Author's Note: After a lovely beach house vacation, I've come back to my writing! Hope you like this chapter. I love reviews, and really would love to hear from you! Coughreviewcough

Disclaimer: Wish I'd written the original, but I didn't. I own nothing. I'm just messing with the story.


"Think of Me. I want to call it Think of Me." He'd heard her and been surprised by her choice. It wasn't something abstract like Piano Medley No. 3. She'd admitted that she wanted lyrics, so the song wasn't relying on the melody alone. There was a very specific mood to the title, and it opened up many possibilities for lyrics.

"Why did you chose that, Christine?" He looked at her, trying to see an answer in her facial expression. She, however, was nervous at his intrusion. The events of the previous night hadn't been completely forgotten, after all. Her hand gently took one of the sheets and she studied it.

"I'm not sure," she admitted. He remained still, giving her silent encouragement. "It's a simple song, but I think that builds up the mood." She played a few bars and closed her eyes, becoming a little bolder. "It's sad, I think. I can imagine someone like me, singing to someone she can't physically reach." She looked up to him, hoping he understood what she was trying to explain. "She remembers him. She thinks of him. But, will he ever think of her? She wants him to, even if she's not there with him anymore." After a moment her face colored and she laughed nervously. "It's kind of sappy, I know. But that's what it sounds like to me."

"The notes are pretty well laid out already," Erik said, putting his hand out for the sheet she had. Without a second thought Christine handed it over to him. With one hand he looked the sheet over and with his free hand he played the tune. "How long have you been putting this together?"

"A while now, I think. Since you left, maybe? But I've been wanting to write something like this for a while." Christine moved over on the bench as he sat himself down. He nodded in acknowledgment, but kept playing a sequence.

"You have a few words here and there," Erik said as he set the sheets onto a stand. He pointed them out here and there.

Christine tapped her finger on a key in time with Erik's playing. "Just thoughts. I've never written lyrics. I'm not that good at it."

"Would you like to?" He stopped paying attention to the music and looked at her, not playing anymore. "You wrote the song. It'd be a waste if you couldn't complete it." There were no words in her mind. With it blank, she just nodded dumbly. He stood. "I'll make some tea, then. You'll need it while we compose." He moved off to the kitchen, and she was left alone again.


What just happened here? Christine watched him go with a great deal of confusion. 'We' compose? He's going to help me? The fact that he hadn't mentioned his outburst bothered her more than the note. Looks like he won't ever mention it...does that mean I should? A flash of his feral face as he'd held her by the wrist answered that question.

Gingerly she pulled at the long sleeve of the shirt she was wearing to look at the bruised wrist. Though it looked worse than it was, Christine had definitely gotten the message that night. But why? One minute he was himself, then he wasn't. She rubbed her wrist gently. I can't see how someone can be so gentle with music and so callous with people. True, I didn't have to shove him away, but he didn't have to put his hands on me without warning. Thinking back, she remembered how he'd been correcting her posture with those frightening hands. It's not my fault I was afraid. Anyone would be in these circumstances. A deep sigh arose from her, and she wondered how long things could continue like this.


He'd been somewhat impressed by Christine. Just as he'd wanted to give up on her voice, she'd given him an excellent opportunity to teach her. True, it was just a piano tune now, but in time he'd fashion it for more instruments, and create a harmony. He was tempted to bring out his violin and try some accompaniment once they had some lyrics set to the music.

The sound of the kettle whistling snapped him out of his thoughts, and he poured some of the hot water into the teapot. In a smaller pot the honeyed mixture waited to be used. Picking up the tea tray he walked into the den.

"You're set, then, on a female singer?" He set the tray down on the coffee table and poured. She snapped her head up and smoothed her sleeve. Hiding something, Christine?

"Yes, I like that idea I had, so I'd like to try that." She looked back to the sheets. She pointed to the beginning. "I wanted the melody to begin before the vocals. Maybe at the second break we introduce the lyrics?" She bit her fingernail, concentrating so hard that she didn't notice Erik near her, cup of tea in his hand.

Some little pressure had appeared in his chest as Erik heard her. We. "A soprano piece," he decided, clearing his throat. She looked up and he handed her the tea. He took his place beside her on the bench. "I'd like you to run the song as we go." He readied a pen and some new sheets as well as her piece. "Drink the tea if your throat begins to bother you. Even if it's cold, it's good for your voice. It'll help with the strain." He began to play, looking at the words she'd already written. He pointed to one. "This, it's too long. The syllables have to be in synch with the timing of the music." He scratched it out.

Christine drank and tasted honey and some odd spice. She set it next to the piano as he began to point out problems. She'd never had any experience with lyrics, and had never realized how difficult it could be to match what she wanted to say with the music she wanted to say it with. Still, he stayed with her, running the music over and over to try and find something to match it.

"Try it here, after the note." He showed her. "We'll work with your voice later, just try to match time with the music as you go." He began with a small introduction, and her nerves fluttered. The first note that came out faltered, and she stopped.

"I'm afraid I can't-"

"We're alone, Christine," Erik said, looking only at the music sheets, "I don't believe you should be nervous singing with me. You've done it before." He didn't catch her near-grateful expression as he began again. "Try it." She heard his playing, and took a breath.

Think of me

Think of me fondly

When we've said goodbye.

Remember me, once in a while

Please promise me you'll try

When you find

that once again you want

to take your heart back

and - -----

spare a thought for me...

She stopped, frowning. Erik noted it, and looked up to her. "What is it, Christine?" She pointed out a word.

" 'Want' doesn't sound like it's the right word. And we still need to find something for this section here after 'and'."

"Why isn't 'want' the right word?" He played the notes. "It fits well."

"It doesn't express what she feels. Sure, she wants things, but shouldn't this person be more than a want? She's far away from him and she ... I don't know...longs for him? Everyone wants everything. 'Long' is something similar, but rarer. It's more important if someone feels it or not." She saw him stop and pick up the pen. He scratched out want and replaced it with her new word.

"Still fits, so if that makes you happier with it, fine." Erik saw her nod, and looked at the gap in the song.

" 'And' what?" She sighed, looking at the sheet. " "And not see me'? 'And set me free'?" A little frustration set in, and she took a sip from her tea. "I don't know what should go there, but it's got to be short, doesn't it?"

"And be free," Erik decided.

When you find,

That once again you long

To take your heart back

And be free,

Spare a thought for me...

Christine watched him with a kind of fascination as he played and sang the bit for her. That voice...how can he sing so well so easily. He'd caught her gaze and stopped playing to answer her unasked question. "With discipline and some natural affinity for it, anything is possible."

"Where did you learn to sing?" Curiosity again made her bold. Though she worried about starting something like last night again, she wanted to know.

"I was well taught as a child. The rest I learned on my own." His eyes met hers, and though they were cold they weren't threatening her. That gave her the confidence to ask her question.

"Could you teach me?" It was simple enough, and Christine knew he'd wanted to help her before the incident, but she also knew she'd have to be the one to ask this time. Funny, she thought to herself, I've only been here a few days, and I know he isn't the type to apologize.

Erik sought some composure before replying. "I'll teach you." He straightened up the sheets. "We'll try singing lessons as soon as this piece is finished. It'll give you something new to practice." Without looking at the sheets, he began to play. "Again, from the beginning. Take the sheets and see if it flows against the music."


He played and she sang well into the night, hammering out the first draft of the song. At one point he'd taken over playing and singing while Christine walked around the room and stretched. He had grown a little fond of the song. Even though the subject matter was foreign to him, there was something in him resonating when he'd heard her sing it. He looked at his watch when he finished and saw how late it had become. "Christine, I think we should-" He stopped short, seeing her curled up on his couch like a cat. He sighed, but strangely he couldn't find any irritation building. Gingerly he picked her up and took her to her own room. Settling her into bed, he decided it would be best to leave her in her own clothes. It was as he settled her, though, that he spotted her injured wrist. Erik looked it over without guilt, but tucked it close to her. He brought the quilt up to her chin, and his hand rested there a moment. With a will of its own his hand pulled gently at a soft curl. He tucked it behind her ear, allowing the back of his hand to trail down her cheek as he did.

That action was enough to disgust and inflame him. He walked out of her room and into his own. He fell back into his bed and covered his eyes with one arm. Christine, he kept hearing her name in his mind. Christine, Christine. He wasn't divided. There was no dark and angry half telling him to come back to reality. Just Christine.


A/N: Has Erik developed a little crush? Has he merely become inspired to sing because of her? And Christine? Is she ever going to understand him? When's Mme. Giry's baby due? Stay tuned to find out! Oh, and review! I love feedback!