Dinner with Raoul had been wonderful. In addition to satiating 'the famous Daae appetite', Christine enjoyed four years' worth of catching up with Raoul. They reminisced about the first summer they had met on the beach almost ten years ago, giggling at the memories of a younger Raoul and Christine. They had built sandcastles and swam in the ocean while her father and his au pair looked fondly on. It had been the sweetest summer of her life.

It led to talk about the letters they had written to each other during the school year, and the infrequent encounters they had had over six years.

Christine had always been saddened that she and Raoul had not been closer. Their differences in lifestyles had prevented them from running in the same circles. Not to mention the distance between their family homes.

Raoul's family was well-connected, wealthy, and political. Christine's was...eclectic. She liked to joke that she had spent her childhood traveling with a hippie caravan, and would sing for crowds while traveling on the road with other earth-loving folk. Her father would fiddle away as she twirled in her long, tie dyed skirts. It was a pretty fantasy the two had fabricated over time, and like a warm blanket, it had comforted her.

But while Raoul had enjoyed luxury condos by the beach, Christine and her father had stayed in smaller, shabbier motels almost thirty minutes away. Her father was able to make a decent enough living, but they were enslaved to debt. A debt Christine had inherited at her father's death, and hoped to pay off in the not too distant future.

When she told Raoul of her father's passing, he was gratifyingly sad. There were very few people in the world who understood just how much her father meant to her. Other than Raoul, and her godmother, most people thought that her mourning of her father was gravely exaggerated, to the point of needing clinical assistance. In that first year, she had been through an assembly line of therapists, and to a certain extent, they had helped. But Christine had resigned herself to a lifetime of mourning her father a long time ago.

It felt good to have Raoul back in her life. In a small way, it felt like having a piece of her father back. He shared memories of her father with her, and that was something priceless. After he had hailed her a cab back to campus, they exchanged numbers and swore that they would do a better job of staying in touch this time.

Christine, for her part, meant every word.

But despite Meg being seemingly understanding about their canceled dinner plans over text message, she wasn't about to let Christine off the hook.

"So," greeted Meg when Christine returned. She was sitting in the common area with her foot propped on a chair and a bottle of nail polish in her hand, "How was your date?"

At Meg's tone, Christine was tempted to roll her eyes, but refrained. "It wasn't a date," she emphasized. "We were just catching up. As friends."

"Uh huh," Meg said, unconvinced. "Where did you have dinner?"

Christine paused. "Chris' Steakhouse," she said quietly.

"Steakhouse, eh?" This time, Christine didn't refrain - she gave in to the eye roll.

"It wasn't like that, Meg. Besides, who knows...Raoul might have a girlfriend now."

"Did he make mention of any girlfriend?"

"Well...no," Christine confessed. "But that doesn't mean anything. He might have one, and thought better than to mention her because he pitied the single, orphan, broke girl."

Meg paused. "He knows you're single?"

"...I might have mentioned it."

Meg smiled slyly.

Christine groaned. "Ugh, don't read anything into it!" She strode over to the fridge and opened it, removing a Coke. She popped the tab. "He asked and I told him. I felt pathetic, but lying would have been worse."

Meg's face lit up. "Aw, Chris, he asked you? That's a really good sign! He's obviously interested!" She lifted another crafted brow in the direction of Christine's soda. "Aren't you supposed to be taking it easy on those? And it's after eight, you're going to be up all night."

Christine harrumphed. "Well, mom, I didn't have a soda yet today, so lay off. Plus, I need it, you're stressing me out." She took a particularly noisy sip for emphasis.

Meg laughed. "I'm sorry, Chris. I don't mean to stress you out. I'm just excited for you! You didn't date much last year."

Christine settled into the seat Meg had propped her foot on, swatting the offending impediment away. Meg simply reinstalled her foot on Christine's knee. She paused, considering her answer. "I know. I was...distracted."

Meg had begun to paint her toes again, but looked up at that. "Your dad?" she asked, eying her friend carefully.

"Yeah," Christine said. "It was hard trying to balance everything. School, finances...the debt," she quietly added. "Not to mention, Mrs. Valerius hasn't been doing well, either. Checking in on her was a commitment, too."

Meg nodded. "I get that. But Christine, you deserve a bit of happiness. Lord knows you do. If not a commitment, well, at least a bit of fun!" Christine looked at her sternly, knowing where this conversation was leading them. "I've offered before, and I'll hope you take me up on it this year...to go to a few parties…!"

Christine groaned loudly, trying, without success, to hide her teasing smirk.

Meg batted at her. "Why do you make me suffer like this? Haven't I earned at least a teensy bit of your compassion?

"Perhaps," Christine said dispassionately, taking another sip of her soda.

Meg rolled her eyes this time. "Fine, I won't push you. But the offer is forever open. As payment, you'll just have to continue being my assistant in zipping up my dress whenever I need it."

"As it's a two-way agreement, Meg, you have nothing to fear. We're zipper buddies for life."

Meg gave a cheery grin at that and finished off the foot propped on Christine's knee. "So," she continued casually, "Do you think you'll see him again?"

Christine opened her mouth to respond when her phone signaled that she received a text message. Christine blinked, grabbed her phone, and looked at the screen.

"Who is it?" Meg asked, a knowingness to her tone.

Christine smiled, a bit embarrassed. "Raoul."

"EEEEEEEEEE!"

Christine winced, throwing her free hand over her ear. "Now who needs to calm down on the caffeine, hmm?"

Meg screwed the polish firmly shut, shrugging without concern. "What can I say? I was born with this much gusto."

The first day of classes started off smoothly. All day long, Christine was on time, prepared, and hadn't spilled a single drop of anything on herself. In short, a small miracle.

The final class of the day was her most dreaded, however. It was the class she would actually be expected to sing during. Being a second year student, her other classes mainly consisted of basic piano, romantic languages, and music theory, history, and literature. In this class, they were to learn how to better sight-read, as well as the technical aspects of singing. It met twice a week, once on Mondays at four, and again on Wednesdays at seven.

Christine wouldn't have dreaded it so much, however, were it not for a certain individual.

Cara Bergamasco had become Christine's number one rival almost as soon as they started at Cartier. Fearing confrontation as Christine did, it was with considerable effort that she had even landed herself a mortal enemy in the first place. But however it had happened, the fact remained. Cara hated Christine, and on rough days, Christine couldn't say the feeling wasn't mutual.

It was a well-known fact that Cara came from an illustrious, wealthy, public family. She was the daughter of a Spanish tycoon, who had married one of the greatest Italian opera singers of the twentieth century.

In short, Cara was the cream of the crop in the opera world, and she knew it. And Christine had, irrevocably, made herself a threat to Cara.

Unlike many of the girls at Cartier, Christine was reserved. She had a lot of insecurities, and still questioned whether or not she truly belonged at the conservatory. But on one rare occasion in her first year, Professor Reyer had actually been able to get Christine to sing forte, and it had astonished the class. Cara had been none too pleased.

Since that day on, she had done everything to make Christine's life a Cartier a living nightmare.

Christine put all thoughts of Cara from her mind. She knew they would most likely be in many of the same classes, but she wouldn't let her dread of Cara Bergamasco cast a shadow over her daily life.

With relative calm, Christine walked into the classroom, her expression relaxed. She shot towards the seat she had occupied both semesters last year, falling into it as if it were the embrace of an old friend. She took out her textbook, notebook, and pen, and placed it all on her desk, a sigh stealing over her.

A ruckus to her left alerted her to someone's arrival. She faced the newcomer, and smiled with an air of expected exasperation.

"Hey, Eddie," Christine said with a wary smile.

"Hey, Christine!" Eddie said. Edward Hayden was boy-next-door handsome, with a smile that was slightly too eager, and a little crooked. Still, he meant well, and was always kind to Christine. He was a baritone, and they were often paired together on assignments. Once or twice, she had wondered if he carried a torch for her, but enough time had passed between incidents that she suspected his interest in her was now purely friendly.

He let his textbook smack loudly on the surface of his desk, and grinned over at her. "Good summer?"

"Not bad," she answered evenly, turning her eyes back to Reyer, who was writing something on the large whiteboard. "You?"

"About the same. Spent most of the time down in Florida with my friends sitting on the beach and getting some rest." He shrugged, and Christine took in his arms, which were brown as nuts. "What about you? Do anything fun?"

"Mostly worked. I would have liked to get to the beach, but I didn't have much time." Christine frowned. She felt envy stir inside her at his relaxed demeanor, but pushed the feeling aside. She couldn't afford to think so ungenerously. She had her future to think about. Besides, she had needed the money, and she owed her ailing guardian so much. She had been more than happy to help her out over the summer break when she wasn't at work.

Suddenly, her eyes caught a movement at the door of the classroom. Christine grimaced, and Eddie's eyes charged to where she was looking.

Cara floated into the room. She radiated confidence, arrogance, and entitlement. She was 5'11, with generous, sweeping curves and long, deep red-orange hair that fell down in a thick curtain to her waist. And, of course, she was beautiful. There had been rumors that she had done some minor modeling work in Europe over the summer for some high-end fragrance line that Christine had never heard of. She hadn't seen the magazine spread, but she knew it was floating around the school all the same. She was dressed beautifully, as always, and wore chunky jewelry, all of it designer and expensive.

She did not, however, wear diamonds.

Despite her own notoriety, Cara had always been an open critic of the 'Diamond Girls' image the school projected. She was a diva through and through, and unafraid to cut down other people on her way to greatness, but there was no denying that she was hard-working and devoted to her craft. Christine knew Cara would rather saw off her own hand than accept a man's influence in becoming a star.

The man who did grace her arm had been there for over two years, and the only influence he had was over her moods. His name was Alberto Piangi. He had graduated the previous year and had joined an opera troupe in DC so he could stay near Cara. He was her devoted slave, and had been wrapped around her little finger for as long as they had been together. To all outsiders, it appeared as though they were both perfectly happy with their respective places of power in their relationship.

Wherever Cara went, it was usually with Alberto and the rest of her entourage. It consisted of her best friend Nora, a beautiful, leggy blonde, but an alto, and thereby zero threat to Cara, a mousy, short soprano named Kim, and Andrea, a slim, Somalian ballerina who was Cara's inside scoop into the dance sector of campus. At the moment, she was only accompanied by her singer friends, who were also enrolled in the class. Cara strode gracefully to her seat, and Nora and Kim followed, acting as props rather than individual people.

"Good afternoon, class," Reyer greeted in his thin, wispy voice. "I hope you all had a nice and restful summer vacation and are ready to get back to work."

Christine smiled softly. That was Reyer. Business as usual.

"As you all know, the school announced that we'll be putting on an opera this spring. As one of the heads of the Music Department, I've been getting a lot of questions about whether or not underclassmen will be allowed the privilege to audition for roles. After no small amount of deliberation, we've come to the consensus that it is allowed. However," Reyer added, holding up a finger when the class broke into excited whispers, "I would not get your hopes up. Preference will be held for upperclassmen, barring any exceptional auditions."

The class let out a collective, small sigh of disappointment.

"Of course, as your teacher, I am bound to encourage you to audition all the same. It is good practice for the future. You might as well get used to auditions, and rejections, now."

Christine grimaced. It wasn't a pretty image of the future he was presenting to them. Still, he was right. Rejection was a common part of the business, and it was time they all started to toughen up. Especially her.

She turned her head to see how the rest of the class were handling the discussion, and caught Cara's eye. The girl lifted her eyebrows meaningfully, her lips pulled down in a simpering pout. The disdain in her expression was easy enough to read. It said, 'Well, we know who's definitely going to be rejected'.

"Don't let her rattle you," Eddie whispered furtively, having observed the silent exchange. "You know she feeds off that."

Christine nodded minutely. Easier said than done, she thought morosely.

Cara sneered, then turned back to her friends, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

"All that aside, everyone will be participating in the opera. Auditions for the chorus will be not necessary, as the performance will be a requirement. We will start working on that once the show is cast. You may start researching the show now, however, to get yourself familiar with it."

Reyer told them the name of the opera, which everyone reacted to differently. It was more modern, he said, having been composed in the 1900s, and therefore not as well known. Christine was fine with that. She knew she would be singing Verdi and Puccini for the rest of her life. She didn't mind expanding her repertoire.

They reviewed the material in their textbooks that Reyer had assigned, and went over the class syllabus before ending the session. The class had gone off mostly without a hitch, Christine reasoned, up until she was bodily stopped on her way out the door.

"Thinking of auditioning this year, Daae?" Cara asked, her voice condescending. She had a strange way of pronouncing words, as if she had an European accent that wouldn't quit. Christine hated it. She knew for a fact that Cara had been raised in New Jersey, and that the accent was all an act to make her sound sophisticated.

"I haven't decided yet," Christine said, her voice small. Eddie elbowed her none-too-gently in the side, and coughed into his hand. She huffed in irritation, but read his message loud and clear. "But yes, Cara," Christine added, her voice louder this time. "I think I will."

"Hm," Cara hummed nonchalantly, examining her nail beds. "I thought you were supposed to be a smart girl. Reyer said that underclassmen would not be chosen. I wonder why you'd even bother."

"He said except for exceptional auditions."

"Exactly." Cara looked up then, her face pleased as punch. Christine released belatedly that Cara had been baiting her. "So, I say again: why bother, Christine? You know that auditioning is not your strongest suit. Besides," she said, adjusting her weight onto her other hip. "Everyone knows that I'm the critic's choice as far as anyone's concerned. If any underclassman is going to be cast, it's going to be me. So I really wouldn't bother." She smiled, a nasty, cat-like expression, and tilted her head to the side. "Better get used to disappointments now."

She turned to her friends, and with a well-manicured hand, signalled for them to go.

Christine felt her stomach sink. She knew a confrontation with Cara had been inevitable, but she had hoped for a little more time before Cara spelled out her doom.

"She's wrong, you know."

Christine turned to Eddie, who was looking at her seriously. "What?"

"She's wrong," he repeated. "You're brilliant. You have every chance of landing a spot in that show as she does. More, even."

Christine waved him off. "Yeah, right."

"You do!" he said urgently, and her eyes widened. "I'm sorry, okay? But I hate to see you doubt yourself. Everyone else is just going to doubt you, so you better start believing in yourself, Christine, otherwise no one else will."

It was solid advice, and she felt properly chastised by it. Perhaps she had been wrong in trying to push Eddie away. "You're right," she said bashfully. "I'll try harder."

"Good," he said, giving her a pat on the back. "Now let's get out of here, grab a burger, and I can tell you all about the half naked girls I chased all summer."

Christine laughed, feeling all tension pull away from her. "Oh, I can't wait to hear about that."

Now that their assignment in DC was confirmed, the Bureau had seen it fit to put Nadir up in an actual apartment.

It was a blessing in some ways, and a curse in others. While having one's own space meant independence and comfort, it also meant a lack in security. Erik had a particularly bad habit of sneaking up on Nadir when he wasn't prepared. Most frequently, in fact, in Nadir's home. While Nadir had been in the hotel, Erik hadn't bothered to try - too much risk was involved. But now that Nadir was situated in a space with fewer doors, Erik wouldn't have as many qualms about breaking and entering.

He should have been used to it by now, but he wasn't. No matter how many times Nadir told Erik he was welcome only if he knocked, Erik chose to ignore him.

Back in Iran, it had been much of the same. Erik would come and go as he pleased from Nadir's apartment. However, the same courtesy was not extended back. Erik was an extremely private person, and covetous of his space and belongings. In fact, Nadir had been the only one allowed to even enter his home. All others who tried did so at their own peril.

Despite Erik's many assurances to the contrary, Nadir knew he enjoyed privileges that no one else had, or had ever been offered. Still, Nadir was wary of that fine line. He didn't know Erik's limits that intimately. He had pushed them, certainly, over the years, but he knew that one day he would test Erik's patience and fail. He wasn't eager to see that day.

Erik hadn't 'visited' him yet, but he knew he would soon. He was being shockingly responsive to Nadir texts, which always unnerved him. He was easier to predict when he was being offstandish.

But it wasn't responsive enough for Agent Baker. Nadir could hear that quite clearly in his tone of voice when he called that night.

Merely a week after he had met the man, and Nadir was half-convinced that Agent Baker had his number memorized. He had only stepped through the door of his apartment two minutes prior to when his cell rang.

Nadir looked down at the screen of his phone, and sighed.

"Hello, Leslie."

"Khan," Agent Baker greeted, his tone brooking no interest in pleasantries. "Have you brought your friend to heel, yet?"

Nadir grimaced. He knew that if Erik had heard that, Leslie was likely to have a long conversation with Erik...and his catgut. "Not quite," Nadir answered uneasily. "He's not the sort to be domesticated."

"I don't care if you have to put him in an apron that says 'Kiss The Cook', Khan," Leslie said, his voice rising with ill temper. "You will bring him underfoot. My superiors are getting very antsy. They are yours, too, Khan...if you recall."

Nadir gritted his teeth. "I appreciate the position you are in, Agent Baker. Believe me. But it is easier said than done. The man lives in an unorthodox manner. He doesn't simply rent a hotel room and order room service. He hides away. It makes it easier to skulk about and gain information."

For years, Nadir had tried to disabuse Erik of his habits. He had tried to convince him, ineffectively, that he was a man, not an animal. He knew for a fact that Erik liked nice things. Why he chose to deprive himself of his needs - especially the basic ones - was beyond him.

"Perhaps that worked in the old country, Khan, but this is the United States of America. This behavior is completely unacceptable!"

Even Nadir was losing his patience at this point. He knew that Erik would have hung up by now, stringing curses about, flustered and inflamed. Nadir liked to think he was more collected than that, but he felt indignation on behalf of his friend.

He clutched his phone tightly to his ear. "What if I arrange a meeting between myself, Erik, and the Giry woman? I know she answers to you, and would therefore keep him accountable. Would that suffice?"

Erik didn't trust anyone, but he knew Erik well enough to know he would not hurt a woman unless she gave him a very good reason. With Baker, he wouldn't need much in the way of motivation. Baker's condescension alone would prompt Erik's violence.

Baker hummed on the other end of the phone. "Well...I suppose that could work. For now." Nadir heard the man shift around a bit on the other end of the phone. "Fine. Arrange it, and let me know the details. I'll contact Giry and have her impart the details of your meeting afterwards. She's well-known by the higher-ups. They trust her judgment."

The insinuation wasn't subtle, nor without merit. Nadir rolled his eyes, but nodded.

"Great. I'll call her."

"See that you do, Agent Khan," Baker said, his tone pert. "If Erik fails to make this meeting, it'll be the last chance he has to present himself to someone other than you. After this, the Bureau will start up the man hunt again. And this time, he'll be locked up behind a steel-plated door. Zero access. Do you understand?"

Nadir paused, collecting himself. "I understand."

"Good. Good night, Khan." And with that, he hung up.

Nadir sighed again, bringing his phone down to his side. He let his head fall back, his eyes shutting closed. "Damn you, Erik," he whispered quietly.

Despite the very obvious threat to Erik's freedom, Nadir did not yet feel the need to panic. But going by his history with the masked man, he knew there would be worse to come.