Sunlight poured in through the kitchen window and warmed Nadir's hand as he sat at the table, unrolling his sleeves. Minding her own business, Mme Dumas strolled about the room with the brisk ease of one who never minded rising before the cock's crow. But even just watching her was tiring, Nadir thought, bustling to and fro like an always turning cog in a well-oiled machine. Explaining his presence in this house had been daunting and Nadir had felt as though he had overstepped a boundary. The woman was courteous enough, though he suspected that she would be having a word with her new mistress about him after he had left. He did, however, fall victim to a sharp word or two when he began to nibble on a piece of fruit and she had bustled him out of the way, telling him to sit down or leave. Nadir had to smile at this.

His eyes followed her about the brightening room as she prepared breakfast and fetched a small silver tray. "Allow me to carry that up for you," he offered as she set the tray down in front of him.

Doubt and astonishment crossed her reddened features, but she eventually relented to the strange man's request, only too eager to lessen the strain on her back.

Once the tray was properly prepared, Nadir nodded his head in gratitude to Mme Dumas and walked up the stairs. From the kitchen doorway, she watched him with the scrutiny of one who was supervising a newly appointed, yet inexperienced, helper. She could only hope that he did not drop the poor girl's meal. The man looked as though he was ready to collapse.

Not too long afterwards, there was a knock at the front door. Leaning on the window sill, Mme Dumas tried to spy the culprit, but she could not see so much as a stopped carriage on the street outside. Even in the early hours of the morning, Paris did not rest. Wiping her hands on her apron, she tutted as another knock sounded before removing the garment and reaching up to vainly touch her swept up hair. When everything was in its proper place, she hurried to the door and opened it.

Her eyebrows raised when she was met with the sight of a young man carrying a large rectangular box in his arms. He gave a sigh of relief at not having to wait any longer in the cold before carefully handing the box over. "For the lady of the house, though you might want to put those in some water," he said, tipping his hat to her. "Good day."

Mme Dumas poked her head out onto the street to watch him go before turning her attention to the wrapped parcel in her hands. Closing the door, she returned to the kitchen, laid the box out on the table and saw that a small card was attached to the front. Lifting it to her face, she saw the words, 'Little Lotte, with love, Raoul de Chagny' sprawled across one side, and the name of the local florist on the other. Not one to speculate, she popped the card down and lifted the lid. Inside were a dozen primed yellow roses. Pulling back the sheer paper that covered them, she then went about filling an empty vase with water before arranging the roses within it. Once satisfied with her work, she replaced the card and sauntered up the stairs.

"Mademoiselle?" she called into the room after knocking.

"Come in," came the young woman's voice, drained as it sounded. Precariously balancing the vase in one hand, Mme Dumas reached for the handle and entered, her eyes flitting between Monsieur Khan, who stood overlooking the balcony with his arms folded, and the untouched tray of food on Christine's lap.

"These just arrived for you, Mademoiselle," she announced brightly, lowering the bouquet towards the young woman's face just as Nadir turned to look in.

"How lovely," Christine said, a charming smile gracing her lips as she cupped the blooms with her fingers and brought them to her nose. Aromatic, and velvet to the touch, she continued to caress the rose petals, even as her eyes drank in the sight of the Vicomte's signature. What a dear, sweet man, she thought to herself. "Would you put them on my dresser, please?"

Nodding, Mme Dumas glanced briefly at Nadir as she passed before setting down the vase next to the mirror, her hands quickly rearranging one or two roses to make the display more pleasing to the eye. She then turned to Christine and frowned her disapproval at the full tray. "You have not touched your breakfast."

An apologetic smile showed behind the strands of hair that had fallen across her face. Pulling them back behind her ears, Christine peered down at the array of foods and said, "I know, and everything looks wonderful. I was just speaking with Monsieur Khan and I did not yet have the chance to start."

Mme Dumas' frown was immediately redirected towards the man in question, her lips pursed as she sighed. "Well, then," she began in a cheerfully deceptive manner, "I do hope that Monsieur Khan does not keep you from your breakfast any more than he kept me from preparing it."

Christine's hand rose to silence a muffled giggle at the woman's quick tongue, while Nadir simply lifted his hands in surrender. "Perish the thought, Madame," he said as she left.

As soon as the door had closed, Christine tilted her head to the side and lowered her hand to the tray. "Do not mind her, Nadir."

"But she is right," he admitted, running his fingers over his beard. "I do not wish to keep you from your meal."

"You are not," she insisted, sipping some of the warm tea that had been calling to her. She wound her fingers around the cup and brought it close to her face, relaxing as the delicious vapours filled her nose. "Besides, I am enjoying your company," she added, looking down into the cup. "Although, I must admit, it is rather strange to be alone in your company after spending so much time with..." Her face fell. "Do you think he will return soon, Nadir?"

"I hope so," he replied, suppressing the need to see to his aching muscles, and laughed. "I do not think I have had a formal rest in over a day."

Christine did not share in his mirth and instead allowed herself to be overwhelmed by her own sobriety. "I apologise, Nadir. I really do," she said, her eyes downcast. "Erik did not need to drag you here in the middle of the night."

"That was probably the least disconcerting thing he has ever concerned me with," he told her truthfully.

Setting her cup down, Christine hummed distractedly. "But you did not have to stay."

"Ah, but if I could have done more, I would have. Christine, I see it as my duty to make certain your wellbeing is in order."

"Then you have a very dull duty," she teased half-heatedly, but smiled when Nadir shared in her teasing words. "I am curious, though, why exactly did he turn to you?"

"He knew I could supply him with something that would help you rest," he answered, looking down at his lap, not wishing to divulge the true reason Erik knew he would have the laudanum; that ever since he fled Persia, he had been prone to many sleepless nights and being kept awake by horrific memories.

The tea was soon finished, along with a small amount of porridge, but Christine eventually pushed the bowl away, her stomach churning at the thought of consuming any more of the thickly textured gloop. Though her spirits remained dampened, a speckle of colour had started to return to her round cheeks, much to Nadir's delight, but she still did not make any move to rise from her bed.

"Will you not consider heading out, Christine? It is proving to be a lovely day despite the cold, and I am certain lying there will not help matters." His voice was soft and caring and when Christine looked up at him in that moment, she was reminded so much of her father.

Tears filled her bloodshot eyes as she shook her head. "I just want to sleep," she whispered brokenly, and so he relented.

Pacing the floor of her parlour some time later, Nadir flapped his hands agitatedly behind his back, his shoes surely wearing away the floor beneath him with their repetitive shuffling. Where was Erik? The question ran through his being like a mantra, the only thing driving his body to continue functioning and not drop to the floor there and then. In his mind, he called Erik all the names he would not dare say to his face, and did not stop pacing for another half hour.

It was only just beginning to grow dark when Erik did return, and Nadir would never forget the fright he had when opening Christine's bedchamber door to find that shadowy figure silhouetted in front of the glass doors.

Reigning in his terror, and biting down on his cheek to quieten any such sounds that could wake Christine, Nadir crept over the threshold with hesitancy in every step. These were the moments when he truly doubted the mortality of his peculiar friend. No living being could move with such deadly silence.

"Erik," he whispered, choosing not to stray too far from the comfort of the open door. "How did you get in here?"

As soon as he spoke, Erik's head snapped up, his mouth twitching as though he had not seen or heard his approach at all. After a few long seconds, recognition finally glinted in his eyes and he raised a limp hand, directing it to the balcony behind him. Nadir was tempted to shake his head at his behaviour were it not for the visible tension in Erik's shoulders. It was enough to make Nadir remain with one hand firmly on the door handle.

"What kept you so late, my friend?" he asked nervously, his voice not reflecting the stoic stance his body had taken. When he received no reply, Nadir swallowed the lump in his throat and regarded the cloaked figure carefully. Erik's unnerving gaze was directed solely at Christine, who still slept, and Nadir was thankful to not be under such scrutiny.

"I... found myself... detained," came Erik's reply, his voice ragged and burdened with fatigue.

The state of that voice, so unlike how it should have been—so faint and weak. It was a mere murmur next to the wind outside and it bled through Nadir's ears, seeping into his mind. It was a tone he was not unfamiliar with, but one he had hoped never to hear again. Flashes of memories burned before his eyes of executions and blood—all delivered by the hand that had now curled itself around the bedpost—and a voice, strained, yet composed, even after the kill had been made.

"What happened, Erik?" Nadir feared having to ask the question more than the answer itself.

The cloak folded around the bedpost as he slumped against it, his fingers tightening around the wood as he whispered, "I should have taken her away when I had the chance. I should have taken her away."

"What are you talking about?" he said timidly before quickly peering out into the hallway to see if it was empty or not. "Come. Let us talk elsewhere... away from Mademoiselle Daaé."

This notion seemed to sway Erik as he sluggishly turned towards him and traipsed out the room, Nadir following in his footsteps. With care, he closed the door behind them and ushered Erik to the end of the hall, away from the stairs and from the possibility of prying eyes.

Without delay, Erik regaled Nadir with what had occurred beneath the Opéra and when his eyes finally refocused on the older man's face, he did not miss the tremor that ran through his features.

"Are you sure it was just one?" Nadir finally asked him, pressing the tips of his fingers against his temples in an attempt to force his drained mind to focus. "Perhaps there is no need for concern."

"When there is one, there are many," Erik muttered cryptically.

Nadir glanced towards the stairs before turning back and lowering his voice to ask, "Did you... dispose of the body properly?"

Without the slightest hint of hesitation, Erik's expression darkened and he replied, "No. I have decided to use him as my new doormat. You think that ill-advised?"

Nadir released a shaky breath before glaring at his companion. "I never could take your dreadful sense of humour, Erik."

"Then perhaps you should not invite it with your idiotic questioning!" he snarled, bringing his hands behind his back to stop himself from wringing the man's neck. His fingers dug painfully into the skin on his hands and yet he remained silent, thinking instead on the repercussions of tonight's events and how he should proceed from here. He bowed his head as his thoughts turned to his beloved. "I should have taken her away," he repeated, almost inaudibly.

At this, Nadir's expression softened. "Why? Surely there is no immediate danger, and she is still recovering. You must not attempt to move her until she is better," he added, wary of his friend's rashness and unpredictability.

"And how long will that take?" Erik challenged. "A week? A month? Two? By then it could be too late."

"Christine has to fight this on her own," Nadir reasoned, feeling as though he was speaking to an irritable child. "You are not helping her by acting like this."

"Oh?" Behind the mask, he lifted one sardonic eyebrow. "And what exactly would help her? Gifts? Chocolates? Women like those, or so I am told," he sneered. "Perhaps she would prefer a normal suitor, one who would not think twice before doing these things for her. Unlike Erik. Erik did not think of these things. Yes, a proper suitor would do nicely. The young Vicomte, for example. Yes, let us bring him here so that he can help matters. Oh, wait a moment, he has already been here, hasn't he? The flowers... He gave her flowers."

Nadir allowed Erik's rant to come to an end before catching a glimpse of sadness in those black eyes. It was a rarity that Erik let his guard down around him. "Tell me what this is about," he encouraged gently, sensing there was more to his words than he was telling.

"I... I did not even think to give her flowers."

"Erik," he warned, hoping the use of his name would be enough to pull him out of his sudden melancholy state.

Looking up, Erik studied Nadir's tired eyes and aggravated stance before reaching his hand into his jacket pocket. Nadir watched as he drew out a folded piece of paper, which had clearly been balled up and torn in parts, and held it out for the taking. Hesitating only briefly before grasping it, Nadir tried his best to smooth out the rougher edges before bringing it closer to his face for inspection. But before his eyes could make out any of the words, they were drawn to the bottom of the page—the page that bared the official seal of the de Chagny family.

Nadir's head snapped up. "What is this?"

"That young gendarme had fortunately left it within the confines of his jacket... or perhaps unfortunately. I cannot decide which." Erik reached for the piece of paper and peered down at it, his lip curling downward in disdain. "It is a warrant of sorts, issued privately, I would imagine—Paris does not yet weep at the knowledge that it is still harbouring a monster, after all."

"And," Nadir began slowly with a constrictive exhale of breath, "you believe that the Vicomte is behind this?"

"The Vicomte, his brother... What does it matter? His name is on that paper. As far as I am concerned, they are all behind this."

"Very well," Nadir said dismissively, knowing that there was nothing he could have said to sway his friend's mind. "But you must promise me not to do anything rash, Erik. Do not attempt to return to the Opéra for longer than necessary or remove Christine from this house. The private nature of this case has bought you time and discretion. I beg you, do not use that time to endanger yourself, Christine or any member of the de Chagny family."

Silence filtered into the hallway before a tiny grunt slipped from Erik's mouth and a nod of reluctant agreement was directed at Nadir. The older gentleman could have smiled at the sight—it was seldom that his friend heeded his warnings.

"We shall talk more of this soon," he continued, straightening his jacket, "but, for now, it is well time I rest." After a moment's hesitation, he raised his hand and lightly grasped Erik's shoulder. "You should do the same, my friend."

He left shortly after that, not bidding a farewell to Erik, who seemed adrift in the house, his burdens gravely carrying him about the floor like a ghost.

Although Erik remained silent and hidden from Mme Dumas, there was nothing that could have silenced his mind. His thoughts whirled, forming new threads and outcomes that sank to the pit of his stomach. Had it not been for his strong will, he would have dashed straight to an open window and emptied its contents.

Only once did he leave the comfort of the walls around him and though he knew better than to leave Christine again, he merely wished to procure something for her, so that she might think better of him upon awakening.

Placing the gift on her bedside table, he made certain that her door was closed before shamelessly ripping the mask from his face and dropping it next to the item. His breathing hitched and a thousand reprimands flew through his already mangled mind before he gave into the temptation and slipped onto the bed, curling up at the edge. He did not dare to move any close to her, however, and his pitiful excuse of lying down in order to keep an eye on her condition only sought to drive him from her side. But the sight of her sleeping, with not a crease to ruin her smooth features, was too beautiful for his wretched eyes not to gaze upon.

And so he stayed. Throughout the entire night, he stayed, whispering words of encouragement and love to her, although he knew she could not hear him. But for Erik, it was enough.

o0o

Christine, however, could not remember when she had slept so peacefully. So often she had laid awake at night, wondering if she were solitarily sharing her guardian's final hours. But now that Mamma Valérius had passed, Christine's unrest had increased and any time that she spent alone had become unbearable. A burden was the last thing she had wished to be and yet she had turned into just that, relying on the strength of two men to pull her through.

Perhaps it was her fault, how she had become so dependent on Erik over the past few months, but she knew she would be entirely lost without him. She was so grateful for his presence ever since her guardian's passing, even if she did not act like it. With Erik by her side, she felt that she was able to find the strength within herself to survive this.

As she struggled to open her eyes, she felt Erik scramble to his feet.

She sighed deeply and gazed up at him, her face devoid of emotion until she frowned and closed her eyes again. Erik clenched his jaw and readied himself for a chiding, but, to his surprise, the only thing that he received was the sleep laden softness of her voice asking, "Why did you move?"

"What?" he said, rigid with disbelief at her nonchalance.

A half smile breached her face as she turned to lay on her back. "Come," she whispered, holding out an arm towards him.

He remained frozen to the spot for a while, tapping his fingers against his leg. With a sigh of surrender, however, he pathetically crawled onto the bed and allowed her to guide him into her arms. Drowsily, he burrowed into her as she wrapped herself around him, securing his place at her side and making sure that he would not move again. Contented, Christine relaxed and slipped into the warmth of his embrace.

Settling down, she tried not to think on how strangely domestic and sound it felt to have Erik's arms around her, but at the same time, she could not escape how safe she felt. Withdrawing from everyone had been her mistake, she realised. People cared about her and, in her distress, she had not been able to see this, not even the person she cared about the most, the person who now lay in her arms.

"You spoke to me last night, didn't you? While I was asleep," she said after a comfortable silence had passed, her little arms tightening around his neck and torso.

"How did you—"

"I heard you. In my dreams." She began to slowly rub the material of his shirt between her fingers as she spoke. "It sounds silly, I know, but I think... I think your voice may have helped me."

He sighed deeply, folding her deeper into his embrace. "Forgive me," she heard him then murmur into her hair.

"For what?" she asked as he raised his head to look at her. But his gaze quickly dropped immediately to the sheets, rumpled as they were between them.

"I am glad that I was able to help you, but please, forgive me for... for lying in your bed."

Christine would have laughed at the absurdity of his request were it not for the sobering look on his bare face. Wearily, she tilted his chin up with the tips of her fingers and stared at him, bemused and utterly serious. "No. I do not think I will."

"Oh," he choked out before pain engraved itself into his facial twitches. "I... I shall leave you at once, then."

Without any attempt at graciousness, he pried himself away from her, shame contorting his features as he began to rise. Christine, however, had sensed his withdrawal and quickly followed him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt sleeves before he could indeed leave. None too gently, she then pulled him back down on the bed, where he landed with a surprised thud, before his body was pinned down by hers. His limbs stiffened so fiercely that he began to shake as she came to gently half lay on top of him as one of her legs moved to cover both of his, anchoring him to the bed. His arms, like steadfast tree trunks, lay unmoving at his sides as he looked up at the woman above him.

A sound, a mixture of a sigh and a tut, left her mouth before she leaned down to kiss him, her lips soft and tender and pliable. When she pulled back, she stroked his cheek with her knuckles. "Erik, I will not forgive you because you stayed so that I would not be alone. Why should I forgive you for something like that? Are you sorry that you helped me?"

"No!" he exclaimed, raising his head and body as best he could. "Not at all!"

"Then there is no quarrel between us." Victoriously, she nestled into the crook of his neck, enjoying the way he shuddered as her lips brushed his skin. "Stay," she whispered and when she felt his hand resting against the supple dip of her waist, she knew he would not leave. "Has Nadir returned home?"

"Yes," he managed after swallowing the lump in his throat. His eyes remained fixed on the ceiling as his hand shifted nervously on her, his fingers straying to her hip in a series of accidental spasms. "We are alone."

She nodded. "Good."

"Are you... all right now?" he asked, savouring the way she hummed against him before propping her head up with one hand.

"No," she answered truthfully, with just a hint of a sad smile. "But I will be." Something colourful, a stark contrast to Erik's pallor, suddenly caught her eye and she looked beyond his face to see a beautiful display of flowers resting in a modest vase on her bedside table. "Oh! What beautiful flowers," she chirped, looking at the little buds.

Following her gaze, he then braved her eyes as he proudly announced, "I bought them for you. I thought you would like them. They do not overwhelm you, do they? I can always remove them if you—"

"Shh," she said, quietening him with a subtle touch to his cheek. "I do like them, very much so. Thank you, Erik. That was very thoughtful of you."

"I should buy you flowers," he muttered and Christine did not know who it was he spoke to. "It is what any suitor would do."

"What do you mean?"

"They..." he began, his hand slowly tightening against her waist, pressing her to him more firmly, as though he thought she would be the one to leave. "They are not as nice as roses, are they?"

"Is this about the bouquet Raoul sent me?" she asked steadily, wary of how easily he could snap at just the mention of the name. But not one part of him moved in response and his silence was all the confirmation she needed. "It is," she murmured, bowing her head. "Oh, Erik. You should not worry yourself over some flowers. He was very sweet to send those to me."

He turned his head against the pillow to look at her. "You cannot blame me for thinking—"

"So little of me?" she retorted without missing a beat, her free hand sliding down to rest against his chest. "I love you. Does that mean nothing?"

"Of course it doesn't!" he cried, reaching out timidly towards her face. "It means everything!"

She studied his expression of regret before glancing down at the buttons on his shirt. "You certainly do not act like it does sometimes. But, then again, so do I." A sudden cloud passed over her eyes and she quickly grabbed his hand, bringing his fingers up to her reverent lips. "I think you are the one who will have to forgive me, Erik," she told with an apologetic smile that faded quickly. "I have not treated you well these past weeks."

"You were grieving, and still are," he reminded her.

"That does not excuse my actions. People grieve in different ways." She lowered her gaze and began to trace his captured hand. "I'm... I'm sorry you had to see how I reacted. I feel so weak."

Suddenly, Erik stilled her ministrations, holding onto her fingers tightly as he silently willed her to look up at him. "You are anything but weak."

"But I have been unfair to you," she groaned. "I told myself that I appreciated your company and yet I felt like I wanted to distance myself from everyone. I even thought my fever was a blessing—"

"Christine—"

"I know... I'm sorry. I just want you to know that I do appreciate you."

Almost immediately, he gathered her into his arms, finally holding her without fear. "Your Erik is such a cumbersome, old fool. He doesn't know why you love him." Against him, he heard her chuckle. What sweet music it was to his ears. "No other woman has ever, or will ever, look at me the way you do. I do not care how you have acted. It is a mere shadow of my own behaviour and you should not feel guilty for it." Almost shyly, he pressed his lips to her jaw. "I love you."

The incident with the gendarme would remain a secret between him and Nadir. Christine would find never out, not if he could help it. Every minute he remained there, however, now proved to be a danger to him, and in turn, Christine.

"Christine?" he began, sweeping her hair away from her face as he frowned in thought, "if I asked you to, would you leave Paris with me?"

"Leave Paris? Where has this wanderlust come from?" she asked, unable to keep quiet on the subject. "Is anything wrong? Do you want to leave Paris?"

Before she could even open her mouth to ask anything else, however, she was struck by the inescapable thought of possibility. What if she did leave? Paris had been her home for the better part of a decade; could she truly be asked to leave her home? But then again, Uppsala had also been her home. What difference was there between the two cities? It was then that Christine realised that it did not matter where she was, so long as her heart guided her.

"Where would we go?" she asked curiously.

"Anywhere you like. Even Sweden," he sputtered, as if he was able to read her thoughts. "Would you like that, my love? Would you like to return there?"

"Sweden... I should like to see it again," she mused, looking down into his eyes and smiling. "Do you know what I think I miss most about it? At dusk, when I was a child, I would sit on the stairs leading to the back garden and simply stare at the sky. I never had a governess and I was quite a troublesome child, so my skirts would gather dust and dirt whenever I would sit out there. My father would scold me, but I never listened. They were such lovely moments to myself, to sit, staring up at the orange sky. Hearing the birds sing, too. That was what made those moments so special. The birds."

As her reminiscing came to an end, Erik felt a surge of envy flow through his veins, melding together with the more overpowering sensation of adoration for this woman. Smiling, he tapped the little crease at the corner of her mouth that he loved so dearly. "You would like to hear those birds again?"

"Yes," she confirmed quietly, leaning forward to kiss him gently, practically giddy at their unspoken promises. "Perhaps you will hear them too."