodded.
"I find we're a little more equipped than many, ah, smaller enterprises," he chuckled and gestured to the office. "Isn't that right, Nadir?"
Nadir squirmed a little.
"More employees means more manpower, so of course it becomes easier to investigate," Nadir shrugged apologetically. "It's not a matter of being more skilled, though."
"I'm sure my boys will get it worked out if there's anything to be found. These cases, though... sometimes trails go cold, you know," Edwards sighed.
"Oh, I don't think that will be a problem, Monsieur," Erik said stiffly. "Because I don't intend on giving the case up."
Edwards paused.
"That won't be necessary. Did you not hear what I just said? My district will take care of it."
"With all due respect, Monsieur, but we operate independently of the police stations. You may take the case over from Nadir, but not from me."
Nadir cleared his throat, not pleased to be caught in the middle of the two clashing egos. He was on good terms with all of the neighboring district chiefs, and he preferred to keep it that way - but Erik had been his friend for decades.
Edwards glanced between Erik's firm gaze and Nadir, who was pointedly looking away. He straightened his jacket tensely.
"I see," was all Edwards offered.
He turned to go.
"I'll give you a call when I find Raoul," Edwards shot back at Erik as he began to reach for the doorknob.
Erik sprang forward, realizing that if he opened the door for Edwards, he could also slam it behind him.
"My good Monsieur," he said, his voice falsely honey-sweet. "Not if I find him first."
They struggled with the door a slight moment, ending with it closing harsher than normal on account of it being both pulled by Edwards and pushed by Erik.
Once it was closed Erik turned and leaned his back against it, scowling and rubbing at his temples over the mask.
"Somebody better fucking find Raoul," he grumbled under his breath.
Nasir shrugged sheepishly.
"It went... I mean, it didn't go as bad as it could have," he offered.
"Look what you've gotten me into, Daroga," Erik accused.
"Gotten you- Erik! Really now, Edwards is a fine officer - he's quite good at what he does."
Erik glared.
"He's also quite good," Nadir rolled his eyes and continued. "Just last week he busted up an underground gambling ring, arrested five men in charge of it. I'm sure he's going to be a good help in finding Raoul."
There was silence in the office for a moment.
"Besides," Nadir said lightly. "Isn't finding the young man the most important part? It doesn't matter who finds him first - just that we find him quickly. Don't you think Christine would agree?"
Erik narrowed his eyes at him, knowing exactly why he was bringing it up. Nadir maintained an air of innocence, but Erik knew - he must still be on his kick about that nonsense theory that Erik had, of all things, a crush on Christine. He very nearly said who cares what Christine wants just to spite him, but felt unaccountably guilty just for thinking of those words in that order, so he said nothing.
"Don't you you have work to do?" Erik snapped instead, peevishly.
"Not till later," Nadir chuckled, then paused. "Are you feeling alright?"
Erik rubbed a hand at the back of his neck where it felt stiff.
"Fine," he muttered. "I just- it's been quite a morning, already."
"Do you need to take a break?" Nadir frowned, studying him closely. "You shouldn't push yourself, you know."
Erik shrugged.
"No, I'm fine."
Fine except for his oddly bruised ego. He had fully intended to help Edwards help Christine, but then the man had stared, and had called his office small, and he had implied that Erik didn't need to bother with the case anymore, and surely he didn't want him to bother with it because he thought Erik incompetent somehow, and he wasn't incompetent in the least! But if he wasn't incompetent, how did the boy's captors continue to elude him? It went around in circles in his mind, flustering and upsetting him.
Nadir reached a hand out and squeezed Erik's shoulder.
"Take care of yourself, Erik," he said kindly. "I'll be off now, I think. Do you need anything?"
Erik shook his head.
"No. Thank you."
He had a half hour of silence in which to rest his forehead on the desk and sit alone with his brooding thoughts before Antoinette and Christine arrived.
Antoinette looked like she was already ready to be done with the day, but Christine walked in primly, showing no sign that she had recently been in near hysterics after Meg had told her the only way to remove the remaining tangled curler was to cut part of her hair.
Her hair - Erik took extra notice of it now. It had always had a thick wave to it, one she'd either let hang naturally or else used to her advantage when twisting it into an elaborate style, but right now it had been pulled straight back into a collection of ringlet curls that cascaded down her back. He found her usual hair endearing, but this looked quite nice too.
"I see you managed to extract the curlers without too much damage," he mused dryly, and her cheeks turned pink.
She patted at her hair, thankful that he hasn't noticed the missing inch or two that Meg had taken the scissors to, but a little embarrassed that he had heard her in the background of the phone call.
"Meg thinks she's getting dolled up to try and impress someone at the opera house," Antoinette rolled her eyes, smiling wryly.
"Madame, no!" Christine was dismayed.
She looked to Erik, her face turning rosy, and shook her head vehemently.
"No," she repeated in an almost pleading tone.
Her gaze was a little pained, as though it hurt her to think that Erik might think she was trying to catch the eye of some mystery man at the Populaire.
"You know how Meg is, my dear - she's usually guilty of whatever she accuses someone else of," Antoinette snickered.
"Well I should think so," Christine sounded indignant, glancing at Erik. "I certainly wouldn't dress up for someone at the Populaire."
She said the name as though it were it an insult.
"The poor thing must be addled with another infatuation, then. We aren't even going to the Populaire today," Erik thought aloud, then suddenly paused as something occurred to him.
"Do you think it's a performer or a stage hand this time?" Antoinette asked idly, but Erik barely heard her.
Was Christine dolling up for someone? But- but- the only person she was seeing today was-
Himself.
His brow furrowed as he watched the two women gossip lightly about Meg and her ever growing list of 'true loves'.
Erik was a smart man, he felt that was a fair and accurate description of himself. He knew quite a lot of different things, and a few things he knew quite well. But one thing that had continually escaped his grasp throughout his life was when someone flirting with him. He could mostly tell once it reached the point of someone practically throwing themselves at him (mostly), but subtle signs of interest, little clues of attraction - those were lost on him.
Nadir had been so certain that Christine felt something for him. And now Meg - Meg would know better than anyone when someone was altering their behavior to attract attention from a potential date. And Christine had seemed so hurt for Erik to think there might be someone else!
Erik sat heavily in his chair, his mind reeling. Did she... feel things for him? Had he led her on somehow?
Surely they were all mistaken! She had Raoul, didn't she? She couldn't be interested in him! Why would anyone be interested in him?!
For a brief, daring moment, he let his mind wander to what it might be like if she did like him - would they go for long walks together, not because he had to go with her, but because she wanted to spend time with him? Would she call him on the phone late at night after a busy day of work, her voice sweet and caring through the receiver as she asked him about his day? Would they go to dinners after her performances, fancy dinners with caviar and cakes?
He scolded himself. That's not what it would be like, he knew that. She wasn't like him. She was normal. It would be awkward conversations and awkward feelings and disappointment and frustration until finally they did the only reasonable and smart thing, which was to permanently part ways.
It didn't matter if she liked him - she was mistaken. Never mind about Raoul. She didn't even know him, not really, not beyond the conversations they'd had recently. A feeling of adrenaline induced by the situation they were in and mistaken to be attraction to him, that's all it was, if it was even anything. It would pass, assuming it existed.
"Erik? Did you hear me?" Antoinette tilted her head, concerned.
He startled.
"Hmm?"
"I said I was just about to leave now. Are you feeling okay?"
"Yes, fine. Just a little distracted."
"Well... okay. I'll be back this evening then," she looked one last time at him before leaving.
He felt a little embarrassed after having zoned out for so long.
"Are you ready to go as well?" he asked Christine, who nodded.
It had somehow fallen to him to be the one to escort her on her little shopping trip, a mere roll of the metaphorical dice that had caused Antoinette to not have time to take her there on one of the days she was watching her, but Erik didn't mind too much. Shoe shopping was not a particular favorite of his, but for her he would endure it.
"What do you think of these, Erik?" she asked, trying on a pair of incredibly tall heels in a vibrant purple color.
He hesitated, now viewing their dynamic in a different light. Was she asking to be polite and not ignore him, or to get an actual opinion, or was she fishing for a compliment because she...? He should be kind to the poor girl, say something nice to her so he wouldn't hurt her feelings too badly-
"They're tall," he said. "I think you're going to fall and twist an ankle."
She tsked.
"I will not! Look!" she did a little twirl to show off her balance.
"They look uncomfortable."
"I'm used to the pain," she teased as she sat down to take them off.
"Where are you even going to wear those to?"
Her eyes widened and she clutched one of the shoes to her chest.
"Around," she said ominously, and he huffed.
Erik was becoming curious now.
"Do you even have anything to wear them with? They won't match anything I've seen you in."
"You haven't seen everything I own, Monsieur."
Erik chuckled in spite of his misgivings.
Christine decided, for some mysterious purpose she wouldn't tell Erik about, to buy the shoes.
They walked back towards the office, talking of inconsequential things as they did. He glanced down at her, his brow furrowing. She was walking so close to his side, so comfortable at being near him. He quickly looked away. She was close because she had to be, and she was comfortable because she knew she was safest near him. Surely no other reason.
Thoughts like these made his head feel weird, like a bright light was being shined into his face while he trying to see just beyond it.
He tried to turn his thoughts to something else, but the only other thing that could occupy him was the strange business with Philippe that morning.
That was nearly as bad - what had come over the Comte earlier? He'd never seen the man look so repentant and contrite. But why? Why would he come all the way to the office to ask a question he could have asked over the phone?
The thoughts grew into an ache in the base of his skull.
Christine looked up at him. He was faltering a little in his conversation, becoming a little more distant, and she was afraid she was boring him. She tried harder to engage him.
Erik's eye twitched but he kept his voice steady as he replied to her seemingly endless questions. His patience with her astounded him - pain always made him behave shortly with people he liked and made him downright intolerable to people he didn't care about. But even in the midst of the annoying buzzing inside his skull he still managed to be kind to her.
"May we stop in this little shop, Erik? I'd like to get some magazines, if you don't mind."
Erik minded. He minded very much. He wanted nothing more than to simply go home and rest his aching head. But Christine was looking up at him so sweetly...
"I don't mind."
They went in the shop, and though she had mentioned wanting magazines she lingered over the candy selection.
"What kind do you like?" she asked shyly.
He stared blankly at the glass jars filled with brightly colored sweets.
"Why?"
Christine looked at him, a little incredulous, a little concerned.
He met her eye and suddenly realized what she was asking. He twisted his hands nervously. No one had ever bought him candy before. Why did that make his face feel warm?
He tapped a finger against the jar of taffy, embarrassed.
She smiled as she asked for some from the shopkeeper, ending up with several bags of numerous different candies.
The shop was filled with odds and ends that she wanted to look at, and for a little while Erik thought he could hold off the impending headache. And he seemed to be able to - until he wasn't.
He lurched to the side, nearly knocking into a display of greeting cards.
"Erik?" she looked up from her magazines, concerned.
"Christine," he whispered urgently. "Make your final selections and purchase them, we have to go immediately."
Startled, she grabbed a few more magazines and took her shopping basket up to the counter to pay for everything, glancing nervously around.
He knew from experience that he had perhaps a half hour at most before the pain became overwhelming - loss of balance usually signaled the arrival of headache that would put him out of commission for at least the rest of the day.
"Can you ring them up any faster?" her brow knit as she asked the clerk. "I'm in a rush."
Erik shoved his hands in pockets so no one would see how he squeezed them into white knuckles fists. He scowled at anyone who dared to look in his direction, frightening one of the poor unsuspecting clerks behind the counter - anything to pretend he wasn't within arm's reach of being incapacitated.
Christine grabbed the bags off the counter and told the clerk to keep the change, offering no resistance or protest when Erik reached out to wrap his hand around her upper arm and nearly pull her outside. They set off for the office at a brisk pace.
"Erik, what's wrong?" she asked breathlessly. "Was there someone in there?"
He glanced down at her, realizing he'd probably given the impression that she had been in danger.
"It's not you, dear, it's me," he mumbled.
"What?" she looked confused.
"In a matter of a mere dozen or so minutes, I will unfortunately be relegated to a couch or the floor," he stooped down to whisper in her ear, his hand still on her arm, both to keep her close and to keep his balance. "I get the most terrible headaches, and I can tell one is on it's way."
"Oh..."
"We have to get you to the office before that happens. It's the only way you'll be safe," he glanced around nervously, afraid of what might happen to her if she were left all alone out here - he would certainly be no help very shortly.
By the time they made it to the office, his vision was blurry. He swiftly locked both doors and turned off the lights. To his surprise, Christine quickly pulled the curtains over the windows.
"Christine," he said softly but seriously. "You mustn't open the door for anyone, or give any sign that you're here. I'm not going to be able to defend you, I'm afraid. Here, take this. Use it, if you have to."
He reached into his pocket and held out his pistol. She took it, her face turning pale. She didn't want to use it!
"I'm so sorry, but you're quite on your own for the rest of the evening," he sat heavily on the couch and noticed the look on her face. "If someone breaks in and tries to steal you- you'll have to do it-" he gestured to the pistol, then added gently- "Don't worry, it'll be okay. I'll clean the mess off the floor when I'm able, and I'll make certain you don't face any legal ramifications."
"That's not the part I was worried about!" her eyebrows flew up and she placed the pistol on the desk. "But what about you?"
He settled himself back on the couch, closing his eyes with a pillow under his head.
"I just need dark and quiet for some hours until it passes."
She came and sat on coffee table, looking him over with concern.
"Would you like some pain killers?" she asked, making certain to keep her voice low. "I think I have some in my purse, I can get them for you."
His eyes flew open.
"No! No, Christine- I can't. Please don't give me any pain killers- not anything. Please!"
A well-meaning client in the past had slipped him some laudanum in his drink once, only intending to ease the terrible headache he had come down with - not realizing the hell it put it Erik through to have that terrible drug in his system once more - the craving, the sickness, the week of trembling hands that followed.
He couldn't explain all that to Christine right now, but it was paramount that he not take anything.
She looked like she took him seriously, and nodded. She didn't understand why he wouldn't want anything to help him, but that was his choice. Still, she wanted to be able to do something for him.
"Mamma Valerius used to get migraines too," she said as quietly as she could, then hesitated. "Oh, I am being too loud for you?"
He shook his head, eyes closed once more. He loved her voice, even in a whisper, even through the pain.
"Well, Professor Valerius did research into it, and he said that there were pressure points in the hands that could ease pain in other parts of the body. So he would massage her hands when she had a migraine, and it did help! Would you like me to try that?"
His brow furrowed under his mask.
"You don't want to touch my hands," his voice was harsh and gravelly to his own ears, his tone almost accusing.
She stifled a giggle.
"Do you not want me to touch your hands?" she teased gently.
He hesitated, then offered his hands to her. His horrible, disgusting hands, with the bones far too protruding, the veins far too visible. But she paid no notice to that, taking one in both of her own.
"Oh! You're cold!"
He tried to pull his hand back, ashamed, but she didn't release him, instead rubbing her hands together with his between her palms.
"You must have poor circulation," she mused softly.
Once his hand had warmed a little, she began to knead her little fingers into the scant flesh between his thumb and the rest of his fingers.
"Does that help?" she asked after a few minutes.
He gave a single nod.
It did help, but he couldn't decide if it was due to pressure points or just because of the novel concept of his hands being held by her without any revulsion on her part.
In the pain-addled darkness of his mind, he let his fuzzy thoughts wander to the image of Christine's former caretaker laid out on a couch much like he was, and her husband in Christine's place, rubbing her hands. A sweet scene between husband and wife, a sign of devotion, of love.
Why were they here like that too? It didn't make sense, but they were here all the same, her gentle hands on his.
"Mamma always said a cold washcloth on her forehead helped, too," Christine broke the silence. "Would you like me to get one?"
Erik made a little noise that she took as acceptance, and she placed his hand back on his chest before rising to go to the restroom and retrieve a cloth. He could hear the water running for a moment before she returned, and it was only as she approached that his mind remembered something important. His eyes opened wide.
"Christine-"
To put the damp cloth on his forehead would require her to remove-
"Don't take off my mask. You can't."
She paused a moment.
"That's all right," she sat down next to him again. "What about if it goes on your neck instead? That could help too."
He swallowed hard. She had already seen his neck before, despite his best attempts to keep it hidden. His hands were shaking as he reached up to undo the cravat and the first button on his shirt, so she helped him to do so. He couldn't help but feel a wave of shame as the red scars there were revealed, even if she had seen them before.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
"Don't be," she murmured as she pressed the cool cloth to his neck and jaw, her eyes glancing at the scars but not lingering there.
"Don't take the mask off," he warned her one last time.
"I won't. I promise," her gaze met his eye in the near-darkness, and he could see the sincerity behind her words.
He closed his eyes again, surprised at the amount of trust he was putting in her. His body wanted nothing more than to sleep this headache off, and though he normally didn't like the thought of being asleep with someone else awake in the room (prying hands and curious minds were a terrible mix when his mask was involved), he found he didn't mind Christine being there.
Just the opposite, even - it felt safer somehow, having her there next to him, squeezing his hand with one of hers while the other hand tended to the cloth, moving it from place to every so often, folding it over when had ceased to be cool on one side.
He fell asleep that way, a strange sense of peace present even in the midst of the haze of pain and discomfort, and it was in the last few thoughts that slipped through his mind like grains of sand through one's fingers that he realized something.
He didn't know for certain what, exactly, Christine felt towards him, but there was something he could not deny any longer - he had feelings for Christine Daaé.