A/N: I apologize for the delay, but hopefully the long chapter makes up for it. Onward!
He followed at a distance as she led him past the staircase and towards the living room. The younger Giry woman was settled on the couch, drinking a glass of red wine and flipping through a magazine. Classical music was playing on the sound system, and Erik immediately felt his blood pressure go down. He was not sure what he would have done had he walked into a boisterous house with the sounds of some ridiculous reality television program drowning out all reason.
His blood pressure did tick up, however, when the Giry girl's eyes settled on him. He was able to see the family resemblance almost immediately, as she had the same dark hair as her mother and the same limpid eyes. She stood immediately, graceful even as a nervous smile alighted on her face. "Hello!" she said, her voice deceptively cheerful.
Christine took a position between them, extending a hand towards Erik, as if he were a guest of honor. He tried not to run away and hide as he felt inclined to. "Meg, I'd like to formally introduce you to my voice teacher, Erik. Erik, this is Meg, my best friend and roommate at Cartier."
Erik inclined his head respectfully to the girl. She did not attempt to approach him, and he silently thanked her for it.
"It's really nice to meet you, Erik. Christine has told me wonderful things about you."
He stiffened slightly, still unused to being known, and moreover, discussed. "I...thank you," he replied.
Christine grabbed hold of him once again by the arm and started to steer him away. All of this touching was keeping him in a constant state of distraction. "I was going to take Erik upstairs to freshen up. Is that OK?"
"Sure," Meg answered, her expression neutral.
"No closed doors!" he heard the older Giry bark from the kitchen.
"Mooom!" Meg groaned. She directed an apologetic look towards Christine.
He turned to look at Christine, but she had already turned away, dragging him with her towards the direction they had just come from. They climbed the stairs he had seen earlier, a weak light from above lighting their way. She said nothing as they ascended, and neither did he, as he was too taken by the sight of her swaying curls as they tumbled down her back. He swallowed around a lump in his throat, mystified by the series of events that had landed him here.
When they reached the top stair she walked into a bathroom just off the landing, beckoning him to follow. He did, and as he entered, immediately balked at the sight of the large mirror on the wall and turned away. He felt Christine look at the mirror, no doubt confused by his reaction, then turn towards him.
He braced himself for her to comment on his strange behavior, but to her credit, she didn't say anything. Instead, she said, "Let's take care of that hand."
He looked at her from the corner of his eye, keeping his face away from the mirror. "That is not necessary."
"Sit." She pointed to the edge of the tub before turning away again, beginning to search through the contents of the various cabinets beneath the sink and within the medicine cabinet.
He sighed. "Really, Christine, there is no reason-"
She stopped her rummaging in the cabinets to look at him, wholly unimpressed. He sighed but complied, perching his gangly, long frame on the edge of the tub. His knees came up to his chest as he folded himself in two, and feeling like a scornful schoolboy, watched the young woman with something close to annoyance.
"There," she said, amassing her collection of items and setting them on the floor next to his feet. When she lowered herself on her knees beside him, he opened his mouth to loudly protest this development.
"Christine, please, you cannot-!"
She glared at him. "Really, Erik. The sooner you stop whining, the sooner we can go back downstairs and have dinner."
Her words immediately shut him up.
Content with his resignation, she held out her hand. "May I?"
He considered refusing her, but ultimately decided to let her have her way. He hated that she was on her knees, and he didn't wish to prolong her discomfort, self-imposed though it might be. He gave her his hand once again.
She gently wiped away the little blood that had welled there with a damp towel, using the spigot in the tub to rinse the towel and repeat the process. The motion was soothing, both to the touch and to his eyes. It would have been all too easy to fall into a lull in this small, quiet bathroom, the gentle sound of her ministrations and the warmth of her breath between them making him drowsy.
"Who was it?" she asked quietly, her gaze focused on her task.
He pressed his lips together before answering. "No one you need to concern yourself with."
She looked up at him, her blue eyes fierce. "I have a right to know who was stalking me, Erik," she argued.
He considered her upturned face. She was so strong, not to mention brave to be tending to him this way, as if she were not wholly at his mercy.
Little did she know the danger she was in.
Little did he know the danger he was in.
She was correct that she did deserve the truth, but he was afraid to give her all of it. He quickly calculated what to tell her without revealing all.
He licked his dry, thin lips. "Erik - I have something of a checkered past, Christine." He focused his attention on her hands as they moved across his, and felt his tongue loosen as a result. "There are people who would like to see me locked in a dark hole forever."
Her eyes darted up to his in concern. "What? Why?"
He chuckled quietly, keeping his hands loose in hers. "I can assure you, my dear, I would deserve it."
Her hands paused momentarily before continuing on again. "You shouldn't say that, Erik."
"You do not know me, Christine. Not really," he said gently, stopping her hands with his fingers. She paused again, her mouth pressed in consternation. "I have done many things in my past that I am not proud of. Things that would give you cause to hate me."
He looked down at their conjoined hands for a moment, relishing the sight, before gently releasing her. She pivoted her torso to throw the towel into a nearby hamper.
She cleared her throat, her face turned away. "What does that have to do with me?"
He sighed. "Someone - with good intentions, no doubt - seemed to think it best to protect you from my nefarious intentions."
"Oh?" Her voice was impartial, matching the tone Meg had used downstairs. "And what intentions would those be?"
Erik hesitated a moment before answering. "Nothing having to do with closed doors, I can promise you."
She choked on air, dropping the cotton ball she had been dousing with hydrogen peroxide. She turned back to look at him, aghast, and he could not hide the smile playing at his lips. She blushed, eventually smiling too and emitting a huff of soft laughter.
Her laughter quieting, she pressed the cotton ball to his hand, earning a hiss for her efforts. She looked up at the sound, looking like she was about to apologize but then seemed to reconsider. "May that be your punishment, then," she said decisively.
He coughed, blinking rapidly at the stinging sensation. "Well-deserved," he conceded, his voice constrained.
They were silent for a few more minutes as she worked. His hand wasn't in bad condition to begin with, but it did appear to swell before his eyes. He didn't regret any of it. Quite the opposite, in fact. If Christine were willing to play nurse to his injuries, he could see himself conceivably getting into brawls more often.
Then again, best not to assume anything at this venture. He had a tendency to ruin things anyways. It was like he couldn't help himself.
It was probably the reason for what he said next. "Your boy is not here tonight."
She tensed at the remark. He shouldn't have poked this bear, but his curiosity had won out. It felt like a sickness, this preoccupation with Chagny.
"No, he's not here," she answered woodenly.
He could see that he had soured the mood, had dashed whatever spark of trust had been between them. He wanted to remove his hand from her grasp and curl into himself, but he resisted.
"You're still angry with me," he stated, his beautiful voice strained.
Christine looked up at him for a moment, as if trying to read something in his masked face. He shifted on the edge of the tub, acutely aware of how unforgiving the cold marble was. She released a sigh. "I was never angry with you, Erik."
"Oh?"
She shrugged. "I guess I just don't understand you," she admitted.
Erik huffed a dry laugh. "I am afraid no one does, my dear." When she looked up at him in surprise, he shrugged a little. "I don't really understand myself all the time, if that's helpful."
She squinted at him. "It isn't." Her lips quirked. "I guess I can live with the idea of you being an enigma. Although letting someone in wouldn't be an entirely bad thing, you know."
"Oh, I don't know about that…" He trailed off, watching with interest as she put a little band aid across his knuckles. It was all so preposterous. The sight of this sweet, kind girl placing a tiny bandage across his unnaturally pale and bony hand made him want to laugh nonsensically. That, or perhaps release a little sob. He couldn't really pinpoint the emotion he was feeling at the moment, only that it was growing in intensity. Levity seemed the only way to alleviate any of it. "Seems gruesome to me."
"Well," Christine said, giving his hand a little pat when she was done, "If you do decide to one day share any of your secrets with someone, you can consider me an option."
The breath stuttered in his throat once again. He looked at her for a moment, that intense feeling washing over him and seizing his chest. "I will remember your offer," he said thickly.
They left the bathroom together and descended back downstairs. They didn't exchange another word as they entered the dining room.
She had wanted to press him about whoever had been following her, but as she'd learned from weeks under his tutelage, it was impossible to get something out of him that he didn't want to share. Despite her curiosity and lingering fear, maybe it was best to try and put it behind her. If Erik and Madame Giry both believed she was out of danger, she'd have to believe it, too.
Which meant she'd no longer have an excuse to stay over at Raoul's apartment. The short time she had spent there had felt a little bit like a dream. His apartment was much nicer than her dorm. His building had all sorts of amenities in it, and with his car parked in the garage underneath, she had felt immensely safe.
But the threat was gone, and she had to go back to school. She couldn't rely on Raoul's generosity forever. She didn't want him to get the wrong idea, and truth be told, she missed Meg.
There was a small voice that also whispered that Erik would be unhappy to learn where she had been staying for the past week. It added to the mysterious guilt she harbored where the two of them were concerned.
She shoved these thoughts away, her appetite coming in full force at the sight of the dining room table.
Madame Giry had added another place for Erik, setting the total at the table for four. Neat, colorful bowls of salad were already laid out, as well as glasses filled with both red wine and water. Christine could smell the bread baking in the oven, and closed her eyes in bliss.
As if remembering where she was, her eyes snapped back open to look at Erik. He was standing uncertainly in the threshold of the room, his eyes glued to the table. She cleared her throat to catch his attention, and his eyes flew to hers. She gave him what she hoped was an assuring smile, and made her way over to take a seat.
Meg came into the room next, taking her seat at the head of the table and to Christine's right. She didn't spare a glance over at Erik before launching into conversation with Christine. "You'll never guess what I just heard."
Christine directed her gaze to Meg, keeping Erik in her periphery. "What?" she asked.
"Loren has an audition with the San Francisco Ballet!"
Christine frowned. "San Francisco? What about New York?" She shot Erik a glance, aware her attention was only half-focused on Meg. Erik met her eyes again and slowly made his way over to the table. He sat down opposite her, folding his skinny frame in two over the table before pulling his chair under him. She could have sighed in relief.
"Oh, she'll still audition for them too, I'm sure," Meg answered loftily, spearing a tomato and bringing it to her mouth. She spoke around the red sphere in her mouth, and Christine tried not to cringe. For whatever reason, she very much wanted Erik to like Meg. It was important to her for reasons she couldn't name.
"San Francisco is very good, I hear," Erik supplied. The two girls looked surprised to hear him chime in, and truthfully, he looked just as surprised that he had offered.
"It is very good," Madame Giry confirmed as she walked back into the room, setting a basket of rolls down on the table. She held up a finger towards Meg. "But do not think you will be going so far as that, Margaret Giry."
Meg made a face, her eyes shifting over towards Erik momentarily before returning them to her mother. "Mom, come on. You know I have to go with whatever company takes me. Right, Christine?"
Christine nodded, reaching over to take a steaming roll.
"See? Christine gets it."
"I have been in this business for a much longer time than you, Meg. I understand how this all works," Madame Giry pointed out sternly. "You will just have to work hard to ensure you can go where you wish, and not to whatever company deigns to take you."
As Meg and her mother continued back and forth, Christine tuned them out. She only looked up when she heard Erik's quiet voice address her under the din. "Would you go to California if it called you?"
She was momentarily caught up in his strange, intense gaze and intimate voice. For a moment it felt as if it were just the two of them again, alone. "California seems far," she began. "But I don't know. I'd just be lucky to be offered a spot."
"You will have your pick of companies," Erik said decisively, his gaze constant on her before dropping.
Christine stared at him for another moment before shifting away. She caught Madame Giry looking at her with a funny little smile on her mouth before the older woman walked back into the kitchen.
"Maybe we could go abroad, Christine!" Meg clapped her hands together. "Somewhere romantic. Like London, or Paris!"
A grimace mounted onto Erik's face, and Christine fought against a laugh. "I think I'll stay domestic for a time. There's always opportunities down the road. I think I'd like to plant my feet with a company for a time and get settled."
"What about you, Erik?" Meg asked, her tone polite. "Have you traveled much?"
Christine thought that Erik's eyes looked a little panicked at being asked a personal question. She was just about to distract Meg with some idle gossip she heard over the week before he surprised her with his answer.
"I've done very little but travel." He worried a napkin between his hands. His pale appendages appeared far stronger reflecting the candles on the dining room table as opposed to the way they looked under the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom. "I think I too would prefer to stay in one spot for a time." She caught his gaze briefly, and she almost imagined that he was looking at her with shyness. "Although I have no doubt that you will each have opportunities to perform in any city you wish to," he said to both of them. To Christine he said, as if unable to help himself, "Any opera house would be fortunate to have you, my dear."
She knew the term of endearment had slipped, and her face felt hot at the sudden attention she was receiving from Meg. She hastily ripped off a piece of bread and popped it into her mouth, avoiding the eyes of everyone sitting at the table.
The girls dug into their salads silently after that, Erik picking at his. Christint noticed that he had stabbed at a few vegetables for good measure to make it appear as though he were trying. Meg cleared the dishes away and when she collected Erik's, Christine thought that he gave his up with something of a shamefaced smile.
When they were alone again, Christine had trouble meeting Erik's eyes. He had spoken so warmly about her, and in front of others, too. His faith in her almost felt too much at times, and the emotion that collected in her chest felt as if it would pop her lungs like a balloon.
Erik must have sensed her discomfort when he spoke next. "Have I spoken out of turn?"
She released a little laugh, glad to have the excuse to break the tension. "Of course not."
He appeared thoughtful, raising the glass of wine to his lips. Christine noticed that he felt far more comfortable drinking than eating, and seemed to have an enjoyment for alcohol. She remembered him chastising her for drinking, and tried to resist the impulse to tease him about his own habits. When he daintily took a sip, watching her over the rim of the glass, she started to feel warm again. She decided to distract herself, and him.
"You must be hungry," she ventured, keeping her voice low.
"I am fine," he answered, setting his glass down.
Christine leaned towards him a little. "She made beef stew. It's her speciality - it's very good. I promise you that it's worth trying it."
He nodded, promising her in a quiet voice that he would try, since she had asked.
Their intimate bubble was burst again when Meg and Madame Giry came back out with the main course. Meg set bowls of stew in front of Christine and Erik, steam wafting up carrying the delicious aroma that Christine had come to associate with the Girys' house. The stew was ladled with fresh thyme sprinkled on top, and looked like something out of a magazine. Without waiting for permission, Christine dove right in.
Their meal was very quiet, interrupted only when Meg would bring up a topic from school. Erik was silent again, quietly and slowly eating the meal in front of him, Christine noticed with joy. She doubted he would be so foolish as to insult Madame Giry by refusing to eat the food set in front of him after he had been invited into her home. Aside from the return to the topic of Loren, and the subsequent mention of Philippe, the meal was peaceful. It was the nearest she had felt to being with her own family in some time, and almost wished the night wouldn't end.
When the plates were cleared away and dessert, a chocolate mousse, was set out, Meg introduced another topic that put Christine on edge.
"Has a date been set for the Winter Fête, mom?"
Erik looked up from his mousse, which he had all but devoured in three bites. She made a mental note that he liked chocolate on top of alcohol. "Winter Fête?" He looked at Christine.
She shifted in her seat. "Yes-"
"A weekend of performances in December. Takes place every year," Madame Giry answered, raising a teacup to her lips. "All three colleges put on performances."
Christine looked at Erik bashfully. "I had been meaning to tell you, but things got, ah, weird."
He frowned. "Will you be asked to perform?"
Christine opened her mouth to answer, but Meg beat her to it. "There's no audition process like for the opera, but there's a set number of spots for solos. The professors ask students to make suggestions about what they would perform, given the chance. From there they either choose the student and the piece, or the student, or the piece."
"And has Reyer asked for recommendations yet?" he asked.
"Not yet," Christine answered quickly, shooting Meg an annoyed glance, "But he will soon."
"Then we shall have to begin searching for a good piece for you," Erik said resolutely. "I'm assuming it must be something holiday-themed?" His tone revealed his distaste for the idea.
"Not necessarily," Christine answered. "Last year was a mixed bag. I think the professors themselves get sick of hearing 'Carol of the Bells' every year."
"They're not alone," Meg said with a giggle. "Although I'm never really sick of 'The Nutcracker.'" She sighed.
They finished dessert soon after that and before she knew it, Erik was retrieving his coat from the closet and pulling his arms through it. It was as if the meal had given him some frantic energy, and he was in need of burning it. She heard him quietly thank Madame Giry for the meal, and she heard the woman just as quietly reply that he was welcome back. She hardly knew what to make of the exchange, but felt a little thrill of hope that maybe Erik could become a larger part of her life.
She walked up to him as Giry walked away, tilting her head back to look up at him. "I'll walk you out?" she offered.
He nodded silently, his expression, as always, a mystery behind the mask.
They walked through the house to reach the front door, Meg giving Erik a wave and a repeated assurance that it was nice to meet him. He answered similarly, giving her a brief nod, before the two of them walked out the door.
They walked down the steps together and onto the sidewalk. Christine looked about, but didn't see any unfamiliar cars on the road. "How did you get here?"
"If you are asking if I arrived by some magical means, I promise you I did not." He nodded over his shoulder. "I parked a few streets away."
"Oh," she replied with a nervous laugh. He tilted his head as he watched her, and she suddenly felt small and stupid. She cleared her throat, searching for something impressive to say. She was saved from doing so when he spoke first, the tone of his voice nostalgic.
"I have not been asked to stay for supper in a long time." His eyes strayed from hers to look back at the house they had just exited. "I had forgot what it was like."
Christine frowned. "Who was the last person to ask you?"
Erik's lips thinned. "His name is Nadir Khan."
Something in his tone was forbidding, but she continued anyway. "He must be a good friend."
"I might have considered him that, once. Before..." He clenched both hands at his sides.
Christine took half a step forward and touched his bad hand. He unclenched the fist immediately, his mouth opening a little in surprise.
"Careful," she murmured. "You may need to ice it when you get home."
He seemed to flounder for a few seconds at that. His mouth opened and closed, before he cleared his throat and took the half a step back to reset the distance between them. "Well, I shall leave you now. Are you staying here tonight?" He added this last part hesitantly, as if afraid it was too personal to ask.
"Yes," she answered with a smile. "They have a spare room here that I use from time to time. Madame Giry is very good to me."
"I have no doubt that you deserve it." The fond tone was back in his voice, and it made breathing slightly more difficult for her.
She wanted to cross the distance between them again, but held her ground. "Thank you. And thank you again for protecting me," she added, her voice disappearing into a whisper towards the end.
"It is a privilege," he answered just as quietly. "Goodnight, Christine. I will see you tomorrow."
"Goodnight," she said with a smile, watching him walk down the sidewalk and out of sight. She returned to the house, music playing in her mind.
The meal and Christine's gentle ministrations had been a distraction, but once the pain in his hand began to smart, the reminder of what laid unfinished bade him to steal into the night.
He drove to Nadir's apartment half-blind, hardly remembering the street signs he passed, nor the red lights he most likely ran. It was still too early for him to feel comfortable traipsing around town, but his anger had peaked enough to necessitate diffusing. He didn't know what he would do once he arrived, only that he would have satisfaction.
He knocked rather violently on Nadir's door before the traitor opened up and allowed him entrance. The audacious man had just begun to ask to take his coat before Erik had slammed him up against the door he had just entered through.
"Erik! What-"
"You have betrayed me," he hissed, hoisting Nadir up by the collar of his shirt and propping him up against the door. He didn't have the mind to use any weapons, even though he had them on his person. He was just angry enough to shake the man down.
"Erik," Nadir spluttered, "I haven't done-"
"Don't lie to me!" Erik cried in a frenzied whisper, slamming Nadir's head back against the wall. Nadir answered back with a moan. "I know your secret! You have put her on their radar, and they have sent some boy to watch her! She thought she was being stalked, Daroga. And at that school, you know that that sensation can mean a very real danger!"
Nadir, to his credit, seemed to blanch as he realized what Erik implied. "Erik, truly, I didn't mean to frighten the poor girl!"
"Ah, but you had no reservations in frightening me?" Erik slammed Nadir's head back against the door one more time before releasing him. He strode away in fury, starting to pace across the floor.
Nadir rubbed at his head, struggling to follow Erik with his eyes. "Is she...is she alright?"
Erik waved his concern off.
"And the agent?" Nadir asked with some trepidation.
Erik laughed darkly. "I have let him live, if that is what you are asking me, Daroga. Although I had some reservations about allowing that after what he put her through."
Nadir shook his head. "You would not do that, Erik. Not now."
"Oh?" Erik turned to him and took a menacing step forward. "You think it beneath me to divest a man of their life? You know I have done so before without compuncture."
Nadir lifted his head. "It is different now. You won't hurt anyone."
Erik scoffed, turning away. "You and I both know by now that I have something of a mental block when it comes to you, Daroga. Although I admit I came here with murderous intentions, I very well can't do away with you at this early hour. Perhaps I'll stay for a time and let you try and convince me to spare you. Could prove entertaining," he added with a hint of dark humor.
"I wasn't referring to myself," Nadir said quietly.
This seemed to stop Erik short. The air deflated out of his chest, and he backed away from Nadir slowly. He sunk into one of Nadir's armchairs, his head falling forward to be caught in his hands. He breathed in and out deeply for a few moments, ignoring the other man in the room. After a while, he registered the sounds of Nadir pouring a drink for each of them, and setting one on the coffee table in front of Erik.
"I am in trouble...aren't I?" He looked up at Nadir.
The Iranian man merely sighed, gesturing towards the drink. Erik took a healthy sip, the liquid bracing as it worked its way down his throat.
"I have never felt this way before. Surely I shall die from it."
"You will not die, Erik." Nadir shot him a stern glance. "But you must make sure that no one else will die from it, too."
Erik scoffed. "If I cannot do away with some whelp from the FBI who frightened my sweet girl for a week, I doubt I can do away with anyone else, presently."
Nadir nodded in understanding. "She has dug her way in."
Erik shook his head, taking another healthy pull. "I can't make sense of it."
Nadir drank too, eying Erik slyly. "What will you do about it?"
The masked man barked a laugh. "Do? There is nothing to do, Nadir."
Nadir began to protest. "Perhaps…"
"No." Erik felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in his chest, but he quelled it. "I shall instruct her, as always, and put any ideas that she could love me back out of my head. It's not possible, and you and I still have a job to do. And if I can continue to make her voice soar, and keep her safe in the meantime, well…" He gulped. "It will have to be enough."
He stood, throwing his head back to drain the dregs of his glass, before setting the glass down with force. He pointed the index finger of his good hand at Nadir. "You'll clear this up with the Bureau. Make them forget her name, do you hear me?"
Nadir held his hands up before him. "I will. And I'm so-"
Erik cut him off. "Just do it." He swept towards the door, but stopped just short of it.
"I told you not to interfere," he decreed over his shoulder. He sent a burning look towards the other man, a fire lighting up his eyes. "I may not be able to bring myself to kill you, old man, but I'm sure you remember I know ways to torture a man that would make him beg for it." And with that, he was gone.