Erik flicked his fingernails across the woodgrain of the bench. It was a lovely, deep stained walnut, native to the area. Government buildings tended to pride themselves on local craftsmanship when they could. The gallery seating was decades old, and would last decades more. The only signs of age were in the stain; raw, pale and rounded off from the touch of humanity.

"And how many hours did your digital forensics team spend going through the records supplied by Dr. Brodeur?"

Erik's eyes snapped up at his name and Christine, soft and warm at his side, gave his hand a little squeeze and absently rubbed her thumb along a ridge of scarring on his wrist.

"Our team spent more than two hundred hours connecting files in the hard drive with those in employee accounts and desktop devices."

He was a bystander, watching the proceedings without being a participant, and it gave him a distance he'd never had before. The view from the gallery was different from the one up front. But then…

Erik looked to his other side. Nadir's deeply shadowed eyes tracked between the lawyer, the witness, and judge presiding over the preliminary hearing. The woman at his right, the famed Cara, looked up at him with concern from time to time. They held hands much like Erik and Christine.

"Would call your team's examination exhaustive?"

And Christine had lost everything caring for another. It was the right thing to do, but it had cost her.. Then again, you had to wonder if her friends then had been like his before the accident; mutually shallow and convenient. Nadir and his family had been the only exceptions.

It was a wonder the old walnut bench hadn't collapsed under the weight of their collective traumas.

"I would call it extensive, but not exhaustive. There are still a number of external contacts to follow up on and for that we need the assistance of other agencies."

And thanks to Nadir, he had a life, music, and Christine. And now Nadir had Cara, a legislative analyst who made up for her petite stature by being terrifying. When they met, she told him off for ruining Nadir's sleep with all the coffee. Erik liked her immediately.

"Understanding that this is a preliminary hearing meant to establish probable cause, after your extensive examination of the records, files, and communications organized by the defendant, please describe the behaviors of the defendant with regard to the events at hand?"

Nadir's knuckles were pale on the wooden bench they sat on. With Christine holding his left hand, Erik loosened Nadir's hand from the edge of the bench and held tight.

This case was different. There were no accountants and business analysts at the ready to absorb and restructure the acquisitions. There were no tumblers of whiskey to grimly toast the takedown of another adversary, no cups of tea to ease the ache of revisited nightmares. This was so much more. A fundamental wrong had been committed and the payment would be more than money.

"The defendant, the architectural firm, hired unqualified contractors against the advice of Dr. Brodeur. When these contractors failed to adhere to the specifications Dr. Brodeur provided, the firm was made aware of the problems but did not inform him. The firm chose to proceed with the project, knowing the construction was seriously flawed, and attempted to assign fault to Dr. Brodeur after the accident while he was unable to respond to such actions."

A chain of ugly tragedies, repulsive and utterly preventable right until they weren't. Nadir gripped his hand harder, knowing what was coming next.

"Given the deaths of Rookheeya and Reza Khan, and the dozens of injuries, including Dr. Brodeur's own nearly fatal burns and long standing complications, how would you characterize the behavior of the defendant?"

Nadir leaned against Erik's shoulder. Erik looked over Nadir's head at Cara, tucked at his side, then at Christine, who had stopped trying to hide her horror and let her silent tears run free. Erik had left normal life behind a long time ago, but he was not alone. He was not alone and would take this life as it came. To do any less would insult those who weren't here.

The expert witness took a deep breath, the first sign that he'd been affected by what he'd seen. "Given… all of that," he said, chewing his lip for a moment, "I would characterize the behaviors prior to the events as reckless, and grossly negligent, and a large scale cover-up afterwards."

The gavel strike ricocheted up Erik's spine.

…

The mask rested on a pad, its gaze empty and lifeless. The wearer breathed life into song instead.

Bowls of soup steamed in front of empty chairs- it hadn't cooled by the time they'd changed clothes, so Christine absently nibbled a breadstick while Erik loosened up after the difficult morning in court with some Einaudi. It soothed their nerves while the soup cooled. Neither had felt up to solid food, so carry-out from an Italian place seemed a good compromise. The Italian composer seemed at home with the weak winter sun illuminating the rising vapor on the bowls.

When the steam thinned, Erik closed off with a chord and stretched. "I think I can finally eat. You?"

Christine looked up from her own musing. "Yeah. I'm good."

The soup was appealing now, and they both dove in, their skipped meals making themselves missed. "Was that your first time in a courtroom?"

"Never even had a ticket," Christine replied.

Erik nudged a potato aside for a bit of sausage. "Misspent youth."

"You were a troublemaker, were you?"

"I like to think of it as creative mischief."

Christine raised an eyebrow. "How many arrests?"

"Just once," he stole her breadstick and tore off a bit. "And I was never charged." He laughed at her amused disappointment. "Can't press charges when there's no actual law and no damage."

Christine laughed and had to put down her spoon. It felt so good, just laughing and being together. A funny thought started to germinate but was cut off by Christine's phone chirping. She frowned down at the bright screen, typed a reply, then set it down with a proud smile.

"That was Gia. She heard back from Marselles, Berlin, and Barcelona."

The tour with the rich boyfriend. He'd nearly forgotten in the whirl of rehearsals and hearings. "Did they make offers?"

"Two did, and one offered a spot as a soloist." The phone chirped again and as Christine read, her smile grew broader. "The boyfriend's house in Barcelona is nice, so she's thinking about taking that one. God, I'm so proud of her! She's worked so hard!"

"When do they want her there?"

Christine typed quickly and fixed her gaze on the screen, not letting it dim. She whooped and jumped up. "In two weeks!"

Erik sniffed. "The boyfriend must know the right people."

"He knows all the people if you listen to Gia." Christine bounced on her toes and spun around the table, laughing. "My god, can you imagine, Gia's going to dance solo in Europe." She stopped suddenly. "There's so much to do. I'll have to help her pack! That girl has so much crap it's sort of amazing."

"No," Erik said, and reached out to catch her before she could start spinning again. "For now, you should sit and eat with me. We have the full rehearsal tomorrow and we need to be ready for it."

She nodded and sat, giggling, and spooned up broth. "You know, she's probably just going to dump her stuff at her boyfriend's place. He'll just buy her anything she needs, you know."

"Needs?"

"Okay. Need is a relative term." Christine stirred her soup and fished around for potato. "You know, I'm starting to think they might actually like each other."

Erik dunked the pilfered breadstick and soaked up the last of his broth. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well, I mean, he's not just getting her a spot on the corp, right? He could do that here and still have a hot girlfriend. He could show her off without any inconvenience. But he's taking her to some of the best ballet companies in the world for full auditions."

"Because it was her dream?"

Christine nodded over a mouthful. "I mean, he's hardly making a sacrifice, but he made the effort." She shrugged. "That should count, right?"

"What about Gia? He's not just a bank account with legs?"

Her delirious smile softened. God, he loved it when she looked at him like that. What was that idea he'd had? Forgetful… She could make him forgetful, and wasn't that a thing?

That soft smile. Her lovely, curving lips moved. "I wonder if she didn't want an accompaniment, too."

WIth their stiff clothes from court hours safely hung, the abandoned fabric that led from the table to the bedroom made a trail of soft heaps. Evening cast the heaps in mauve and gray and their owners, no less softened by the time they emerged, gathered them up before returning to the kitchen to prepare a meal better suited to their appetites than soup.

…

A series of emails kept Erik tied to his desk until his the morning session with Umbaldo Piangi. He'd asked the pastor for another row of chairs and risers, then fired off three separate emails to parents about the schedule before he gave up and put the school on a single email and copied the itinerary, only to get frantic emails from the first three needing clarification. Then the florist, then the conductors and artistic directors.

That was the thing about living a balanced life- you had to split your energy and time between the things you love, the things you like, and the things you don't. The doing wasn't even the hard part, but the transitioning between them.

"Maestro!" Piangi greeted as he opened the door, jarring Erik from the screen. Today's transitions were particularly harsh. "The hour approaches, yes?"

"It does. Will Carlotta be joining us later?"

"Indeed, indeed. She is teaching and when she is done she will be the student. Rehearsal tonight?"

"Yep. Did you get the email?"

Piangi laughed. "Oh yes, and I cannot wait to sing with the whole chorus. No one has tried such a large ensemble here in ages! You will triumph, Maestro."

Erik winced and glanced at his bulging inbox. "I will triumph or I will fail spectacularly." He rubbed his aching neck as he closed his laptop. "I may have taken on too much."

"Nonsense, Maestro. Give the mezzo to your thunderbolt. She and Carlotta sing together enough they know their timing."

Erik blinked. "If the sopranos sing in time, the whole chorus follows."

Piangi laughed. "And if they don't, make them sing louder! No one will notice!" He doubled over laughing as he took out his folder.

"I won't tell Carlotta you said that," Erik said, chuckling, as he slid back the fallboard, "as long as you don't tell Christine I laughed at it."

…

He had a headache. He missed lunch. His coffee went cold.

The emails came. The phone calls were made. The out of town artists had arrived and the directors were meeting off site to do dry runs with them.

Erik drank sour, cold coffee as he read the update from his lawyers.

The door cracked open and Christine peeked around. "Hello?"

A few hours away from her and he was already drinking cold grog and shotgunning courtroom schadenfreude. He slapped his laptop closed.

"Save me," he said as he stretched. "I'm starting to make bad decisions."

"Better not. You need to be in top form tonight. There's more than a hundred musicians assembling for you." She closed the door behind her and came across the room. The moment she pressed her fingers into his shoulders, his eyes drooped. "I've managed to keep the parents under control."

"Thanks. Oh, thank you," he moaned, and she stroked his neck. Hunching over a laptop was not his favorite thing, but the press of her palms and the way she worked his shoulders and upper back released the knots. Suddenly Christine stopped, sniffing.

"What is that?" she asked.

"Reyer tried curry."

With a noise of disapproval, Christine backed away. "I'll come by this afternoon before rehearsal?"

Her hands on his neck had made him fuzzy. He was forgetting again.

"Hang on, I need to ask you something." He racked his brains, but they'd gone slushy from lack of sleep, food, coffee, and Christine.

"Ask me what? Something about the concert?"

Maybe. "Yes. What do you think about the mezzo solo?"

She paused her retreat. "Duet with Carlotta? Sure, let me work on the pieces today and she and I can run through before rehearsal."

"I love you."

She wrinkled her nose. "I love you, too, and I'll kiss you once we're in unpolluted air. I've gotta get back."

That wasn't it, but it was something.

...

As Erik began packing up for the day, Dr. Allen popped his head in the door.

"First full rehearsal tonight, right?"

Erik slid his binders and laptop into his bag. "Yep. Think you'll make it?"

"I have a prior engagement, but we might catch the last half hour or so." Dr. Allen shuffled a few steps. "How are you, ah, holding up?"

With a snap, Erik closed his bag. "Gravity can't touch me."

"The amount of coffee we're going through and your bloodshot eyes suggests otherwise."

"You keep track of that?"

"Madame Giry does. She's an excellent spy, and she prefers your playing to the last full time accompaniment and arranger."

Erik had to laugh. Madame Giry was a force to be reckoned with. Even Dr. Allen thought so. "I'm doing okay. Please let Madame know she's in no danger of having to break in another staff member."

Dr. Allen was about to respond when the door opened and Christine came in, her bag slung over one shoulder and her hair loosened and over her face as she shook it out.

"Hey babe, let me clip this up and I'll be ready to go. Did you ever manage to eat today?"

Erik watched as Dr. Allen looked from the mass of coils to him and back again. Christine twisted her hair up and spluttered as a clump fell free, then clipped the pile into a rough waterfall of curls. "Oh, I got the sheets in the dryer this morning before we left, and I think we might need another set, you know." She giggled and tucked her curls into the clip.

Dr. Allen cleared his throat.

Christine turned and stared.

Erik sighed. "I can explain," he began.

"I'm sure you can," Dr, Allen said, holding up a hand. "Look, there's no policy for this because I hate policies. Ubaldo and Carlotta came to us already married. The fact that this was under my radar says you've been discreet. Consider this notifying your employer of your relationship and the start of regular meetings to ensure the stability of my personnel. This," he gestured between them, "cannot impact the enrollment of the school Got it?"

Christine nodded numbly.

Erik folded his arms. "After this year, you'll need to expand," he said.

Dr. Allen rubbed his face with his hand. "I can only handle one building project at a time. By the way, the reason I came was to tell you that the asbestos abatement is finally done, so we've got about a month to go now. But, you know… I got a little distracted." Dr. Allen looked between them. "I'll contact you about the meetings. See you at the rehearsal."

The door was loud.

They stood still, like caught children. A moment passed, and with it the echo of the door. Erik let out a loud breath, and a giggle left him at the end of it.

"What's so funny?" Christine demanded, wringing the strap of her dance bag.

Erik stifled the laugh as he approached. A stray curl trembled by her ear, so he tucked it up with the others looping above, letting the coils catch and hold it. "You distract me, too."

…

The lamp-lit parking lot of the church was full and people lingering near doors hurried inside when Erik and Christine got out of his car. He had revived a bit after eating on the way over, but it sat heavy in his stomach now that he was about to see this thing through. There were more than a hundred musicians waiting for him, not to mention children, parents, Dr. Allen, Nadir, Cara...

Erik leaned back to resettle his mask and looked up at the church. Heavy columns decorated the facade, crowned by stained glass rosettes that looked down, judging his disarray. He hauled his bag from the car, thick with scores, notes, and plans, in defiance and moved to follow Christine.

As they neared the doors, she slowed. "Why don't you let me go in?" Christine smiled at his silence and fixed his collar. "The Maestro should enter alone or escorting the lead soprano. I can send Carlotta out if you like?"

"Maybe for the performance," Erik said quickly. "Today I'll just walk in."

She kissed him and smoothed his collar one more time. "Wait a few minutes. I'll spread the word that you're here."

"Thank you," he replied lamely. After she'd gone in, Erik set his bag down and glanced back to the bright chips and leaded shards. The church was old, but not as old as the score it was hosting. The haughty air it gave off was just unearned hubris, then, because this music would be played long after these stones and brick crumbled.

Like other buildings. Like other lives.

Erik shook himself and hefted his bag back onto his shoulder. He'd shake the first pieces loose before the week was out.

…

It took five full minutes for the applause to die down before they could even get started.

…

Quiet was so rare in his house that his brain kept trying to hear chords in the rush of a faucet or accidentals in the pillowy crack of a faint fireplace soundtrack. Erik lay sprawled on the couch, one leg slung carelessly over the back, like a discarded doll. Pure silence was intolerable, for it allowed the buzzing and skittering in his skin too much access, so a bit of atmosphere was always on.

But if he heard another bowstrike or major chord in vocals tonight, he was going to stick his head in the sliding door. He was deliciously limp and spent, barely coherent, and far beyond use. He'd dumped his mask on the first flat surface in the house he'd happened upon and couldn't recall at the moment where that was.

From barely opened eyes, Erik peeked over at Christine. Though her dancing days may be numbered, if he had anything to do with it, the shape she'd twisted into to occupy the armchair was confusing at best and medieval at worst, but she heaved a contented sigh that sounded close to how he felt.

The sigh turned to a grunt when her phone chirped. "It's Gia. She bought packing cubes and one of those giant trunks."

"Oh yeah, that's coming." Something. There was something there but… "You and Carlotta practiced," he mumbled. "Nicely done."

Christine shifted like a cat and dropped her phone on the floor. "Words. You said some."

"Hmm. You were good. You and Carlotta, Ubaldo, the baritone and orchestra, the kids," he tried to roll over but his leg was half asleep, so waved a hand absently. "Good. Real good."

Even her grunt was musical. "I missed a few. Almost threw off Carlotta."

"No way. She's a pro. Next time just sing louder. No one will know the difference."

"Yeah, they will."

"Maybe, but I'll say it was my idea and who's going to argue?"

She snickered. "True. Hey."

"Straw."

She snorted. The armchair creaked as she folded herself back into shape. "Part of me wants to just shower and melt into bed and wake up in two days."

"Just in time for the last rehearsal. Brilliant." Erik opened his eyes just as she sat on the floor by the couch. "What about the other part?"

Her lips twitched. "That part wants to crawl on you and show you just how impressed I am right now, but," she hesitated.

"But?"

Her forehead smacked his right arm as her head dropped to the couch cushion. "I'm absolutely certain I will fall asleep."

A rumbling laugh mingled with the soft sound of the digital fireplace. "Fair enough. I'll make you a deal; we'll shower and go to sleep. First one to wake up gets to wake the other one in whatever way they see fit. Deal?" Nothing. "Deal?"

Still nothing. Then a soft sigh and faint snore. Erik followed moments later. An hour later they woke long enough to drag themselves to the bed and burrow under the fluffy down duvet. Before Erik drifted off the second time, he looked up at the ceiling and past his walls as his eyes lost focus. Life was a series of tempo changes and accidentals; the blending of movements based on a theme, and like all good stories, it should return to the best of itself. The third part. The best.

He reached out and found Christine in the heaped fluff and scooted closer. He'd had an idea earlier and honestly, he just couldn't recall what it was. He'd remember when it mattered.

...