Erik pondered over what it might mean to be good the next several days. Surely it was something that had to do with being normal, too. He felt a little better after she had gone back above, knowing that he had passed the longest amount of time with her that he ever had and nothing bad had happened, despite his awful thoughts. She had slept in his house, and he had done nothing terrible to her! She even wanted to come back, it seemed, though he had a suspicion that she was merely being polite at the time.

Still, her words about being good glowed in his chest like a burning ember, and for the first time in a long time he allowed just the smallest amount of hope to flourish that it could actually be true.

How could he be good for Christine? How could he be normal? He would strive to be good for her, even if it seemed nearly impossible.

He knew so very many things about his life were decidedly not normal, nor could they be - and he knew, also, that she disapproved of the Opera Ghost business (though she hadn't mentioned it in a while, and he truly had tried to be nicer about it all).

It was that that he kept in mind when he approached the office of Madame Giry.

The woman would be coming in soon, and he hurriedly picked up the envelope she had left for him - sure enough, twenty thousand franc notes were inside. He pulled out a few notes and folded them back into the envelope, pocketing the rest. At the sound of footsteps approaching, he hid behind the secret door that he had entered the room by.

Giry tried to pretend to be busy with this and that as she tidied up the room, filed a few papers, and fussed over a few things, but all the while her eye was drawn back to where the envelope lay until finally she glanced nervously at the door to make sure no one was coming, and then scrambled to open the envelope.

Her face broke into a wide grin. The Ghost had left more than their agreed upon amount as a tip for her services in running notes to the managers for him.

"Madame Giry," his voice boomed out from the ceiling.

She started a little, her smile fading.

"Y-yes, Monsieur?"

"You've done well this week."

"Thank you, Monsieur."

He had written a series of notes to the new director, each more scathing than the last, and Giry had had to hand deliver each one to him. Thinking about sweet Christine's innocent trust in his goodness made him regret a few of the words he had used in the notes, but in his own defence, he did suppose nothing he had called the man had been untrue.

"I- I appreciate all of your help."

She nodded quickly, eyes darting this way and that. She always had the terrible fear that one day while the Ghost was as speaking to her, he would suddenly appear in the room. What would he look like? Like he had in life, a regular man, perhaps? Hopefully he didn't look too frightening, like a skeleton or something similar. Sometimes the thought of that kept her up at night. Oh, she would surely faint if such a gruesome sight appeared before her!

"Of course, Monsieur. I am always at your service," she quickly supplied.

It wasn't too terrible, though, as long as he stayed incorporeal - and as long as he continued giving such generous tips. She was making more from working for him than she was at her actual job, and it was nice to not have to worry about finances anymore, even if she did have to worry about skeletons.

Erik hesitated. Normal men didn't play at being a ghost, didn't inspire such a look of concern on women's faces when they spoke. Madame Giry had been very good to him, even if her obedience was inspired by fear. You should be better to her, an annoying little voice chided at him, and he thought it sounded oddly like the Daroga - a thing that very nearly made him ignore it altogether. But- he should be better to her, he supposed, and in that moment the extra money didn't seem to be quite enough in being 'better'.

"How was your day, Madame Giry?" he asked politely.

Giry's brow crinkled in bafflement. Why the devil did the Ghost want to know how her day was? Was this some sort of punishment? What had she done to deserve this?

"It was... good?" she glanced about helplessly. "How, uh, how was your day, Monsieur?"

Erik took a step back, surprised. How was he supposed to answer that? He hadn't thought she would turn the question back on him! He only wanted to be polite, be normal!

"Good," he said, but he sounded unsure.

His hands fiddled nervously with his cravat. He didn't know what came after this part of conversations, especially not when one of them was a ghost, and he was terribly at a loss.

Madame Giry blinked down at the envelope in her hands. Good heavens - what if the Ghost was trying to talk to her because he knew something she didn't? What if- what if something terrible was going to happen to her, and she was going to become a ghost herself? What if she died in the opera house! What if she had to haunt the opera house with the Ghost?! What a terrible fate that would be!

She crossed herself, and Erik cringed. He had only meant to be nice, and yet clearly he had scared her even more somehow!

"I will leave you to it, then," he said and quickly turned away, embarrassed by the whole debacle.

"Thank you, Monsieur," her voice wavered, but Erik had already left.

He stalked down the hidden hallways, mortified.

It was never that difficult to talk to Christine! Not even when he had been her Angel. How long had it been since he'd talked to someone (other than Christine) about something other than what he wanted them to do? Deliver a note, shop for food, wrap up a purchase? The Daroga, he supposed, but even then he had been talking to him because he wanted advice about Christine - and when was the last time he talked to the Daroga just to talk? Ask him how his day was? He couldn't remember, and he was sure the fact that he didn't truly care about how the nosey old man's day had gone had something to do with it.

But still - his life had been practically nothing for so long, and then Christine. But what about after Christine? What about when she was done with singing, for whatever reason? Or if her singing took her out of Paris, out of France? He didn't want to go back to nothing! It wasn't fair! He knew he'd have no real place in her life once she left, most likely - but especially not if he were so isolated he didn't even know how to carry on a basic conversation with someone. It was a skill he used to have but had since let it deteriorate terribly. He might not have a real place in her life later on, but perhaps, if the universe smiled on him (it would be a first, if that happened), then he might have a chance of seeing her occasionally after she was done at the Populaire. Perhaps he could travel to wherever she was performing - Vienna or Madrid or Warsaw - and he could humbly offer his praise after the show, his praise and an enormous bouquet of roses. That would be quite nice, indeed.

But if he were to leave the Populaire, he'd need an income source besides haunting. He could return to architecture, he supposed, but that would involve speaking to so many people, acting normally, being outside where anyone could see him... Was he capable of that? Was he capable of that if it were all for Christine?

He sighed wearily. It was all so much to consider that it made his head swim.

He had a lesson with Christine the next day, and she smiled upon seeing him - the kind of smile that implied the two of them shared some kind of secret. She was short on time, and as such they held their lesson in her dressing room.

He wished that they could sing together again, but knew he had to keep the lesson focused on what she needed for her next role. It was a straightforward lesson, not much time for talk before or after, but it did not escape his notice that she was still wearing the necklace he had given her.

After he bid her farewell, the blessed silence in his mind began to fade once more, and he began to turn over the same thoughts that had been occurring to him again and again lately.

Christine was undoubtably the kindest, purest soul is existence. He would do whatever what it took to make her proud of him. But what would make her proud? He wasn't certain, exactly, but he supposed that if she truly thought him good, she would also want good things for him, so he thought over the kind of good things that he wanted for her. To be happy, of course, to be healthy and safe and loved... Christine was good, so he wanted those things for her, and knowing that she had them would make him happy, so surely it stood to reason that she would want those things for him too - even if she didn't wish them for him as fervently as he wished them for her.

He was as safe as he was going to get, he didn't know (or care to know) about the state of his health, and he could certainly never be loved (though Christine did, perhaps, care about him in some small way - or at least he hoped she did). Was he happy? Only when he was with Christine, and something about that struck him as the kind of thing she wouldn't like. She surely couldn't be happy knowing he would languish away in a dark cellar after she left. What had started out as a much-needed respite from the world had somewhere along the line turned into something else entirely - a sanctuary turned into a prison.

Perhaps it was time to change that.

And if occasionally venturing out a little more into the world and being a little nicer to the few people he did know didn't particularly make him happier, at least it would make him more... well adjusted. Christine would be happy with that, at least. And if she approved of the actions he took, that would make him happy.

Her words to him previously bubbles up again and again, causing him to question and doubt - I thought that man was your friend, how could you treat him so shamefully? Did he treat the Daroga shamefully? Did he really? It filled him with shame - not that he was (apparently) treating him badly, but that Christine was not pleased with his actions.

Nadir Khan was on another one of his walks around the seemingly empty theater, humming softly to himself. It was a peaceful night, he thought. That was, until a figured suddenly appeared in front of him.

"Good evening, Daroga," Erik said smoothly.

Nadir tried to collect his wits, his heart still pounding at the surprise.

"Erik," he said, only a hint of fear in his voice. "Why are you here?"

It was so terribly unlike Erik to be out where anyone could see him, to not be hiding in the shadows, even when they seemed to be the only two in the building.

Erik looked away from him, staring out at the empty seats.

"How are you this evening, Daroga?" the question seemed to physically pain him as he asked.

Nadir opened and closed his mouth a few times - since when did Erik care about how he was?

"What's going on?" Nadir finally managed, only to shudder when those yellow eyes turned on him.

Erik was relieved that he didn't have to listen to the Daroga drone about aching feet or some such nonsense, but he also didn't appreciate that the man didn't seem to appreciate his attempts at nicety.

"It has been so long since we have talked, has it not?" Erik said. "It would be... nice, to talk."

Nadir shifted on his feet.

"Is it about Christine?"

Erik narrowed his eyes.

"I have more in my life than Christine!" he snapped.

"Like?"

Erik looked away again and cleared his throat.

"You should have dinner with me, Daroga - tomorrow, in Box Five," he paused, looking the man up and down. "But I'm not going to cook for you, so you may bring whatever food you please."

Nadir stood there, baffled.

"Six o'clock, do not be late, Daroga!" he told him, and melted back into the shadows.

Nadir was at a loss to understand what had just happened. He was, apparently, having dinner with the Opera Ghost.

That same bafflement carried over to the next day as well, when he arrived outside of the door to Box Five a few minutes before six, a ridiculous picnic basket in hand. He knocked, and after a moment the door opened.

Erik had set up a table and two chairs, to which he motioned. Nadir began to unpack the basket - steak and salad and soup and rolls.

It was when both were settled in their chairs and about to eat that Nadir finally broke the silence.

"Erik, what's going on?" he asked gently. "Is something wrong?"

He remembered it well, how it would go those days in Persia - how Erik would publicly rebuff him and make a show of how little he cared for him, only to seek out his guidance in private when things were going wrong (and things had so often gone wrong in Persia where Erik was concerned). And really, he could picture just how the conversation tonight might go - "this steak isn't very good, terribly dry, really - oh, by the way, I'm dying, Daroga - and did you see the latest rehearsal? Isn't that director the most incompetent you've ever seen?"

Neither of them were young men anymore, but barring some illness or accident he thought it was reasonable to assume Erik had a handful of decades left in him yet - but he couldn't imagine what could have prompted him to want dinner with him besides some mortal terror.

Erik stirred his soup and stared down at it.

"Even monsters grow weary of solitude, Daroga," he said quietly.

Nadir's heart sank. After all this time, he still thought himself a monster. And really, should he even be surprised? Nothing had truly changed for Erik in that time between when he was in Persia and now. Why should his thinking have changed at all, either? Still, he didn't like to know that that's how Erik felt. The man might have acted quite monstrous in his youth, but he wasn't a monster because of his face.

Nadir wondered for a moment if he said those kinds of things around Christine - you've made your wretched beast of a teacher proud today, Christine; your progress is noticeable even to a vile creature such as myself; I might be a loathsome gargoyle but please pay attention I'm speaking - and he felt a pang of sympathy if that was what the poor girl had to put up with.

It was after the surprise of hearing monster faded that he processed the other part - Erik was lonely, apparently. Nadir wanted to believe it was true - it might have been a good sign if Erik were actually longing for the company of other people, he had cursed humanity for so long and perhaps he had finally reached a turning point. But Nadir knew the man well enough to be suspicious - if he hadn't bought and cooked the food himself, he would have suspected Erik had poisoned it. Even still, he waited until he saw Erik take a few bites before he began eating, but it was little comfort - a murder suicide was not out of the question when it came to Erik. Yes, he had cooked the food himself, and the thought of Erik finding a moment to actually poison it was nearly ludicrous... nearly. The man was a magician, after all. But it couldn't be helped, he supposed, and he sent up a silent prayer and began to eat.

"I should think you've had significantly less solitude lately, Erik - isn't Christine still taking lessons?"

Erik shot him a reproachful look. He might find it fine to spend his time talking to only one person (could he ask for a better person to talk to than Christine? No, impossible), but surely Christine deserved better than a companion who only ever spoke to one person... The Daroga's comment cut him as surely as a knife. A person needed more than one person to talk to in their life, didn't they? Wasn't Erik a person too?

"Of course she's still taking lessons - why? Do you think she shouldn't be?" his voice bordered on petulant, but the Daroga took it well in stride.

"No, not at all. How is she, by the way?"

Erik stopped cutting up his steak to stare blankly at him.

"What's it to you? You think she isn't well in my care?"

Nadir raised an eyebrow.

"Did I say that? No. If you don't want to talk about Christine, we can talk about you, instead. How are you, Erik?"

Those yellow eyes focused intently on the meat in front of him.

"Christine has improved quite a lot lately, don't you think?"

Nadir smiled. He knew it was merely a distraction so he wouldn't have to speak about himself, but he could still hear the undercurrent of pride in Erik's voice.

"She has," he agreed. "Your teaching has certainly taken her far."

Erik shook his head.

"It's because she works so hard. All the teaching in the world won't help if the student doesn't put in the effort. She truly wants to improve, and that's why she does."

Nadir was a little surprised. Erik usually never passed up an opportunity to boast of his many skills and talents.

"You think she'll be prima donna one day?"

"No, Daroga - I do not think - I know. You could bet your life in it - Christine Daaé will be the prima donna of the Opera Populaire in five years time. I guarantee it."

Nadir nodded.

"What about Carlotta? Where will she go?"

"Oh, I have a few suggestions of where she can go," Erik replied dryly.

Nadir very nearly mentioned that perhaps in five years time she might retire, but chose to not say it after all, lest Erik get an idea and retire her himself.

An amazing thing began to happen as dinner went on - they had an almost normal conversation. It began with Nadir offering up little anecdotes about his life lately, going into a little more detail when Erik didn't stop him. The most surprising of all - Erik even asked a few questions, asked for more details about things, like the garden he was growing and how his elderly cat was doing. Not once did he roll his eyes or tap his fingers impatiently or pull out his lasso or even threaten to do so. What was nearly as surprising was how much Nadir enjoyed the evening. When was the last time he and Erik had truly talked like this? Not Erik begging for help after getting caught in a lie, not Nadir pressing him about what happened to a concussed stage hand - just talking for the sake of talking?

It was nice. It reminded him of Persia, or at least of the nicer times in Persia. So much of the time there was drenched in awful things after Erik had arrived, but even then there had been times, like now, when they would talk about things other than work. Nadir was pleased to find Erik's mind was not too worse for the wear after so many years alone and pretending to be a ghost.

He pressed his luck and asked him about his music, and Erik was only slightly evasive as he told him about his composing. Nadir was amused to learn that he was still working on that damned opera of his - "Don Juan Triumphant" - and knew better than to comment on the fact that it had been 'nearly finished' for thirty years now.

"I'm working on a new song for Christine, as well," he went on. "I'm sure you'll hear it eventually - it's to be her next audition piece, something to help her stand out."

"Oh, really? I look forward to that."

Erik nodded and fell quiet. He wasn't used to so much talking with someone that wasn't Christine, and he was rather anxious for the Daroga to finish his soup (the last of the food he had left). He seemed to be purposely drawing it out, stirring it slowly, carefully picking up little pieces and considering them before taking a bite - could there possibly be a more infuriating way to eat soup? If there was, he was certain the Daroga would find it.

"Now that I've had dinner at your place, you should come have dinner at mine," Nadir finally broke the silence, inspecting the contents of his spoon.

Erik's shoulders tensed.

"Is Darius still in your employ?" he aimed for nonchalance and achieved it perfectly, but Nadir knew better.

It had happened ages ago, while the Populaire was still under construction and Erik was not yet entombed below. Nadir had just recently moved to Paris, and Erik had pounded on Nadir's door, impatient that it was locked. Darius had opened the door only to be shoved aside as Erik barged in, already complaining loudly about the workers at the opera house construction site that weren't making things to his exact (and occasionally bizarre) specifications to a slightly confused Nadir who was making his way down the stairs to see what the fuss about.

Erik had whipped off his cape and tossed it at the young man by the door, who was already looking offended at the noisy, boorish Frenchman whom he had never seen before but who acted like he owned the place.

"It's an insult, Daroga, a pure insult!" he had fumed.

"Now, now, Erik - I'm sure it's all right," Nadir had started before turning to Darius. "Why don't you get us some tea?"

Darius had nodded, making his way to the kitchen, but not before pausing next to Nadir and asking in hushed Persian, "Is everything okay with him? He just pushed his way in."

Nadir had nodded eagerly, replying back "It's fine, he's an old friend."

Darius had shot a parting glare back at the supposed friend who was pacing in the entryway and chewing a thumbnail.

"Your friend is scary and rude," he had muttered, leaving the room.

Nadir's face had turned pale, looking quickly at Erik, who had spared only the briefest of glances at Darius as he went for tea. Perhaps they would be lucky and Erik had been too caught up in his tantrum to actually hear what Darius had said.

It had truly seemed that way at first, too - Nadir had begun to lead Erik to the sitting room, only to find that at some point he had stopped following him.

Erik had found his way into the kitchen, and had silently approached Darius from behind.

He suddenly leaned in close, placing a hand on the counter next to him. Darius had started a little, but quickly returned the same glare that Erik was leveling at him.

He picked up the tea tray - this strange man wasn't going to get in the way of him performing his job, no matter how tall or angry he was!

Erik leaned his face down a little closer, narrowing his eyes.

"You think I'm scary now, young man?" he intoned in perfect Persian. "Perhaps you should see what you think after I remove my mask!"

Darius had yelped, dropping the tea tray with a crashing clatter as he realized that the man had understood everything he had said. The blood drained from his face as Erik threateningly lifted a hand to his mask, and he darted from the room before he could see whatever horror was sure to lie beneath.

Nadir had entered a moment later, taking in the sight of the broken tea cups and tea-splattered rug.

"Erik," he had admonished. "I liked that rug."

Darius had refused to come out until Erik had left, and on the rare occasion that Erik would come back for whatever reason, Darius was resolute about not being in the same room with him at all or even looking in his direction.

Nadir now sat across from Erik and carefully watched how he pretended to not care about the answer.

"He is," he told him.

"Hmph. I shall pass on your offer, in that case."

Nadir sighed. Perhaps that had merely been wishful thinking on his own part.

Soon enough the meal was over, and Nadir began to pack up the dishes, a task quickly completed. They both stood, Erik walking to the door with him. Nadir paused a moment.

"This evening has been quite nice, Erik."

"Was it... It was rather... Normal, was it not?" there was a hint of worry and hope in Erik's voice.

"It was very normal, friend," he smiled.

Erik nodded, some tension leaving him.

"I truly enjoyed it," Nadir continued, and rested a hand on Erik's shoulder. "Thank you."

Erik stared at the hand on his shoulder with a mix of unbridled horror and disgust.

"Don't touch Erik," he chided as he gingerly picked the man's hand off of him with the tips of his fingers and looked at him disapprovingly.

Erik brushed off his shoulder, still frowning. Nadir cleared his throat.

"Ah, yes. Well, we should do this again sometime, don't you think? It really was nice."

Erik's face fell and his shoulders slumped. Another dinner with the Daroga? Why?! He was bitterly reminded that being good was not the kind of thing that you could do once and be good forever - you had to keep working at it, it seemed. Perhaps working at it meant more dinners with the Daroga... But that was simply too much to consider so closely on the heels of an evening already spent that way. He jerked the door open and pointed out to the hallway.

"We'll see," he said as Nadir went out, before nearly slamming the door behind him.

It eventually became a thought that Erik could think of without a headache after a couple of weeks, but by then he was focused on something else entirely.

Christine surprised him at the end of one of her lessons. She had planned it all out - Raoul was still out of France, Meg was going to be spending time with family, the other girls all had plans of their own. No one would even notice one more girl missing, and if so it would be assumed she had gone on a little trip like so many others. It was the perfect plan, really - practically fool-proof - and the perfect opportunity.

"Erik," she asked shyly. "The company has the next four days off, you know, and I was wondering - could I spend them with you?"

A few moments passed where he did nothing but stare at her with wide eyes. She looked up at him, confused as to why he was so silent.

"You wish to stay with me for the entirety of the break? Three nights? Three whole nights?" his brow furrowed under the mask.

She nodded.

"If it's okay with you..." she added.

"Of course, my dear, of course you can stay... Truly?"

"Yes, truly," she smiled.

He suddenly became flustered and embarrassed. He smoothed back his hair, brushed a hand down the front of his jacket, and straightened his cravat.

"You may absolutely stay for the break, Christine, just let me know when you would like me to escort you downstairs."

"I'll meet you here in an hour?"

He nodded, not meeting her eye, and she took her leave to go pack what she would need for her visit.

Three nights and four days of Christine in his home. He could scarcely believe such a blessing. So she hadn't just been pretending when she'd said she would come back and stay with him again!

He didn't think there was anything that could possibly ruin this joyous occasion - not a single thing in the entire world.

Unbeknownst to anyone, at that very moment a ship was pulling into the harbor, and a very eager Raoul was gathering his luggage and grinning about how surprised Christine would be when she saw him.