A/N: Thank you for all of the reviews! Your support means a lot to me (I guess that makes me a review whore, right?). Erik was just being too nice in chapter 8, so I let his darker side come out to play. Also, I hope the time elapsed wasn't too big a bother...but a daily routine seemed a little dull for me to write down...I'd rather they get used to each other, then have their blowup. Anyway, please enjoy this chapter!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.


She didn't dream. A darkness enveloped her, and Christine could not see or hear. She imagined it was the sleep of the dead, and awaited some further action. When she simply opened her groggy eyes to find herself on the wooden floor, she pieced together the events of the past night as best as she could. Frustration coursed through her, and she slammed the palm of her hand down. What did I do to him? Why must he scare me when I try to speak openly to him?


"Erik, while I do enjoy your rare visits, I am a little...put-off by your timing." The Daroga sat at his table, drinking his black coffee and reading the paper. Erik sat across from him, looking at his tea.

"You said your home was always open to me. Surprised I took you up on your offer?" Honestly, Erik was uncomfortable. The girl had forced him to flee his own home, and instead of going to a hotel of some sort, he'd felt that Nadir and Mrs. Giry's home was safer. Now he had the curious detective to deal with along with some bizarre feeling that bothered him whenever he thought of Christine.

"I'm surprised you took it up in the middle of the night," the Persian yawned. "Some of us have to work in the morning."

"Yes, and some have a baby to care for," Mrs. Giry interrupted, testing a bottle's temperature on the skin of her arm, "but what does that have to do with anything?" She frowned at Erik's choice for breakfast. "Are you sure that's all you'll have? You wouldn't be eating us out of house and home if you had some toast, too."

"No, this is fine. You have the Daroga and a child to feed. Don't coddle me." It wasn't irritation, just tiredness, and Mrs. Giry had learned to let such things from Erik go. The cry of her infant roused her from her company, leaving Erik and the Daroga alone for the moment.

"Erik, you never got around to explaining why you needed to stay the night here." He folded his newspaper and looked at him seriously.

"I haven't done anything, if that's troubling you. Nothing terrible's happened." He drank his tea as the Daroga formulated new questions in an attempt to find the truth.

"Then why seek refuge in your old friends' home? You can't possibly need money," He mused this with a hint of envy, "you rarely drink, much less take drugs. And you haven't killed anyone, so you don't need my services for that." His face became amused for a moment. "Could it be love that's driven you into a corner? It's common, especially with young men."

"Come now, Daroga, be serious." Erik's eyes narrowed menacingly.

"All right, Erik." The Persian sighed. "I suppose that particular idea is alien to you now, but you can't hide from it forever. Even if you remain in that damned appartment until you die."

"I will thank you to keep your fatherly wisdom for your newly acquired daughters," Erik said, placing his teacup back on its saucer.

"And I will thank you for your excellent conversational skills." The daroga responded, standing and reaching for his coat and hat. "Truly, your gift of gab is a blessing unto us all." His sarcasm didn't scathe Erik at all, but the detective had hardly expected it to. With a small nod to Erik he left his house. Alone, Erik thought back to his violent outburst. He'd had the chance to wring her neck, and had been so repelled he'd left the appartment. The thought of her tears, not supplicating but pained, bothered him. Is she crying right now? Does it bother her that I didn't leave a note?

"Erik, I haven't introduced you to ma petite Madeleine." Mrs. Giry walked gently to the table and sat with the baby feeding from its bottle. She knew how uncomfortable this interaction would probably make him, but she also knew how rare such normal events had been to him. Erik looked at the child, trying to mask his inexperience.

"She- she looks a great deal like you." His momentary awe passed, and he tapped a finger on his knee. "It's a relief she didn't inherit her father's nose and bushy eyebrows."

"I rather like my husband's face, Erik." She cooed a moment at the baby, then placed her in her bassinet. Mrs. Giry's face became stern. "I won't ask you why you came. I will, however, ask you about your health. Are you ill?"

"No, I'm very healthy. I'm not prone to sickness, but you know that Mrs. Giry." He'd stopped tapping when she'd begun her inquiry, uncertain about whether it was best to remain or leave. Either choice would have uncomfortable consequences.

"No, Erik. You know what I mean." She rested her hand on her mouth a moment and sighed. "My late husband was your physician, after all. I can tell if you seem troubled."

"Don't remind me of that, Antoinette," Erik said, "I'd like to at least pretend to have left it all behind."

"But isn't that exactly what's wrong?" She replied. "You've been pretending so long, it upsets you to remember. My question is, what triggered your memories?" Mrs. Giry hadn't expected an answer, she'd simply wanted to pose the question.

"A voice," Erik answered. "I'd like to leave it at that." Mrs. Giry wanted to know more, wanted Erik to open up and let her in, but she understood his tone. They were done with this topic. For now.

"Very well, Erik, but since you deny me any more friendly conversation, I hope you'll accompany me for a stroll down Garden Street." She seemed pleased at this venture, and began to pull out the baby carriage.

"I'll walk with you, but why Garden Street?" He felt he owed her a debt for the use of her guest room and her tea, but Garden Street sounded so...normal.

"It's the Saturday flower market. I'd like to get some fresh chamomile and lavender for Madeleine's room, and perhaps some roses for the table." Gently Mrs. Giry laid the giddy child into the carriage and turned to Erik. With a quick sigh he followed. He'd had enough of chattering women when he'd been shopping for Christine. He imagined a flower market to be no different.


Where is he, Christine wondered, looking at the clock in her room. It was eleven o'clock in the morning, and she hadn't found a clue as to his whereabouts. Unlike all of the other times he'd stepped out, Erik had failed to supply her with a note or explanation. But it's not like he was able to last night. He was so...and I was... She threw a pillow in her annoyance. Since when does it bother me what he does? I haven't forgotten what he did to me. Or for me. She rested her head against the wall. So what am I supposed to think? Am I supposed to be ok with his threats and anger just because he's my tutor? Fresh tears stung her eyes. And why do I care? Why can't I just let it go?


Erik, Mrs. Giry, and Madeleine toured the stalls that littered the street. Floral arrangements, from the modest to the dramatic, overflowed. Flowers of every kind sprang up before them, entreating them. When Mrs. Giry finally selected a vendor, they entered his stall and searched his wares. While Mrs. Giry was entertained with flower selection and the vendor's wife was entertained with Madeleine, Erik simply stood there. He liked flowers well enough, and fancied he could have taste for them if he'd actually wanted to buy some. It was enough for him, however, to watch.

"Excuse me, how much for the roses?" A tall brunette man suddenly appeared near Erik, looking over at the buckets filled with an assortment of roses.

"I'm running a special: A dozen long-stem in a bouquet for 20." Yelled the vendor over the crowd as he showed Mrs. Giry the lavender. The tall man nodded.

"I'll take a dozen red, then." He readied his wallet as the vendor motioned an assistant over to start the bouquet. The tall man finally noticed Erik's sedentary presence and shot him a small smirk. "A fight with my wife," he explained, "I figure, nothing says 'I love you' like roses. Or 'I'm sorry'." He handed the money to the assistant and was given his arrangement. "Are you here to find something for your girl?" Erik became slightly slack-jawed by the question. He shook his head.

"I'm just walking around." He answered. The tall man nodded and left Erik to his business. As Mrs. Giry selected and paid, Erik remained by the roses.

"Did you find anything interesting, Erik?" Mrs. Giry asked, flowers wrapped and settled into the crook of her arm and carriage in the other hand. He shook his head slightly. "Well to thank you, the least I could do is invite you to eat dinner with me. My husband will be working late tonight, so you don't have to worry about keeping your wits about you."

"..." He considered the offer, and nodded. He could attend to his thoughts later.


It was late. Christine had eaten alone, and spent the night in-between books and her worry. Finally, in an attempt to calm down she'd taken a long bath, but to no avail. She was plagued by thoughts she hadn't realized she even had. I don't want to be his prisoner...but I want to know him. Does it have to be a trade-off? It occurred to her that he might not return. I never used his name, she realized, because I just kept thinking of him as a monster. She sat in the den, hands running slowly through her curls. "Father, I'm an idiot. I don't know what to do." Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke out loud. "I don't know what to do..."


He'd opened the door quietly, trying to think of what to do to get her to come out of her room (he was certain that's where she'd barricaded herself), and walked into the den only to come face-to-face with Christine. She raised herself from the floor, wide eyes trained on him.

He stood before her, and Christine couldn't move. He realized he'd been holding his breath at the sight of her, and let it out in a sigh as he walked towards her. She was waiting for me...

She winced as he came forward, waiting for some terrible and unknown action to fall on her head. Instead, she felt something so soft on her cheek. Opening her eyes, she saw the single rose he was offering her. She straightened, looking at it intently. A single, blood red rose with a black ribbon tied to it was being held out to her. She looked at it, then at the man offering it to her.

Erik didn't know what to say. An apology he couldn't give her. Her freedom or his past, also, were out of the question. But something had to be offered to her, more than just a flower. He looked at her.

"Please." It was all he could choke out, and he watched her expression carefully.

She heard him, and stared. Again, she saw pain reflected in his green-crystal eyes. Pain... and something else she could not name. Those pleading eyes.... She had no choice but to stare into them. Never tearing her eyes away from his, she gently took the rose from him, her hand lingering on his a moment longer than necessary, and brought it to her. The soft touch of her hand and the intensity of her gaze was more than Erik could stand. After she had taken the rose, he walked past her and towards his room.

"Erik." She'd called out to him, and he'd stopped. His back still turned to her, his hand gripped his burning chest. My name. She's calling me by my name. She took a few steps forward, and he took a shaky breath before turning to her. She stopped just short of him and reached out to tug gently on his sleeve. "Please, don't frighten me like that again." She looked up at him with tears shining in her eyes. "Please, Erik."

He wanted to rip himself from her hold. He wanted to crush her to him and cry into her. Instead of doing either Erik stood there, watching her. I'm in love with her...

"All right."


A/N: Yay, Erik's figured it out! I'm sorry to say that Erik's angry, hateful side isn't going to take this lying down. But...the moment of realization is nice to dwell on. Oh, and I have to thank Josh for giving Mme. Giry's baby a name. I owe you one!

Thanks to the reviewers who have given me the confidence to keep going with this story!