A/N: Thank you for all the reviews last chapter! I'm hoping to continue to post regularly, at least once a week, if I can continue to manage it. I'll give you all a heads' up if I'll be late.
As a general note, I think I'm going to bump up the rating for the violence that's on the horizon, and the language contained herein.
Almost forty-hours had passed since Erik had spoken to Giry, and despite being awake for most of that time, Saturday night had arrived quickly.
And not too soon, Erik thought furiously. His restless hands itched to either strangle someone or throw something breakable across a room.
Ever since his little tete-a-tete with Giry, he had been beside himself with agitation. It was not unlike him to be so single-minded in his focus, but in this instance, it was worse than usual. He had just managed to grab some hours' sleep very early Saturday morning and drink a bit of some liquid that wasn't caffeinated or alcoholic in nature. It was a good thing he didn't look in mirrors - he'd surely see a sight more hideous than usual, unlikely though it would be.
Nadir would be unhappy to learn that the mission was not foremost on his mind, but he had little concern for Nadir at the moment. All that mattered to him was Christine's safety.
His esteem for her only heightened his fears that her instincts were right, and coupled with the knowledge of the dodgy things that went on at Cartier, he was more concerned than he wanted to admit.
The only trouble was that he still didn't understand why Christine would be of interest to anyone. Outside of the obvious reasons, of course.
His immediate suspicion was that someone knew that Christine was in his life. Some old enemy of Erik's that had come to learn about his presence in Washington DC, and as a result, learned about Christine.
He didn't know how it could be possible. His interactions with Christine were minimal, and always private. And even if that knowledge did become known to someone else, how could he possibly begin to narrow down his list of enemies to any one faction?
It didn't make sense. He had been extremely quiet since coming to America. He couldn't afford to have old enemies, on top of the already irritating FBI, on his tail. He had been good.
There is one possibility, his paranoia nagged.
Impossible, reason answered back dismissively.
He wouldn't consider it...couldn't consider it. And so he didn't.
Besides, his mind supplied, he is not capable of it, as gleefully and disgustingly moral as he is.
No, there had to be another reason. And he would find out what it was.
In the scant days leading up to Saturday night, Erik had not seen Christine much around campus, to his immense relief. If she could keep herself scarce, it would keep her safe, and all the better for him to do his work.
Unfortunately, her absence meant that it was more difficult to spot anyone acting strangely. He recognized some of the students, faculty, and staff walking around, but despite the smaller size of this institution, there were still hundreds of people milling about campus at any given time. It would be impossible to know every face.
His cameras were of little help. He checked out anyone approaching a residence that did not appear to be college-aged. In every case, his facial recognition was able to pull up a member of the Cartier staff. Not even a single wayward Washington notable crept around the dorms.
He felt himself running out of options, and running out of patience. He did not want to resort to becoming a stalker himself, but he would do so if it meant keeping Christine safe.
He just hoped that this stranger would appear at the Girys' like she seemed to think they would.
Erik arrived at the address Giry had given him just after sundown. Her residence was a further distance away from the school than he had gone so far, and he had had to make arrangements to get there. Of course, it was nothing outside his abilities, but he had taken the precaution to park the car he acquired some streets over.
The neighborhood itself was quiet, and clean, and seemed to fit Giry to the bill. She didn't come across as someone who would live in a place where there was much fuss. Their house was a slate blue duplex with minimal landscaping around the front and sides of the house. He couldn't see the backyard from where he hid, but if it was anything like the other houses he'd seen, it was more than enough green space for two women. Erik hoped Giry didn't have a dog. It would likely scare off their party guest.
He didn't have to wait long for something to happen. The neighborhood had quieted as the street grew darker, and as the lights overhead came on, Erik's senses sharpened. His keen ears picked up a rustling in the bushes of the house next door, and his eyes confirmed it. It had to have been something large to make such a disturbance. Erik wanted to scoff. Whoever this person was, they were shit at stealth. No wonder Christine had picked up on someone trailing her.
Like a snake in the grass, Erik edged himself noiselessly forward. A silhouette soon emerged from the bushes, their outline becoming clearer as they moved towards the Girys' house. They headed towards the back of the house, likely to try and follow the noise that was emanating from the back of the duplex. This served Erik well.
They both walked quietly in the darkness, predator and prey, only one aware of the other. Erik managed to close the distance between them with his long, spindly legs, and when he was just behind the perpetrator, he lifted his foot high.
3...2...1...
THACK!
The man staggered at the blow to the back of his leg, dropping down to one knee with force. Erik threw an arm around the man's neck and half-dragged, half-walked him into the darkness provided by the cover of the house. At the first groan, Erik threw his hand over the other's mouth to silence him.
They grappled a bit. The man was large, almost as tall as Erik and twice as broad. Unwilling (for now) to resort to deadly means, Erik attempted to subdue him. Suddenly feeling teeth dig into the glove sheathing his hand, he released him out of pure instinct. Erik cursed under his breath, recognizing no pain in his hand and feeling stupid for his slip. The man drew away and rounded on him, eyes flashing in the moonlight.
He was young, most likely in his late 20s. He was clean-shaven with very short dark hair, his skin pockmarked from youth. He was well built, likely a gym rat that had more training than field hours, if Erik were to guess. Still, there was something about his gaze that Erik did not like, some deeper intelligence that immediately put Erik on the defensive.
Huffing with great gulps of air, the man stared at Erik for a moment with anger before his expression cleared into something resembling recognition. "John Doe-66?" he asked in disbelief.
The masked man fought the urge to roll his eyes. He hated that he was ID'd as a 'John Doe' by the federal government. He'd rather be known by any of his other idiotic monikers. Or, better yet, nothing at all.
He was able to sum up very quickly how this person would know his FBI wanted status on sight. "You are a federal agent," he deadpanned.
The youth drew himself up, withdrawing and displaying his badge for Erik to see.
Erik flexed his fists at his sides, ready to reach for him and thrash him once more. "I cannot believe this."
The man crossed his arms. "Believe it," he coughed, rubbing at his sore neck, his eyes like daggers. "What the hell did you attack me for?"
"Why are you following Christine Daae?" Erik asked instead, ignoring the agent's question.
He scoffed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Erik's anger flared. He gave into his impulse and drew his fist back and across the man's jaw. He didn't relish touching anyone unnecessarily, even in violence, but he was long past the point of patience.
The younger man took the hit in its entirety, his head thrown back. "Do not lie to me," Erik spit.
As soon as he recovered, the agent rounded on him, trying to return the hit, but Erik sidestepped him. Using the man's considerable frame against him, he stuck out his leg and sent him sprawling to the ground. The man fell to the grass with a curse. He spun onto his back and paused, looking up at Erik with hatred in his eyes.
"I should bring you in now, you murderous piece of shit," he spat.
"You cannot, and you will not." Erik brushed invisible dust off his coat, looking wholly indifferent to it all, if not for the thinning of his lips. "I'll ask you one more time," he murmured, stepping towards the man, who had the good sense to quake at his approach. "Why. Are. You. Here?"
The man leaned back on his hands, attempting to put distance between himself and Erik. "I've been assigned to watch her. To keep her safe from you, no doubt," he added with malice.
Erik's eyes narrowed. "Who put you on this assignment?"
The man made to reach for something in his shoe, but Erik stepped on his foot, earning a yelp from the younger man. "Who?" he pressed.
"What does it matter?!" he said in a furious whisper, his eyes darting towards the house, as if afraid to be overheard. "Someone obviously thinks you can't control yourself and wanted to save the poor girl from whatever fucked up shit you're into."
Erik dug his foot in again. Tears gathered at the corners of the agent's eyes. He swallowed a little sob in the back of his throat. "Nadir Khan, OK? Khan put in the request for assignment. Jesus, are you happy now?"
Erik immediately lifted his foot, feeling cold all over. Anger swept through him suddenly and swiftly like a tidal wave, blinding him to the man before him.
He would kill Nadir for this.
Seeing that he was distracted, the agent quickly got to his feet. Erik returned to himself in the knick of time, grabbing the man by the back of the jacket and swinging him around to face him.
"If I see you go near her again, I will kill you," he said in low tones.
The man wagged his head. "You're insane," he said, clearly disbelieving.
Fury washed away just the smallest amount, allowing Erik to think a little more clearly. He had to be smart about his threats. This man likely feared nothing. Save, perhaps, failure. "Or perhaps," he continued, his heavenly voice sibilant, "I'll tell your superiors that you were so deplorable at going unnoticed that your target was aware of you following her from the start."
The man's face went pale.
Got him, Erik thought with relish.
The man cleared his throat, casting his eyes once more at the house and then away again. "Screw this," he bit out. "One girl isn't worth my career." The man threw himself away from Erik, sneering at him in the dark. "Your days are numbered, freak. Try not to do anything stupid. The American government has a bullet with your name on it, and I know they're itching to put it in your head." He turned on his foot and ran, disappearing into the night.
He shook out his hands, scowling into the distance at the retreating man. He had half a mind to give chase, if only to burn off the fury still coming off of him in waves, but he let him go. He looked down at his hands, telltale signs of damage becoming apparent. One very noticeably had teeth marks, and the other was becoming increasingly uncomfortable as his hand started to swell. He peeled the offending pieces off, disgust curling his lip.
It was just then that the lights on the side of the house turned on. He heard the screen of the backdoor open, and a woman's voice call out. "Are you out there?" came Giry's gruff demand.
Erik huffed an all-suffering sigh. It would be useless to pretend otherwise, as he was sure they had made enough of a fuss. He rounded the edge of the house.
Giry stood on the porch, her arms crossed over a light blue apron. The flood of the porch lights made him squint up at her, while she looked down her nose at him. "Well?"
"It's over."
She seemed to slump a little with relief. She nodded, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "Merci."
Another person appeared behind the screen door, the light from the hallway framing her face like a halo. "Madame, I can't find the colander for the…" She stopped short, opening the screen and stepping out onto the porch. "Erik?" Christine asked.
Giry turned to look at the girl, a fond smile turning up the corners of her mouth. "I'll take care of it, my heart." She gave Erik a significant parting look before she headed back into the house.
The delicate skin between Christine's brow puckered. "What are you doing here?" she asked him. She shook her head quickly, as if dismissing her words. "Not that I'm not glad to see you. I didn't mean it like that."
He drew his hands behind his back, stepping one foot back behind him. "It doesn't matter. I was just about to leave."
She quickly bounded down the stairs, closing the distance between them with a flurry of steps. Shadows enveloped her face as she left the light of the house, but he could see her worried expression perfectly. Erik felt the breath leave his body at her sudden proximity.
"I don't understand. Why did you come here? To speak with Madame Giry?"
He opened his mouth to answer, but surprised himself when he realized that he didn't want to lie to her.
But he didn't want to tell her the truth, either. It would force him to admit that he very nearly killed a man tonight just for doing his job. A job that was meant to protect Christine from…
He stopped to really look at her then, and felt he would be ill. She was just a girl, a girl who had absolutely no knowledge of what he was capable of. How he could presume to taint her with any of this, with him.
He felt...he felt…
Dirty.
His mind shied away from the idea. The gambit of feelings Erik had felt over the course of his miserable, lonely life had been large, but he was rarely visited with feelings of shame.
For whatever reason, he had felt it more times in Christine's presence than he could say he'd ever felt.
"You're hurt," she remarked, pulling him from his downward spiral.
He looked down at his hand. In an effort to shield himself from her questions, he had brought his hand back into the light. She was right, he was hurt. The knuckles of his hand were starting to purple. He had even broken skin.
He felt as though he were having some kind of out-of-body experience. The hand couldn't be his - he didn't feel it. He was rather numb to the whole situation, in fact.
That is, of course, until Christine reached out and touched him.
He recoiled, hissing at her touch. Her touch was not painful - it was very much the opposite of that - but it brought him back to reality. She recoiled too at his violent reaction, and the shame welled up once more.
"Are you...are you OK?" she bravely asked, her voice small.
"I am fine," he answered dispassionately.
She reached out to take his hand, her eyes on his, gauging his reaction. He returned her gaze apprehensively, unsure of what would happen in the next moment. She gained confidence when he did not spook again, and held his hand between hers. Her grip was very gentle and warm. Erik felt a curious burning sensation well up in his throat.
"Poor Erik," she said quietly. His head popped up at that, gazing down at the top of her bowed head with confusion. She met his gaze, still holding his hand between hers. Her eyes were large and luminescent, and he felt lost in her gaze. "You came here tonight to protect me, didn't you?"
He opened his mouth and once again felt speech evade him. He nodded mutely.
"See if you can manage to convince him to come inside and eat something!" Dean Giry shouted from somewhere inside the house.
He scowled, the moment between them shattered. Christine laughed. He almost recoiled again at the sound of it. He was unused to anyone laughing in his presence when it wasn't directed at him. It was the opposite of grating, but it did inspire feelings he felt equally uncomfortable with.
"Well?" Christine queried, her expression open.
He stared back at her, uncomprehending.
The darling girl raised an eyebrow in challenge, waiting.
"I…" Erik cleared his throat. "I am afraid I will not be a pleasant addition to your family dinner... Christine."
She gave him back his hand. "I'm pretty sure Madame Giry wouldn't have invited you inside if she thought so."
"Oh, I'm almost certain she thinks so," he muttered darkly, "Which makes me question her motivation for inviting me inside her house."
Christine scoffed. "You're hardly a vampire, Erik."
He lowered his head slightly, adopting a bit of a Slavic accent when he answered her. "Are you sure about that, my dear?"
Christine blinked, no doubt dazed by his ability to joke, then shook her head. She gentled her expression. "Please? It's...alright now, isn't it?" Her eyes darted about the backyard, worry drawing on her brow.
Unconsciously, Erik lifted his unhurt hand towards her brow, his fingers itching to smooth out the line that was drawn there. He very badly wanted to ease her worries, to bring forth that bell-like laugh once more.
Her eyes darted to his hand as it neared her face, and Erik immediately dropped his hand, mortified. The pinched expression remained on Christine's face, and Erik cursed himself for being a fool.
"There is nothing to fear any longer, Christine," he reassured her. "I shall stay for the duration of your meal."
"Inside with us?" she asked.
He sighed, sensing she would not let up. "If you wish."
She clasped her hands. "Great!" She turned back over her shoulder and projected her voice into the house. "HE SAYS HE'LL STAY!"
"AWESOME!" another woman, no doubt the younger Giry, shouted back.
Erik winced. Perhaps he could dart away now before she could stop him...
As if sensing his reticence, Christine's head swiveled back to him. "Oh no you don't," she groused, taking a hold of his forearm gently with both of her hands. "You can't go 'poof' now. Madame Giry won't forgive that."
"I don't 'poof'," Erik argued, feeling idiotic as he was led into the house by a girl much smaller than him.
"You so do," she argued back. She closed the door behind him, holding out a hand and looking at his coat. Erik sighed, acting entirely put upon, and handed the article over to her. She very carefully put his duster on a hanger in the coat closet, taking care not to let it wrinkle. He was grateful for the extra layers he had chosen that night, feeling relieved that he wasn't entirely bared before her.
"Shall we?"
He scowled. "Try not to enjoy this too much," he said woodenly.
"I haven't the slightest idea what you mean." She turned on her heel and headed further into the house, practically bouncing on her toes.
Erik knew without a doubt that if this evening didn't kill him, the blonde-haired girl currently wearing purple striped socks certainly would.