Christine glanced at Erik's sleeping form for what felt like the thousandth time. He hadn't moved in four hours, and she had to stare at his chest to be certain of the shallow breaths he was taking.
He groaned, and she jumped - it sounded so loud after four hours of silence, four hours of being certain that any sound outside surely spelled her impending doom.
He placed a hand over his eyes, turning on his side as best he could. He always felt so groggy after a headache. The pain and stiffness still lingered, but the worst was over. He looked at Christine through his fingers, at how she was looking at him, obviously interrupted from reading her magazine in the light of a single candle.
He felt a squeezing ache in his chest. He loved her so.
"How do you feel?" she asked softly.
"Better," he croaked out.
"You don't sound better," she chuckled. "Can I get you some water?"
He nodded and tried to sit up. She brought him a tall glass of cold water, which he took thankfully and sipped at.
"You should take it easy," she fretted over him, sitting next to him on the couch.
"Did anything happen while I was asleep?" his voice sounded a little less hoarse.
"No, nothing," she shook her head.
His mind a little less foggy, he reached his hands up to feel his mask.
"I didn't touch it," she supplied quickly.
"I know," he replied.
And he did - she would have fled the room if she'd seen under it, certainly not come and sit closer to him.
The phone rang, the noise jarring. Erik jumped and winced. Christine sprang up to get it.
"Hello?" she asked quietly.
"Christine?" Antoinette's voice came through. "Where's Erik?"
Christine glanced over at him and answered softly.
"He just woke up from a nap, his head wasn't feeling well."
"Oh, did he have another one of his attacks?" Antoinette sounded sympathetic.
Christine watched him as he stared at her.
"Yes, he did. He seems to be feeling a little better now, though."
"What's she saying?" Erik croaked out, realizing who it was.
"The poor dear," Antoinette sighed.
"Is she calling me a 'poor dear'?" he began to grow agitated.
Christine shook her head, eyes wide, but Erik glared at the phone all the same.
"Well, I was just calling to say I was on my way back to pick you up, dear," Antoinette continued. "I should be back shortly."
"Okay. I'll see you soon," Christine hung up the phone.
"She'll be here to pick me up soon," she told him as she came closer to the couch. "Will you be alright tonight?"
She immediately felt silly for asking - surely he had had a great number of such nights before and had been just fine during them.
He nodded and rubbed at his eyes.
"I'll be fine, I think. Just very tired. Pretend everything is fine when Antoinette gets here, though, I don't need her calling me a poor dear again," he groaned.
Christine laughed softly and place a hand on his arm for a moment.
"But you are a poor dear! Oh-! Do you want some taffy?"
Something about her words made his face flush. She offered the bag of taffy to him, and he dutifully picked one out and put it in his mouth.
Candlelight and taffy. Perhaps some might consider it romantic, he mused. How glad he was, then, that he was above such things - at least that's what he told himself.
"How are you?" he asked around the melting taffy in his mouth. "You weren't too frightened, were you?"
She didn't feel it was entirely imagination that made her think she could see the concern on his masked face.
"Just a little," she admitted, her fingers fidgeting. "I was- I was worried for you, too."
He frowned.
"You shouldn't worry for me, Christine."
"I can't help how I feel!" she protested with a little smile.
"Really, I-" he stopped and winced at his own raised voice.
She started, her brow knitting.
"Do you need to lay down again?" she whispered.
He nodded and reclined, covering his eyes with one hand.
They stayed that way as they waited for Antoinette. Erik peeked through a crack between his fingers to observe how she sat there next to him still. He couldn't figure it out - surely she would have been looking for any reason to put space between them. There were plenty of other places in the office to sit, and yet-
That was the thing about only knowing half the picture, his weary, aching mind reminded him. You couldn't base rational decisions on only a small portion of knowledge. She really hadn't seen his face, after all. Thoughts swam through his head, wondering about what she assumed was under the mask. A large but simple scar, perhaps? An unsightly birthmark?
Antoinette had never seen him, either. He assumed, though, that Nadir had kept the description short and sweet - deformed, he'd probably said. Unformed was far more apt, though.
The door unlocked and opened quietly, stirring him out of his ruminations on how hideous he was. He took a deep breath and stood, Christine standing up and walking towards Antoinette in the near darkness.
"Are you okay?" Antoinette asked, looking him up and down.
"My dear Madame, I assure you I am quite well," he drawled, pulling himself up to his full height.
She huffed and rolled her eyes. Who did he think he was fooling?
"We'll check on you tomorrow, then," she said as she reached a hand out to Christine. "Take care, Erik."
"Goodnight, Erik," Christine said softly as she left.
He nearly collapsed back on the couch, the little show of supposed wellness having sapped all of his energy. He would be spending the evening on the couch, it would seem. The last thought that drifted through his mind was embarrassment upon realizing he hadn't even returned Christine's farewell.
When they returned the next morning, they found the curtains pulled tightly shut in the office with only the barest amount of light seeping through. Erik was a louched down in the chair at the desk, a drawing pad and pencil in hand.
"Not doing too well, I take it?" Antoinette asked kindly.
He shrugged, or at least he tried - his neck still felt stiff.
"I can take Christine with me, if you prefer," she offered.
"Oh!" Christine let the little noise slip before she could stop herself, and then blushed hard as both of them paused and looked at her.
She twisted her hands around each other.
"I can stay! I'll be quiet as a mouse, I promise!" she pleaded, feeling rather silly, then looked to Erik and added- "If you don't mind, that is."
"Hmm. The girl can stay, Antoinette," he murmured. "But I don't feel up to doing any work today besides that."
"Very well," she arched an eyebrow at Christine. "Be on your best behavior, mademoiselle - he has a sharp tongue when he's recovering."
Christine stifled a giggle at her teasing.
"I have never said so much as an unkind word in my life, I haven't the slightest idea what you mean," Erik frowned.
"Regardless, I will be back tonight to collect her. Please try to not reduce her to a puddle of a tears in the meantime."
Erik paused, looking up from whatever he was drawing.
"You know very well that I can't make a promise like that. Look at her," he gestured to Christine. "She looks like she's liable to burst into tears at any minute. What did you do to her on the way over?"
"Hey!" Christine protested through her grin. "Madame is right, you are mean!"
"Oh, he hasn't even gotten started, my dear," she tutted and shook her head. "I'll see you tonight, and we can gossip about how nasty he was all day."
With that she bid goodbye to them both, leaving the two alone.
Christine made herself comfortable on the couch, trying not to look too interested in his artwork. Erik glanced up every few seconds.
"I don't feel that bad, you know," he finally broke the silence. "I just can't be anywhere it's too bright, or too loud, but we can still talk a little, if you'd like."
He despised most voices when he was in the middle of a fit or even recovering, but something about Christine's tone was comforting and reassuring.
"What are you drawing?" she asked promptly, leaning forward on the couch.
He stifled a groan. How did he know that was going to be her first question?
"The office," he answered truthfully.
"Just the office?"
"Indeed. I've drawn it a good number of times before."
"Isn't that a little boring? Drawing the same thing over and over?"
He thought about it.
"No, I don't think so. It's always the same office, but it's never really the same. A book here, a teacup there, a stack of files, a melted candle - there's always some new detail, some new way of looking at the thing that's already so familiar. The more you go over it, the more differences you find, and you find entirely new ways of looking at something you thought you already knew," he paused, taking in the room, and then his eyes fell onto her.
She was looking at him eagerly, hanging on his every word. His eyes narrowed slightly, and, without looking at the paper, he began to draw the basic shape of a figure sitting on the couch.
"That's so interesting," she breathed, and looked around the room.
"Hm."
She turned her curious gaze back to him once more.
"Do you ever draw people?"
He froze. It was as if she had seen his sketch pad as clearly as if she were right next to him.
"Sometimes," he answered carefully.
"Oh," she twisted a curl around a nervous finger.
He took in a breath as though to ask a question, but never voiced it.
"I had a boyfriend in England," she ventured. "He was an artist, too."
"Is that so?" he gripped his pencil just a little tighter.
"He would draw me, sometimes," she crinkled her nose a little, as though she were revealing a deep secret. "Oh, but he was awful at it! I hated how he made me look. But he said I was good 'practice'. Well, I hope he got enough practice in on me, or else I pity the poor young woman he's with now!"
"That's because he couldn't see you, not really," he swallowed hard, his dry throat. "He must have been a terribly bad artist, to have such a beautiful subject in front of him and still capture it so poorly."
They were both quiet a long moment, neither one breaking eye contact.
"Do you know how awful it is, for someone to tell you you're just 'practice'?" she asked softly.
It was Erik who looked away first. He looked down at what he had put on the sketch pad, at the simple yet elegant figure he had drawn sitting on the couch, no details, no features, but feminine and graceful. He had been about to offer before, but now the stakes had been raised.
"I could draw you, Christine," he nearly choked on the words. "If you wished it."
"Would you?" she inched closer to him.
"I would love to," his face felt like it was on fire. "Not, ah, not for practice, mind you - just to draw, you know."
"Oh, of course-!"
They talked a little here and there, but much of the day was spent in an intimate silence, Christine posing as she saw fit on the couch, apologizing when she put her feet on the cushions. He had some two dozen drawings by the time he decided to stop - it would never do to have Antoinette walk in on them like that, even if she was fully clothed and merely sitting in an artistic slump on the couch. He didn't know why, exactly, but he felt embarrassed to think of her finding out - he was supposed to be watching over her safety, not having her pose for him.
He motioned for her to come look at the drawings, his heart pounding in his chest. What if she thought they were awful, too?
She came close and leaned in to look at the little sketches and then the bigger drawings he had spent longer on. She gasped.
He felt panic forming.
"Th-they're not done, you see," he stuttered. "I would spend more time on them, when I'm feeling better - they need polishing, I know that - it's just a rough idea right now-"
"They're beautiful!" she put her hands over her heart. "Oh, Erik!"
He breathed a sigh of relief.
"Really?"
"Really! Oh-! I don't think I've ever looked so lovely!"
Erik blushed and looked away.
"Nonsense. You always look that lovely."
She laughed and swatted a hand at him.
"You're too kind, Monsieur!"
"I'm glad you don't think they're terrible, then," he teased.
"We'll have to do this again!" her eyes sparkled.
"Certainly!" he fidgeted with his pencil.
He felt a glowing sense of triumph - he had succeeded where her previous boyfriend had crashed and burned - him! It was a warm feeling that lasted only a moment before it faded, the reminder of all the ways - all the things - her previous boyfriend could surely undertake in far more successful ways than him, and he felt a little hollow to think of it. There were many, many things he couldn't give her, but at least he could give her a good portrait of herself.
He looked down at his hand, frowning. The pencil lay in his palm in two pieces, but he didn't even remember breaking it. He glanced quickly up Christine, but she hadn't even noticed, instead too absorbed in holding up the drawings and studying them. He shoved the pencil into his pocket, hiding it.
Antoinette arrived a little later, and was told that they had spent a simple afternoon relaxing, and she was glad of it.
Erik, for his part, felt a little strange about hiding it all from Antoinette. Well, he wasn't truly hiding it, was he? Besides - what was there even to hide? He wasn't doing anything wrong! Surely not even her fiancé would think so... or would he? There was nothing improper about what they were doing. But did that change because he viewed it differently? If he viewed their secret afternoons spent in music or drawing or deep conversation as intimately as he would view a date, did that make them dates, even if they meant very little to her? He tried not to dwell on it. It would always lead to thoughts he didn't like. Far better to simply enjoy the time spent together, and enjoy it he did.
He hated that her boy had seemingly disappeared without a trace, but he did appreciate the long weeks they had together. He worked tirelessly on his case, despite the lack of leads. Nadir would come over to the office every now and then with a few case files he thought might have any relation to Raoul, spending hours looking over them with Erik and Antoinette. Erik had never not solved a case, and Nadir knew well how it ate at him that he couldn't solve this one.
In those few weeks spent before the masquerade, Erik's favorite moments were those spent alone with Christine. He still held a certain fondness, though, for the times that all four of them spent together in the almost-crowded office.
It was during one of those group moments that something happened which left quite the impression on Erik.
He had never fully explained it to anyone except for Nadir, but he held a large amount of affection for spiders. Not just an admiration or appreciation, but a feeling that bordered on kinship with the little creatures. Most thought them disgusting and vile beasts, but they served an important purpose in the world even so, and they couldn't choose how they looked, they certainly hadn't asked to look so frightening.
Antoinette remembered the first time she'd seen a spider in Erik's presence. They both been sitting at the desk, each one consumed in the details of their files when she had spied the rather large creature crawling towards her.
She muttered a swear and picked up a heavy book, slamming it down on the spider.
Erik had looked up at her, horrified.
"Antoinette!"
"It was a spider, Erik."
"It wasn't even doing anything!"
She thought he was joking with her at first, but she could see the very real hurt in his eyes and even with the mask she could tell he was scrunching his face up as though he were a little child about to cry.
She searched for the right words to say. Good heavens, it was a spider, why was he so worked up over it?
"I'm- I'm sorry, Erik," she had told him, and though he didn't say anything else on the matter, he had behaved in quite a hurt manner the rest of the day.
So on the day when, with all four of them in the room, Christine gave a little yelp, all the eyes in the room turning to her, and the discovery that she had been frightened by a spider was of immediate interest to everyone.
She waved her hands in a frightened manner, finally grabbing the little cushion the animal had crawled on and flung it to the ground, where the spider bounced off the cushion and sat for a moment, confused, on the floor.
Antoinette stared hard, hoping that Christine would merely flee the vicinity of it and not trod upon it instead. Nadir's eyes went wide, glancing rapidly back forth between Christine and Erik. This was likely not going to end well.
Erik quickly turned away, his shoulders stiff, pretending to be absorbed in what he was reading and trying his best to ignore what was about to happen.
Christine stood quickly, wiggling a little as she looked down on the spider that had crawled next to her on the couch. She grimaced at it and backed away, reaching for a stack of paper.
Erik caught her motion from the corner of his eye, and his heart sank. Of course this would happen. Of course she would swat at it, end it's life. It was hideous, and it had scared her. Who could blame her, really?
But to his surprise, she merely bent over the creature and carefully scooped it up with the papers before swiftly moving to the door and depositing it outside. She had frowned and shuddered the entire time she'd done it, but she had removed it unharmed. He watched her curiously as she sat back down on the couch and rubbed her arms, glaring at the spot the spider had previously occupied.
Nadir and Antoinette turned slowly to look at Erik, who was staring at Christine, mouth agape and dumbfounded.
Christine, meanwhile, picked up a magazine and began to read, still frowning, oblivious to being stared at.
No one said anything on the topic, instead going back to work, but Erik never forgot what had happened that day.