Christine shut the door behind her with a quiet, "I'm sorry." Her voice had a slight rasp to it.
Erik had been on the verge of going to find her when she walked into her dressing room. She was usually the one doing the waiting in the mornings, but today she was more than 15 minutes late. Either her mental state was catching up to her physical state, or something else was wrong. Whereas he had not cared one way or another about the young man before, he had begun to hate the Vicomte de Chagny. Erik hated him for leaving Christine in limbo, and he hated him for the love she bore him in spite of it.
"What's wrong, child?" he inquired, taking in the dark circles under her eyes, and her colorless cheeks and lips. Even without her tardiness, without the subtle distortion in her voice, he would have been concerned. She had become his single focus, his lifeline, his distraction from everything that was wrong with his life. He had made a detailed study of everything about her, had learned her face like it was a language. What he saw now - the lack of color, the crinkle in her forehead - said that she was not well.
"I don't know," she answered. "I'm completely exhausted; I'm sure I'll be fine if I rest."
"Why don't you lie down?" He suggested. Not quite believing her assertion, he added, "No singing for you today."
She curled up on her fainting couch, facing away from him, wrapping her arms around herself. "What about tonight?" she inquired.
"Don't you worry about that." While Erik's troubles with the new managers had not quite been resolved, the Opera Ghost still held sway in other quarters. He would see to it that her absence was forgiven, and if it was not, there would be consequences. They were showing Lucie de Lammermoor now, and she had no actual role beyond the chorus, so she would not be too badly missed. He had initially hoped that by the end of the run, Christine would be singing Lucie, and Carlotta would be somewhere far away. It was in vain; Christine was not ready for that kind of exposure. She was progressing rapidly, but she was not quite at the level he knew she could reach, and she still lacked confidence. He would not rush her into a leading role before she was ready, even though what she could do right now would still be better than Carlotta's overblown "Mad Scene." Less was never more in Carlotta's mind.
Christine rolled onto her back and sighed. She began worrying her lower lip with her teeth - that was never a good sign.
"What would you have me do?" Erik asked. She was thinking too much again; he hoped she did not ask to be left alone. He wanted to be needed, and he did not think she should be alone too often. No one understood the effects of loneliness better than Erik. Oh, how he hated Raoul de Chagny for putting her such a state. If he had possessed even the slightest bit of sense, he would have run off with Christine, consequences be damned. If she had objected, then he should have carried her off. Erik was torn between cursing the young man, and being glad he lacked the fortitude to do what was necessary. Either way, if the Arctic did not kill him...
After a moment, she said softly, "I think I would have completely lost my mind if you had not come when you did."
"Perhaps that is why your father sent me when he did." He felt ever so slightly uncomfortable as the words left his mouth.
Feelings of guilt were often, but not always, beyond Erik's grasp. He usually knew when he ought to feel to guilty, but knowing when one ought to do something and actually doing it are two separate things. In recent memory, he had felt something over Joseph Buquet's death, but not enough to warrant a closer examination of his actions. Buquet should have kept his mouth shut; it was that simple. In regard to Christine, he was aware that he was taking advantage of her innocent nature, but as he had no ill intent, he was not sure if feelings of guilt were warranted. His deception was only the means to an end, and it was to her benefit. The Angel was not even his idea, and he was offering her legitimate help. What did it matter that he liked to watch her undress? That he had begun following her home, hiding in the shadows, hoping to catch another glimpse of her? It did no harm. It allowed him to keep an eye on her. How she had made it this far in her life without someone taking advantage of her trusting nature was beyond him. She needed someone watching out for her.
She sat up, and began releasing her hair from its pins. He loved seeing her with her hair down. "I think so... Having Raoul, then losing him, and Mamma's mental state... I couldn't endure it without you."
"There's very little that can't be endured when one has no choice but to endure it. But, I am here, and I will never abandon you." It wasn't much, but it was more than her supposed husband had been able to offer.
"I think you're crediting me with more strength than I have." She smiled ever so slightly. "I still wonder if you aren't wasting your time... but I am glad you're here."
Her fingers flowed through her hair rapidly, arranging it into a braid. He wondered if her hair was as soft as it looked.
"I am, too." He answered her, hoping his voice did not completely betray the depth of his affection.
She lay back down on the couch, resting her hands across her abdomen. "Will you play something for me?"
"What would you like to hear?"
"Whatever you would like to play," she replied, closing her eyes.
He improvised, but it was gentle, and much more melodic than anything he would have played for his own benefit. Christine soon fell asleep. Erik did not want to wake her, but she needed to be home in bed, and not here. He let her sleep a little while longer before whispering in her ear. She reluctantly stretched and stood up. She brushed her skirt, straightening it as best she could before twisting her braided hair and pinning it up quickly and untidily. He wanted to follow her home, as he was concerned for her, but it was broad daylight, so he could not.
The next morning, she waiting for him. Her color was better, and when she greeted him her voice no longer sounded strained.
"You seem much better today," he observed.
"I am; I only needed to rest. Sometimes I think it would do me a world of a good if I could get away from my regular life for a bit. If I could just go somewhere away from the world, somewhere I could rest quietly, my mind would be much easier."
Erik understood her exactly. He found it curious that someone so much his opposite in most ways, could share his need for a refuge.
Later that day, he paced around his house, thinking, planning. He could give her a place to escape the world. He had the space; he even had the furniture. A few minor adjustments, a few items acquired, and she would be very comfortable with him. Of course, it would shatter her illusion of the Angel of Music, and he would have to become accustomed to less privacy, but the benefits might outweigh the risks for both of them. He would not bring her there lightly, nor out of his own desire for her company. It would only be because she needed it, if she needed it. Such a situation seemed unlikely, but there was no harm in being prepared. Now that he had decided to do it, he sat down at his desk and began to write a list of things Christine might need or want if she were ever to stay with him.