Disclaimer: I own only the storyline and the unaffiliated characters. Thank you all for the thoughtful, thorough, and very helpful reviews.

A Note- This is not the point at which Christine falls in love with Erik, or he with her. Only a changing of perspectives.

Lee

Attuned

Christine

The air in the house was still, like the pause of a great breathing. Christine felt it wrap around her, a fullness and a depth to it. It was quiet. Where are they? Christine kicked off her shoes. frowning. She went into the living room mildly concerned.

She heard the sounds of a muffled conference, shuffling of papers, coming from Nadir's office beyond the living room. Well. A trickle of relief ran through her. That explained where Nadir was, but where was-

She paused. There, illuminated by the dying sunlight. Christine halted, leaning against the doorway to study him.

He looked so peaceful, head fallen against the back of the chair. He was sleeping, his chest rising and falling in slow, unceasing rhythm. His head had dropped to his shoulder, the left side of his face, the unmasked side, exposed. Christine found herself drawn. She had never quite noticed the dark allure of his features, strong, not overly classical, but there was a shadowed something in them, almost magnetizing. All of the coolness, the distance, seemed to have lifted from his face in sleep. The sculpted mouth was not set in its usual wry smile or enigmatic collectedness. The arched brow was not raised in inquiry, he did not reach to brush back the dark hair that swept over it. The guarded tenseness of his face relaxed.

His eyes were closed, the long, dark length of the lashes brushing the skin. He seemed somehow younger, less worldly. Less- intimidating.

His eyes opened, the merest glint of blue. Christine snatched her hand back from the door frame, drew away from the room. Her heart was unsteady against her chest, blood racing through her. Her breath shook, a dull roar in her ears.

Her calm was shaken. She needed something to do. More out of habit- or desperation- than anything else, Christine began to make dinner, moving automatically, thoughtlessly. The sounds give her something to cling to, some semblance of normalcy. If she held to them, the tangible, she would not have to worry about the intangible.

"You're back."

She turned sharply, startled. She managed to save the dish before it slid from her hands, set it on the counter. "How was your day?" his voice was soft, caressing like wind through her hair. The aura of serenity was still about him, a glow beneath his skin, behind his eyes that had not yet faded. His body was relaxed, voice untroubled.

She shrugged, folded her arms across her chest to hide her shaking hands. "It went... well. And you?"

"Much the same." he replied quietly. The blue eyes were like a southern sea, light, serene. A calm, beating life to them. Christine paused, then tore her eyes from his. She wondered if he knew she had seen him sleeping.

She decided not to ask. "This will all be ready to go in five minutes." She didn't look at him. He hesitated a moment and she sensed his eyes upon her. His voice was as calm as ever, but there was a tentative undertone to it, almost like the hesitant extension of a hand. Christine halted as she heard it, uncertain. Worry, questions, circled through her mind like a whirlwind. And at the center of it all, the axis around which it all revolved, one word.

Why?

Why did he hide? Why did he put on such a masquerade upon waking? Why did he hide behind such a facade?

He broke the silence, broke the chaotic pattern her thoughts were straying to. "I'll inform Nadir."

Christine saw him pause, out of the corner of her eye, at the doorway. Than, fleeting as shadow or thought, he was gone.

She could not get it out of her head later that night, the tranquility, the way he seemed more alive, more human, in sleep. Somehow more tangible, less enigmatic. Simpler, more innocent. More alive, if that made any sense. She could not rid herself of that image, the slant of light falling the left side of his face, the dying blaze lending it a golden hue. An odd, ageless luminescence. The sudden, startling shock of blue under the dark lashes. Like the sky in between the wings of a flock of ravens.

He had looked young.

Erik

It had been the strangest sensation, as he drifted between dreams and wakefulness. As though he were being watched.

But it had not been threatening. More as though there had been curious or thoughtful eyes upon him. It had stirred him to awareness, beyond the dark restful peace.

He had opened his eyes and seen- nothing. Nothing but the dying, burnished gold of a sunset. Nothing living had looked back at him. He had almost put it down to an overactive imagination.

But he knew. Something- someone, had been watching him.

Surprisingly, it didn't make him feel cornered, as the sensation normally would have. No. It had been almost- benevolent. A strange, fearless gaze. If Erik had ever had a guardian angel as a child, he probably would have equated it to that. A strange blend of acceptance and watchfulness. As though the presence found him blameless, innocent.

Human.

Christine

She couldn't sleep. It wasn't any fault of her body, which was more than willing to fall into dreams.

It was her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, she began to remember. She began to hear again, the voices at the funeral, the requiem winding through the room. The greyness of the room, small, oppressive, murmuring voices all around her. Black-clad people, their faces blending before her into anonymity. The fragrance of roses, passing into the final stage of their life. She felt herself approach the gleaming coffin again-

Finally, she threw herself out of bed, shivering. She could almost feel him beside her, ready to comfort. Almost hear his voice in her ear, hushing her. It's all right, Christine, I'm here. Don't worry Christine, I'm here. She could almost believe that he was, too. It was almost easy to believe that his hand rested on her shoulder.

But he wasn't there, as Christine told herself repeatedly, shakily. I'm going mad. she thought. The ache inside of her grew. She wanted someone there, him there, to tell her that her world would still. That the downward spiral of her fast, frightening free-fall would cease.

She wanted to be close to him again.

That longing found her in the living room once more. She searched for something, one specific film.

Their film. The one that she had watched with him endless hours in her childhood. Had laughed and cried with him as they watched. Had sung with.

As the screen lightened to color, she could almost convince herself that he was there with her, watching. She could almost believe that he sat beside her in the darkness.

"Once upon a time in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. Although the prince had everything his heart desired..."

She could almost hear him breathe.

The illusion was dispelled when she heard a soft voice. "Couldn't you sleep?"

She blinked, straightened. A hot blush came to her cheeks. "I'm so sorry! Did I wake you? Or Nadir?" she asked hurriedly, mortified at her carelessness. Of all the inconsiderate things to do, Christine-

Erik didn't look greatly upset. "No. As to Nadir, well, you could clash cymbals over his head and he wouldn't stir. He tends to sleep heavily for a few days after flights."

She felt slightly better. "Oh. What were you doing up?" She fiddled with her hair, twisting a strand around and around her finger. It was hard to make out his expression.

His eyes flicked to the screen, the glassy lights of it reflecting. "Composing. Why exactly-?"

She offered a tremulous smile, hoped it was steadier than it felt. "Beauty and the Beast. It was our favorite movie. My... father's and mine." Somehow it hurt less to speak of him here, in the darkness. When she could only barely distinguish his expression and he hers. Where there was only the night to hear them. With someone who did not feel the pain as she did, who her memories and her mourning couldn't hurt.

He seemed to hesitate. "Would you mind if I watched it with you?" She shook her head and sat up, making room on the couch for him. "It's all right." The illusion of her father's presence had disappeared, but it felt safer for him to stay. As though having another presence with her would protect her from the ghosts of her own imaginings.

He seated himself carefully, the flickering light dancing on his features. A brief flash of brightness caught her eyes as he looked at her, the mask a lighter patch in the darkness. Then it was gone.

Sometime during the movie, she spoke. She wasn't sure why, it just felt like the right thing to do. Not to break the quiet, but to stir it. "It's why I loved this so much."

He glanced at her, again the flash of the white mask, gleaming like his eyes. "Pardon?"

"The movie." she answered quietly. "She has such compassion for him, seeing beyond appearances." Christine smiled faintly. "I never could resist a happy ending."

His smile was tinged with a sardonic irony. "Not all stories end happily, Christine." The seraphic voice was roughened with bitterness.

"I know." she said softly. "But shouldn't they?"

Erik

The room darkened as the credits began, but that was no trouble to him. He could see quite well in the darkness. Nature, it seemed, had decided to balance out the marring of his face with a few such oddities.

Some balance.

Erik glanced to his left. "Christine?" He sighed. She had apparently fallen asleep sometime during the movie and was now oblivious to the world. Her face was calm, tranquil. The weary, tense look had gone, replaced by a softer, trusting serenity.. She was smiling slightly, an almost childlike gesture in its innocence. She was curled, catlike, against the arm of the couch, breathing deep and soft.

He debated leaving her there. She looked so peaceful- as she had not in the daylight. Then again, if she spent the night like that, she was going to wake up with a crick in her neck and half her body in a state of 'pins and needles'. As he well knew.

Erik shook her shoulder gently. "Christine? Christine?" he called her name softly.

She didn't stir. He shook her again, a little more insistently. "Christine? Wake up."

No response. Erik sighed irritably. She owes me for this. He scooped her up. She was startlingly light and he briefly wondered if she had been eating as healthily as she might- or if her father's death had brought her to succumbing to an eating disorder. The thought froze him briefly, he glanced down at her, alarmed. After a moment, he dismissed the notion. Christine was slender but she was hardly a stick, much less a skeleton. He put it down to her height. Or lack thereof. He smiled slightly.

He started as she stirred a little. Oh, hell. This was hardly a time he wanted her to wake up.

In fact, it was harder to think of a less opportune moment.

But she settled again, merely sighing against his shoulder. He managed to free a hand and to- awkwardly- get the door open. He laid her down, pulled the covers over top of her.

She had not woken during the whole process, caught deep in the grip of sleep.

This is exactly why I never wanted children. Erik thought, annoyed.

He wondered suddenly if Maya had children. He could almost see them, with her wide, starry green eyes, pale hair drifting across them...

The thought brought a sharp jolt through him, an almost physical pain. He slipped from the room, a hot anger and resentment flowering and spreading through his veins like fire through dry wood. And under it, a coldness. A dark and lonely coldness that he could not bring himself to recognize.

At least there was one thing that had never failed him, he thought as he seated himself a the piano. One thing that would never leave him.

At least he had this.

Christine

She was dreaming. She stood at her window, the moonlight bathing her, clothing her in pale light, like sheer fabric over her skin. Behind her she heard music, a piano, a soft voice. It was an unfamiliar song, but it seemed to draw her out of herself, her spirit reaching through her skin, to the source of the plaintive melody. Her heart trembled, soul shivering and reaching out like questing flames in response to the distant voice.

It was like rain over a wildfire, a smoldering underneath dark waters. Resentment and rejection burning under a cold wash of bitterness, an endless longing. Christine wondered briefly, hazily, why she would be dreaming of this.

Why, echoing in this whisper, she heard what her soul had been singing.