Now that she had him there, waiting and listening, she faltered.

Erik kept his gaze neutral, shifting it towards the wall when he saw how difficult it was for her to say whatever it was she had wanted to talk about.

The previous night he had accidentally fallen asleep again and had another dream about her. They had been singing on stage together, he couldn't even remember what they had been singing, but he could remember how glorious it had felt. It had been in the middle of a duet, their choreography bringing them close together on the stage, close enough to touch, when suddenly out of nowhere she moved the gentle hand that had been placed on his shoulder up to his face. In one swoop she had pulled off not only his mask but his wig too. The music had turned discordant and the audience had reacted with screams and terror - but the worst had been the look on Christine's face as she clutched his mask and wig, haughty and disgusted. She had then whispered that she hated him, and in that moment he caught sight of the gendarmes waiting in the wings, rifles raised and their fingers on the triggers.

The imagined echo of the rifles firing still rang in his ears as he waited for her to speak.

She wrung her hands a little as she started to speak her mind.

"The ballet mistress had a new step for us all to learn, she wanted it to be in the show coming up. We all worked so hard on it, but everyone kept struggling with. She insisted that we could get it perfected in time, but... Well, as you know, it just wasn't working out. She cut that whole piece of choreography, had to start over from the beginning with something else. It alls flows so much better now, don't you think?" she glanced up at him shyly.

He gave a single nod.

"Yes."

He had noticed (without much interest) the change in choreography for the ballet girls. Had she really wanted to discuss ballet?

"Do you ever wish you could start over from the beginning?" she asked softly.

Every day, he nearly said. He merely nodded again, clutching his hands on his knees.

"Sometimes if something isn't working, you have to get rid of all of it so you can start over and then maybe what you put in its place will flow so much better than what you had before," she continued.

She paused.

"I don't think this is working for us, is it?" she frowned a little.

He swallowed hard. It wasn't working, but it hurt to hear her it say it. Was this her way of telling him that she wanted to work with a different teacher?

"No," he said faintly. "No, I suppose it's not."

"You know, I can't help but wonder, sometimes... How long are we both going to feel so badly over everything?"

He looked at her quizzically, tilting his head.

She frowned again.

"I can see it in how you look at me - how you don't look at me," she said. "I'm sure it's the same with me, too. We're both stuck in the past, aren't we? We're both replaying in our minds how it all went wrong."

He couldn't look at her. It was true. Hurt compounded by hurt, the fact that it haunted her kept him up at night and the pain she feltt because of him then made her lash out at him - perhaps they were better off apart, after all. He blinked back the tears.

"What exactly do you propose we do, then?" he asked, his voice a little thick.

"We start over, I think."

He looked up, surprised.

"How?"

Could such a thing be possible?

"Well," she took a deep breath. "We can't move forward if we're stuck in the past all the time. I think that we're both very sorry for what we did-" she glanced at him guiltily. "-and I think neither one of us will ever do anything like it again, so I think that maybe- maybe the best thing to do is to just forget it ever happened?"

"Just pretend everything is fine, you mean?" he asked skeptically. "A lovely idea, but I hardly think that will work."

She shook her head.

"We are both performers, are we not? This could be just another part to play, another role to slip into. We could pretend that we are just normal people-"

The words were out before she could stop them. Her eyes widened.

"Oh-" she stuttered. "Oh, I didn't mean- oh Erik, I didn't mean it like that-"

"I know you didn't, it's alright," he muttered, nervously touching his mask to reassure himself it was still on. Normal - what a novel concept for him.

"Yes, well, we can pretend that none of those things ever happened. We've both apologized, there's no need for either of us to keep repeating it all in our minds all the time. It's past, it's done. We must move on, I think."

"If only it were that easy," he sighed.

"It can be," she insisted. "But it won't work if we're always treating each other so strangely."

She sighed and gathered her thoughts.

"You can't keep looking away from me and putting distance between us as though I have the plague, Erik. And you have to be a normal teacher again - even if that means telling me I've done terribly. I promise I don't mind your face. I'm not scared of you."

He let her words sink in and he slowly nodded.

"I will try, Christine, if you wish it."

She bit her lip and glanced away.

"And I can't keep feeling sorry over losing something I never really had," she added softly. "I've forgiven you, did you know that? I don't think I ever told you. I've forgiven you for the lie, and now I want to forget it. Don't we both deserve to forget?"

Erik hesitated. Christine deserved to be able to forget, but did he? Shouldn't he have to live with that regret forever? He hadn't intended to hurt her with with the lie, but regardless of his intentions, he had hurt her all the same. Why should he get to pretend that never happened?

She twisted the fabric of her skirt nervously before continuing.

"I- I know you haven't said anything, and I understand if the answer is no, but- do you- do you forgive me for ripping off your mask?"

Her voice was quiet and sorrowful, a wavering thing, and it pierced Erik with compassion for the poor girl. She really was upset with herself over it, he could tell.

"Christine," he breathed. "Oh, Christine - I haven't said anything about it because I didn't consider it to be something that requires forgiveness - of course you have my forgiveness, Christine, you've always had it."

Her shoulders relaxed and she dropped the fabric of her skirt. She gave a little sigh.

"Thank you, Erik."

He looked down at his feet, embarrassed. He hadn't realized his forgiveness meant so much to her, or he would have let her know far sooner. He had been hurt by it, but after the initial anger had faded, he hadn't been angry at her for it. It had been understandable, especially after her explanation of her reasoning, and after all, who in that same situation could fault her?

They were both quiet a moment, thoughts lingering on forgiveness and what it meant for them, until Christine cleared her throat and the noise pulled Erik's gaze up to her.

"So we start over, then? From the beginning?"

"From the beginning," he nodded.

She swallowed nervously, feeling just a little bit silly. She took a few brave strides towards him.

"How do you do, Monsieur - my name is Christine Daaé."

She thrust her hand out to him and he stared dumbly at it, taking far too long to realize that she meant for him to shake her hand.

His eyes darted nervously from her outstretched hand to her face. Well, it would be rude to refuse her...

He stood up and slowly extended his hand, uncertain. Christine truly wanted to share something as intimate as a handshake with him? It was fraught with implications. What a way to start over, he thought a little dizzily.

He took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. She looked him firmly in the eyes as she squeezed back. He released his grip quickly, not wanting to overstep a boundary of politeness. Her hand lingered just a second longer, resting on his in a way that made his breath catch in his throat.

"I hear you are a vocal instructor, Monsieur-?"

Erik felt rather silly. He hadn't realized that this was what she had meant when she spoke of 'starting over from the beginning'. But still, if this was what she wanted, he supposed he owed it to her.

"You may call me Erik," he quickly supplied. "And you have heard correctly. I have also heard you onstage and your voice is quite good, I must tell you that it would be a great honor to be your instructor, if you would allow?"

He felt a little pang as he said the words he should have said two years ago instead of telling her he was the Angel of Music. But Christine was right - there was nothing to be done about that now.

"That sounds quite satisfactory, Erik. Would tomorrow morning be a good time for you? We would meet right here, of course."

"Indeed - I am looking forward to it, Christine. I will see you in the morning."

Feeling like a fool, he bowed to her before finally yet gracefully escaping through the mirror. Should he have bowed? He wasn't sure. Meeting new people was not his strong suit. Manners and etiquette were often so hard to grasp and he was never quite sure if he was doing it right. Still though, he knew enough to know that a handshake implied a certain level of closeness was to be expected from the relationship in the future - one did not shake the hand of a mere acquaintance or stranger, especially if the pair involved consisted of a lady and man. She hadn't needed to offer her hand - yet she had done it anyway.

But perhaps even more wondrous was the fact that she hadn't shied away when he had touched her. It seemed almost too good to be true - did she truly not see him as a monster, then? She didn't find him so horribly repulsive? By the time he was out of the walls of the opera house and down in his home, however, doubt had begun to creep into him. She could have been pretending that feeling his hand around hers was not disgusting to her, after all. He wasn't sure why she would have offered it in the first place if she was secretly shuddering with revulsion at it, but he couldn't quite make up his mind on the matter.

What he tried to focus on instead was the look on her face that he was certain had been real. Open and honest, she had looked at him as though he were a person - even knowing what lay beneath the mask. She had looked him in the eye, and true to her word he hadn't seen any fear there. It was not the look of a girl who was secretly plotting to murder him, not the look of a girl who would unmask him onstage and order the gendarmes to fire at him, and he clung to that thought.

He fell asleep for only a handful of hours that night, his dreams blessedly mundane.